Thanks everyone so much for reviewing! I live off of them.
Oh! I forgot the disclaimer! (Does it really matter though?) Anyway, don't own, wouldn't want to! Well, I do own the story…but that's about it. And a few of the characters. But that's it.
I'm not sure if Lake Town was even established at this time, and I'm rather too lazy to look it up, not that it would matter. It just works for the story. And I know Thranduil seems mighty forgiving in this chapter, and in hindsight I would not have written it this way, but it also works, and I'm not going to rewrite half the chapter.
Hehehe, I just can't stop giggling manically as I type this! I hope everyone enjoys.
Once again, Isilendiel is the queen.
Thirty Days
Chapter 2
The three Humans sat nervously in tall, straight-backed chairs before a great wooden desk. They had been led blindfolded through the forest for uncountable hours, guided right through the palace and into the king's study before having their blindfolds removed. They were weary, as they had been allowed few rests, little water, and no food by the suspicious Elves, not knowing what had happened to their prince and anxious to find out.
Now Joram, Tissla, and Toram waited silently in the large room for the Elven king to come. A large fire along one wall and other torches that lined the walls softly lit the room. There was a large window behind the desk they faced to let in better light, but it was heavily curtained at the moment.
The door opened slightly behind them, and they were alerted to someone entering by the soft swishing of robes. They resisted the urge to turn and see, except Toram, who stared openly.
Thranduil came round the desk, seating himself and observing the Humans before him for a moment. He created an imposing figure to the frightened three before him, his stern façade covering his weariness and joy. He had not wanted to leave his reclaimed son after spending the night with his wife at the child's bedside, but had much to speak of with these Humans.
Thranduil cleared his throat. "Allow me to first thank you for returning my son to me."
They still had not quite figured out who exactly Legolas was, though obviously his father was someone of great importance.
"Ah! Forgive my manners," Thranduil remembered. "You must hunger." He made a small motion and one of the guards flanking the door, whose presence had so far gone unnoticed by the Humans, slipped out.
"Uh…thank you, lord," Joram offered awkwardly. "I'm Joram, and this is my wife Tissla and son Toram."
Thranduil nodded politely. "I am Thranduil, king of this realm."
The two elder Humans froze, while Toram's eyes widened so much that the Elf was worried they might pop out. "Wow! A real king! Did you hear that, Mama? We never had a real king back home, did we, Papa?"
Thranduil smiled at the child's enthusiasm. "You must have many questions, but please, first tell me how all this came to be."
"Well, uh, your majesty," Joram stuttered, not quite knowing how to begin.
"We were on our way to Lake Town, your highness," Tissla helped. "And when a storm came, we sought shelter in the woods."
"But it was really boring just sitting around, so I went to go look for buried treasure!" Toram interrupted excitedly. He would not be left out of the telling.
"Toram, hush," his mother reprimanded softly.
"Our son stumbled upon the glade with fresh-turned dirt and strange carvings upon the tree, and believed he had found something," Joram continued. "So he came and got us and we started digging."
"Which we realize now was a mistake on our part!" Tissla quickly cut in upon seeing the king's brows furrow. "We should have never done that, and had we known it was a—grave, we never would have—"
Thranduil smiled slightly to relieve the worried woman. "It is alright. I am glad you did, for had you not, my son would surely be forever lost to me. However, I would advise against digging up any more graves."
"I thought it was buried treasure," Toram put in, to which he received a disapproving look from Tissla.
"I understand," Thranduil smiled at the child. A servant entered with a try laden with fresh bread and fruits and set it on the desk, leaving as silently as she had come. "Please, help yourselves," Thranduil invited.
"Yum!" Toram exclaimed, grabbing a slice of hot bread and stuffing it into his mouth while his parents served themselves in a more dignified fashion.
Thranduil rose and retrieved a bottle of wine from a nearby cupboard along with three glasses. He poured the red wine and gave two of the glasses to the adults, keeping the third for himself, and brought another bottle from a lower shelf and poured some of it into a wooden cup for Toram.
"Um, your highness…" Tissla started.
"Worry not, my lady," Thranduil smiled at her understandingly. "My own son often comes in here. It is only juice."
Assured her young son was not drinking wine, she continued the tale as they ate. "We found the box and opened it, realizing our error upon seeing the child lying there." It never failed to amuse Thranduil at Human's misconceptions of Elven aging, for Legolas had more years than all three of the Humans combined. But he did not interrupt, letting the woman continue.
"We thought him dead, and I wanted to put him back, until he grabbed Joram's arm, all sudden-like. So then we knew he wasn't dead, and our only choice was to find help."
"So we carried him until your guards found us, although we had to leave the box behind," Joram said. "It's still somewhere near the clearing, if you would like to get it."
Thranduil grimaced, and Joram could have smacked himself. The Elf had just buried his son in it; of course he would not want it back. "I hope we shall never have need of it again," the Elvenking said softly.
"There was one other thing, your majesty," Tissla said slowly, as if not wanting to bring the subject up, but knowing she had to. "Along the way, your son had a few…fits that left him unconscious. And we found a bad wound in his side. Did this have anything to do with why he was buried in the first place?"
Thranduil closed his eyes upon hearing that his son was still suffering, long after he was supposed to rest in eternal peace. "It is a long story…but I guess you deserve to know. It all began only one short month ago…"
…………Flashback
Legolas looked up from his father's side as the king formally welcomed the Human ambassador to the Woodland Realm. There was much formality surrounding the visit of these strangers, requiring the young prince to always be on his best behavior and, worst of all, wear the hated formal robes. Yet he tolerated it all for the chance to closely observe the Humans with barely-concealed curiosity.
They came from a land far to the south, they said, and wished to possibly trade and ally themselves with the Elves. Thranduil had been wary of them from the start, though he did not show it, and only commanded that they were to be kept under observation at all times.
Had Thranduil known their true intent, he would have slaughtered every last one of them himself and left their corpses to rot in the forest. All had gone well until the third day of the Human's stay in the palace.
…………End flashback
Thranduil paused in his narrative as the three Humans before him stared in horror. Even Toram had stopped eating, eyes wide.
The Elf's eyes slid shut as he recalled that day. He could still remember that odd gleam in the Human leader's eyes that he had recognized too late for what it really was, could still see as the Man sprang at him without warning, wielding the long black knife before him. Only Thranduil's Elvish reflexes had saved him from instant death as he threw himself backwards just in time.
He could still hear the Man curse, knowing his only chance was wasted, and still see him make a run for it, the guards chasing him. Could still see his son's frightened face and pained eyes as his blood spilled to the floor…
…………Flashback
The Man had no chance of escape, and they all knew it. In desperation, the Man's eyes found the only hope of his freedom.
Thranduil's shout of warning came too late to his wide-eyed son, attracted by all the commotion. A moment later Legolas was in the firm grasp of the Man, remaining absolutely still in fear of the black knife at his throat.
Everyone froze and a malicious smile lit up the Man's face. He was now completely surrounded by Thranduil and his guards, all of who had weapons drawn and ready to strike. The king held up a hand as signal to his guards not to attack, but his eyes were glued to those of his son.
"There now, that's better, isn't it?" the Man grinned, tightening his grip on the young Elf. "No sudden moves now, hear? I want everybody to put their weapons down, nice and slow." When nobody moved, he screamed, "Do it now or so help me, I'll slice him in two!"
Legolas gasped as the blade pressed harder into his skin, though not enough to draw blood. Thranduil flinched at the look in his pleading eyes, motioning for his guards to do as the Man said.
"Good. Now all I want is safe passage out of these lands. Is that too much to ask for the life of your son?" the Man sneered. When Thranduil did not answer immediately, he continued sharply, "You may not realize this, dear King, but this blade is covered in poison, and I am the only one with the only known antidote. Even if the child does not die right away from the wound itself, he will die from the poison."
Thranduil's eyes had snapped up to the Man's. One thought ran through the back of his mind. How? How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let this happen?
"Of course," the Man continued casually, seeing he had the king's full attention, "there's a small chance he might survive. It he lives thirty days he just might make it. But," he grinned, "do you really want to take that chance?"
Thranduil fisted his hands, knuckles going white and nails drawing blood. A thousand thoughts ran though his mind and he could not bring himself to look into Legolas's eyes.
"Well?" the Man demanded, growing impatient.
"No!" Thranduil blurted, letting out a defeated sigh. "You may go, just…please, do not harm him." Tears welled up in his eyes.
"That's more like it," the Man smiled, but did not release the child. He slowly lowered the blade, though he kept his restraining arm around Legolas. He knew that as soon as he released the prince he would be dead. Looking into the Elvenking's eyes, he suddenly realized something. Even were Thranduil to keep his word and allow him safely out of the Forest, he knew the Elves would pursue him to the ends of the world if need be, and slay him. There was only one thing to do.
"No!" Thranduil screamed as the Man's knife disappeared up to the hilt into Legolas's side. The child's eyes only widened further as he let out a slight gasp of pain. The Man grinned at the look on Thranduil's face and pushed Legolas forward, turning to run.
Quicker than the eye could follow, Thranduil had grasped a sword from the ground and threw it with all his strength at the retreating Human. He fell to the ground dead, the sword piercing through him.
Thranduil collapsed to his knees next to his son, who lay motionless as he had fallen. He carefully turned Legolas onto his back, distraught at the amount of blood that already poured from the wound.
Legolas's wide eyes found his, their gaze pleading with Thranduil to make the pain go away. His hands firmly grasped the hilt of the knife still within him, and he tried to speak, but the words would not come. Blood rose in his throat and tears of pain leaked from his eyes. "Quickly! Fetch a healer!" Thranduil barked to the wide-eyed guards nearby, his voice cracking. He looked back to his son's eyes as he pressed his hands around the knife, trying vainly to slow the horrendous bleeding.
"Legolas? Legolas, please stay with me, please stay with me, my son. I could not stand to lose you. Just, please, do not go," Thranduil pleaded helplessly, tears burning his vision. He quickly swiped at them, not noticing as he smeared his own face with blood.
The red liquid seeped up through Legolas's lips as he fought for breath, his eyes never leaving his father's, seeking some reassurance that everything would be alright, that the pain would pass. He clutched tighter at the knife, blood now covering his clothes and pooling steadily around him. He gave a deep shuddering sigh through the blood in his throat as his brows furrowed.
Thranduil gave a cry as the tenseness seeped out of his son's body and the child's eyes slipped halfway shut as all movements stilled and his hands fell away from the knife.
Two healers materialized into Thranduil's small world, dropping to their knees on the other side of Legolas. Taking in the severity of the ghastly wound and the blood pooled around, one gently felt Legolas's neck for a pulse, letting out a disbelieving sigh when he found one, however faint. "We must get him to the Ward," he said, speaking of the Healing Rooms.
"No," the other quickly countered. "We cannot move him until we removed the blade."
"But he could bleed to death on the way!"
"The knife will only injure him more on the inside if we leave it in and jostle him. Now help me remove it."
The one carefully grasped the knife hilt as the other knelt ready with the bandages they had brought. A fresh torrent of blood flowed out of the wound as soon as the knife had been removed, and the bandages were soon soaked through.
"Quickly now," the healer murmured urgently, moving to pick up the prince, but was stopped by Thranduil.
"I will take him." The king carefully lifted his son into his arms, trying not to jostle him as they moved as quickly as they dared down to the Healing Ward. Legolas did not stir or make a sound throughout.
Thranduil lay him on one of the many beds in the large room, pushing Thranduil back as the healers surrounded the prince. "Telwen, fetch fresh bandages! Elenril, needle and thread! Luinen, get something to slow his heart! He is losing blood too quickly!" someone was shouting.
This stirred Thranduil out of his daze and cried "No!" causing everyone to pause and gaze inquiringly at him. "He…the Man said…it was poisoned…"
The healer cursed. They could not give Legolas anything until they knew what poison had been used, for fear the herbs would react badly with it.
Thranduil's wife suddenly rushed in, having been fetched by a guard. She halted and cried out in horror upon seeing Legolas covered in blood. She rushed forward, but was caught by Thranduil before she could reach the bedside. "Let them work."
"My son! My son!" she cried, pounding uselessly against her husband's chest to get free. "I must be with him!" He only held her tighter against him as she finally collapsed sobbing.
That day and all the following up until his son was returned to him were the worst of all of Thranduil's long life. For many days they did not know if Legolas would survive the wound itself, as he had lost much blood. For a week he did not move at all, lying as still as death, pale as snow, hovering between this world and the next.
His mother and father did not leave him for anything, the matters of the kingdom on hold as all awaited the fate of the prince. The other Humans with the delegation had been seized and thrown into the dungeons until further notice from the king.
But at last, on the seventh day after the near-fatal stabbing, the anxious parents were rewarded when their son at last awoke. The pale hand the queen held within her own twitched, and she looked excitedly to his face to see it scrunch in pain. She lay her other hand on his forehead, soothing the wrinkled brow, and whispered to Thranduil.
The king vaulted up in his chair where he had been lightly sleeping, grasping Legolas's hand over his wife's and calling to the healers.
Legolas slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the dim light of the room as a healer hurried over. The child's unfocused grey eyes found his mother's face smiling worriedly down at him, and questioned, "Naneth?"
"Aye, ion nin, I am here," she replied softly, relieved beyond words to see her child awake and hear his voice. "How do you feel?"
He grimaced as the pain caught up to awareness. "Hurts." He pressed a hand to his side where the pain was great, but that only made it worse, and he groaned.
"Do not touch, my prince," the healer gently reprimanded, taking his young lord's hand and laying it in that of his parents. "Not I must have a look at the wound. This will hurt, I fear."
He carefully cut away the old bandage from Legolas's side rather than unwrapping it. He gasped. "Aldamîr, come look," he hissed urgently to the head healer.
Aldamîr hastened over, he too gasping at what he saw.
"What? What is it?" Thranduil cried, standing to see the wound better. It was red and hot to the touch, still seeping blood, seeming only a day old. But all around the edge of the wound was black. "What does that mean?"
"My lord," Aldamîr began slowly after examining the wound closely by sight. "We had known the injury was not healing as it should, but we attributed it to the severity of it and the young age of Prince Legolas. But now I see that it is the poison affecting him, as we had hoped it would not."
"But…he will be alright, will he not?" the queen sought.
"I do not know, my lady. We shall see…in thirty days."
"What? Is there no way you could drain the poison?" Thranduil asked, not yet willing to give the fate of his child into the hands of time.
"It is too late," Aldamîr replied. "Even if it would have worked at one time, the poison is now spread through his entire body. The only thing we can do without an antidote is wait."
"Send for Elrond," Thranduil suddenly declared. "He is wide in these matters—perhaps he would determine the poison and find the antidote."
"Sire," Aldamîr said gently, "by the time a messenger was sent and Lord Elrond arrived, it would be too late already. We must make due with what we have here."
Thranduil sighed. He knew the truth of Aldamîr's words, but did not wish to accept the inevitable truth. There was nothing he could do. His only son could be dead within a month. There was nothing he could do…
"Have faith, my lord," Aldamîr comforted, gently laying a hand on his king's arm. "There is always hope. The prince is strong."
The queen squeezed Legolas's hand in grief at these words, her thoughts following Thranduil's. She looked to her son's face and gasped. The glazed eyes were dull grey instead of their normal bright silver, staring at nothing. One of his fingers twitched, and his head jerked to the side. "Legolas?"
The child gave a small chocking sound deep in his throat, the hand in his mother's clutching spasmodically. "Aldamîr…what is happening?" she questioned in fright. Legolas suddenly jerked violently, nearly throwing the blanket off.
"I fear he is having a seizure, my lady," the healer replied, trying to remain calm. "We must hold him still or he might hurt himself further."
The child vaulted halfway up, unseeing eyes opened wide, arms jerking. "Thranduil!" Isilendiel cried in alarm. The king looked up and noted with horror that blood spilled from his son's mouth.
"Restrain him!" Aldamîr shouted, grabbing the prince's shoulders to hold him still. "Telwen, a mouthpiece! Now!" The other quickly retrieved a long, broad strip of leather, which Aldamîr inserted between Legolas's teeth after carefully prying his jaws open.
He held Legolas firmly against him, having slid behind the child to grasp him better. With one hand on the prince's forehead Aldamîr held him against his shoulder, and with the other held his arms and chest back against his own, being careful to lean forward slightly so as to prevent the prince from choking on his own blood. Thranduil held his son's legs.
Slowly the fit eased until Legolas lay limp in Aldamîr's arms, eyes again closed. "Cloth," the healer demanded. He carefully removed the mouthpiece, now adorned with deep teeth marks, and gently washed the blood from Legolas's face with the wet cloth.
"Why was he bleeding? Is he alright?" Isilendiel asked anxiously.
"He appears to have bitten his tongue in the fit," Aldamîr said slowly, examining his patient's mouth. "Nothing that a little time will not heal. Elenril, a cup of water to wash the blood out. As for him being alright, I still do not know. He seems to be getting worse. I feared it may be so," he added sadly.
After carefully cleansing the prince's mouth, Aldamîr moved to check the wound again. "Ai, child," he sighed in dismay. The stab wound had started bleeding afresh, though it had never completely stopped. The healer carefully bound it again after cleaning it.
"Is there nothing you can give him?" the queen asked, tears in her eyes. Legolas's face was lightly creased in pain, even in unconsciousness. His breathing and heartbeat were very slow. "No salve for the wound or herb to take away the pain?"
"I am sorry, my lady," Aldamîr replied regretfully, "but my previous words still hold true. I can give him nothing until I know how it will react with the poison within him."
So they waited.
Isilendiel woke in the middle of the night to the sound of—but that was just it. There was no sound. None at all! The slow rhythmic breathing she had fallen asleep to was no longer there. "Legolas?" she queried. His still face was pale in the soft candlelight of the room.
She laid her head gently on his chest and grasped his wrist between her fingers, eyes growing wide as she felt nothing. "Aldamîr!" she screamed.
Thranduil vaulted up from where he had been sleeping exhaustedly in a chair next to the bed as the healer appeared in an instant.
Aldamîr immediately noted the blue tinge to Legolas's lips and his frightening stillness. He took up Isilendiel's position with his ear to the child's chest and fingers pressed to his neck. Nothing. He ripped off the bandage covering the wound. It was all black, no longer bleeding. But he was not about to give up.
The healer tilted Legolas's head back, quickly checking to see if anything obscured the airway, before pressing on the still chest. Thranduil held his wife as Aldamîr continued his ministrations for several minutes, with no response.
The healer shouted in denial, pounding harshly on the motionless figure in desperation. At last when he was beginning to give up hope, Isilendiel nearly sobbing in despair, the small body jerked up, mouth gaping for air.
Aldamîr collapsed back in relief, holding Legolas upright as the child gasped and coughed. Isilendiel barely restrained herself from grabbing her son up in her arms and never letting him go.
"Aldamîr, what just happened?" Thranduil asked, grasping his child's hand tightly.
"I cannot say for sure, my lord," the healer answered, not letting go of the still-gasping child. "Another result of the poison, no doubt."
"Will he be alright now?" Isilendiel questioned eagerly. It surely could not get any worse than this.
"My lady…it has only been a week," Aldamîr said softly. Isilendiel just lowered her head, hiding her silent tears.
The next morning dawned bright, and the Elf queen found herself wondering how the world could be so happy while there was so much pain in this room. She brought her tired eyes to Legolas's face, and her brow scrunched slightly.
The look of pain that had been constantly on his face since he was wounded was now gone, replaced by a quiet peace. He breathed easier, and it even appeared to her eyes that a soft flush of color had returned to his white cheeks, though it may have just been a trick of the early morning light.
She simply laid her head on his small shoulder, watching in detached amusement as his golden hair ruffled with her light sigh. "Naneth?" The voice was a whisper on the wind, and she closed her eyes, savoring the memory of her son's voice. "Naneth?" The voice was louder this time, and her brow furrowed. It seemed as if the voice had actually come from right beside her.
Isilendiel quickly sat up, a disbelieving smile washing over her tired face as Legolas stared back up at her. "Naneth? How long I have been asleep? I had a dream that it was raining, storming, but then the sun came out and all the little white flowers bloomed again."
Thranduil had woken at the soft voice, and he too now smiled down at Legolas, stroking his brow. "Hello, my son."
"Ada, why are you crying?" Legolas asked in a confused voice.
"I am so happy you are awake now," the king replied, not bothering to brush away the relieved tears. "We were worried for you. You were very sick, little one."
"Oh. I am feeling much better now." Legolas smiled, looking more like his old self than he had in a long time, despite his wan and tired features.
"We should get Aldamîr," Isilendiel whispered, though none of them moved, too caught up in the bliss of the peaceful moment.
Aldamîr entered the room just then, as if summoned by their thoughts alone, and nearly dropped the books he was carrying upon seeing his young prince awake and gazing at him. The healer deposited the books on the bedside table and reached to feel Legolas's pulse. It was still weak, but steadier now. "When did he wake?"
"Just a minute ago," Isilendiel answered, her eyes bright with the certainty that now all would be better. "He will be alright now, will he not?"
"I'm feeling much better now," Legolas repeated for the healer's benefit.
Aldamîr did not answer as he carefully removed the bandage from around the child's middle. The wound was starting to heal at last. It had closed over and the black edges surrounding it appeared to be fading. Aldamîr smiled at last. "You just may be recovering at last, my prince. But of course he will still be closely monitored," he added to Thranduil and Isilendiel. 'It is only day nine,' he thought to himself. There were still twenty-one more to certain.
Despite the healer's reservations, Legolas did indeed appear to be on the mend. He was not yet allowed out of bed, however, for as Aldamîr reminded them, he had lost much blood and was still very weak. Thranduil was now able to return to matters of the kingdom, which he had been neglecting since his son's wounding.
Isilendiel still remained most of the time by Legolas's bedside, reading or singing to him, though she was obviously joyful now as she had not been for a week, as one who knows they have been spared a great tragedy.
A few days after he had woken, Legolas was allowed to be taken outside, although he had to be carried and could only sit and not move about. But the child was grateful for even this, having missed the outdoors in the few days he had been forced to remain in bed and only look out the window.
Aldamîr was sure to keep a close eye on Legolas, never able to forget the fact that it was not yet the halfway mark to what the Human said. But Legolas was a strong child, and there was always the possibility that the poison worked differently on Humans and was not as potent to Elves.
Still, Legolas tired easily, and every waking moment seemed to lie heavily on him. But his parents did not let this dissuade them from the fact that their child was indeed recovering, and the kingdom rejoiced at the news.
It was the sixteenth day after the stabbing and Legolas lay in a deep sleep as Aldamîr changed the bandage over the wound. The child had been allowed to walk around his room that day, and even though it was painful and tiring for him, they could see how it greatly it cheered him.
Aldamîr narrowed his eyes at the wound. He may have simply been imagining it, but it looked to him as though the black around the wound, which had been slowly but steadily fading over the past week, was darker than it had been the day before.
The healer bent to examine the injury closely, gently laying one hand on it. His gaze snapped up as Legolas jerked at the touch in his sleep, and Aldamîr felt his spirits sink when he noted the child's eyes were closed. Perhaps it was merely because he had allowed Legolas to tax himself too heavily that day.
The child moaned softly and cracked his eyes open, soon finding Aldamîr by his side. "Alda…"
"Yes, my prince? What is it?" Aldamîr asked anxiously. Now that he thought of it, the child's face also appeared a bit paler…
"I don't fell well…Hurts." He moaned again and his hand found the old wound, where it was caught and held tightly by Aldamîr.
The healer's brows drew down into a troubled frown. Surely Legolas could not be suffering a relapse? Looking back at the child's face, he felt dread wash over him. It happened to be at the very rare moment that neither Thranduil or Isilendiel were at Legolas's side, so Aldamîr grabbed the first person he saw in the corridor, which was Beryl, the Captain of the Guard. "Fetch the King and Queen at once," the healer ordered.
"Is something wrong?"
"Just go! Hurry!" Aldamîr returned to his young patient, again examining the wound closely. By all accounts, a normal wound such as this should have been nearly healed by then, even for a child. But now he could plainly see that it was redder and around the edges it was growing dark again.
"Aldamîr?"
The healer started at the soft voice from the bed. He had nearly forgotten that the child was awake. "Yes, Legolas. I am here." He noted the way the small hands tightly clutched the sheets and the pale brow furrowed in pain.
"Hurts."
"I know." What else could he say, really? He could not give the child anything for the pain, not even a calming tea, for he still did not know what the rare poison used had been. He took up one of Legolas's hands again and stroked his brow. "You must be strong, my lord. Your father and mother still need you. Your kingdom needs you. The world is not ready to lose you yet. Please hold on."
Legolas showed no sign of having heard him, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Aldamîr simply stood beside him, unable to do more than he had already. The child suddenly gasped and arched his head back, face contorted in pain.
"Legolas?" the healer asked worriedly. "Legolas, can you hear me?" When no response was forthcoming, Aldamîr carefully pried open one eyelid to reveal dazed grey. 'No…'
The child gave an odd choking noise and clenched Aldamîr's hand painfully, gasping and jerking to the side. The healer grabbed Legolas's arms and slid behind him, resting his own head atop the child's. "No, do not do this. I am begging you, not again. He is too young!" Aldamîr was not quite sure whom he was talking to, but really it did not matter much. He only knew that Legolas was again suffering, and in pain, and his healer's mind told him he would not survive the poison, after all.
He could only hold the child as still as possible as the seizure escalated until a minute later when Thranduil and Isilendiel burst in, followed by Beryl. The three felt dread wash over them again as they beheld the child in the arms of the healer, completely tense and jerking violently.
The parents rushed to the bedside while Beryl lingered in the doorway, though they could do just as little as before. Finally with one last jerk, Legolas slammed his head back into Aldamîr behind him before falling still. The healer winced, but he only cradled the child until he was certain the fit was over.
Legolas lay completely motionless, grey eyes half-lidded, facial features slack. Isilendiel was the first to move. She laid a hand on his pale brow, gently brushing back the stray hair. "Legolas…my son, can you hear me? Why is he not responding to me, Aldamîr? What has happened?"
"It is the poison, my lady," Aldamîr answered quietly, not wanting to believe himself.
"The poison? But—he was recovering—was he not?" Thranduil stammered.
"I do not know," the healer admitted with a defeated sigh. "It is only day sixteen."
"No! He was getting better, I know it!" Isilendiel protested vehemently. "You saw him, Aldamîr! He was getting better, you saw him!" Her face crumpled into tears and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against Legolas's. "Do not leave me," she whispered.
But there was no answer.
For four days Legolas lay there motionless, blank eyes half-lidded, despite all Aldamîr could do. Thranduil and Isilendiel now never left their son's bedside for anything, rarely eating, sleeping, or speaking, heartbroken over this relapse. Beryl had assigned himself as their personal caretaker, never leaving their sides as he tried to get the royals to eat and sleep.
But one day, the twentieth since the child's poisoning, the parents felt their hearts leap with joy as Legolas stirred and looked at them. Isilendiel felt tears threaten as she gently kissed his brow. "My son, you had us so worried!"
"Are you in pain, Greenleaf?" Thranduil asked, grasping the child's hand tightly.
Legolas did not answer, merely gazed at his father then his mother. He raised a steady hand to her face, and she was surprised at the coldness of it. "Do not weep for me," he whispered.
"They are tears of joy," Isilendiel replied, more droplets spilling onto her son's white hand. "For you have returned to us."
Legolas squeezed his father's hand but still held his gaze on his mother. "Do not…weep for me."
Her brow drew down in a confused frown before his raised hand fell limply to his side and his grey eyes slid shut. The small hand grasping Thranduil's slowly went lax. "Legolas?" the king inquired in a frightened whisper. There was no response, and he noticed with a start that the child's chest was unmoving. "Aldamîr!" he shouted in panic.
The healer came running, quickly taking in the situation, wide-eyed Thranduil, frozen Isilendiel, and Legolas with bluing lips standing out against his snow-white face. Aldamîr pressed two fingers to the child's neck, but there was nothing. "Not again. I will not let you have him!" he whispered to some imaginary foe.
He pressed on the prince's chest harshly, giving him a breath between every few. Every minute or so he would lay his ear against Legolas's chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat, but none came. This continued for nearly a quarter of an hour, every failing blow becoming more desperate, each passing second crumbling the hope of everybody in the room.
Thranduil had stood and drawn and drawn Isilendiel to him, both watching with shattering hearts, silent tears streaming down their faces. Beryl hung back by the doorway, knowing it best not to get in the way, and could feel the immense growing grief threatening to smother everyone in the room.
At last Aldamîr collapsed forward, kneeling with his head on the bed, shoulders shaking in resignation and grief. This seemed to be the final straw for Isilendiel, who let out a loud wail and grabbed the still body of her son, pressing him close. Thranduil fell back into a chair, his own sobs threatening to break the dam and spill past his lips.
Beryl bowed his head and allowed a few tears to escape, then silently left the room. There were certain…preparations that had to be made, and no one in that chamber was in any shape to do so.
…………
The entire next day Isilendiel and Thranduil moved not one bit, the queen still in the same position with Legolas gently grasped in her arms. Thranduil had come to sit behind her, resting his head above hers, silver tears dropping into her hair. But her face was dry.
Aldamîr had locked himself in his quarters, not acknowledging anyone's presence, leaving Beryl to make the necessary arrangements.
The next day dawned bright, and the pure light filtered through the grief-induced haze of Isilendiel's mind. She slowly stirred and looked down at the cold form in her arms as though seeing it for the first time. She gently laid him on the bed, tenderly stroking the pale golden hair out of his face. "Do you think he is happy?" she asked softly.
Thranduil watched her gentle ministrations, stroking Legolas's cold fingers. "I think so. At least I know he is no longer hurting. Yes, he is happy."
Beryl slowly walked forward from where he had been standing in the doorway, his eyes caught on the still child. "My lord…I have made all the arrangements. I only need to know where you would like him to be—buried."
Thranduil merely sat silent, wishing with all his might that he did not have to think of this. "I know where," Isilendiel said softly, not looking up from her son. "The little glade, not far from here, where we used to go on picnics. He loved it there."
"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Under that tree that he loved to climb. I think he would like that."
Beryl gave a small bow. "It shall be done, my lord." And he left.
After a while, Isilendiel sighed and stood. "I must find him something more suitable to wear. He cannot possibly wear that. Watch over him while I am gone, Thranduil."
So Thranduil was left alone with Legolas. He gently traced a finger over his son's high cheekbone, sighing and smiling lightly. "I remember the day you were born. You were so tiny! But you still caused your mother great pain. I feared that I might lose you both. But then I finally got to hold you in my arms for the first time, and all my worries vanished. You did not even cry, just looked up at me with your huge silver eyes. I promised myself just then that I would protect you forever and not let any hurt come to you. But now…I have failed in my oath, penneth. I failed to protect you and now we must all suffer for it.
"It is killing your mother. I can see it so clearly in her eyes, the same grief that threatens to swallow up my own heart. But I know that I must remain strong, for that is what you have wanted. I must remain strong for your mother. Perhaps together we can help save each other. But I fear it is too late for that already. She is hurt, Legolas, and only you can help her now."
Thranduil gave a watery, despairing sigh and fell silent. Not long after, Isilendiel returned wearing a simple black dress, with a black robe for Thranduil, and a small silver tunic and matching leggings in her arms, topped by a little silver harp. "I brought this," she said, setting the fine instrument beside him. "I thought he might like to have it. You remember how he loves to play on it for guests."
"I think that is wonderful idea," Thranduil agreed, helping change their son into the shimmering grey outfit and donning the somber black robes himself. Isilendiel placed the little harp in Legolas's hands and sighed. "He is missing his circlet."
Thranduil returned a few minutes later with said circlet, and carefully arranged it on Legolas's head. Isilendiel sighed again, resting her head on Thranduil's shoulder. "He is perfect. He looks like a child of the Valar." Thranduil said nothing, just held his wife was they gazed down on their son.
All too soon, Beryl came for them, telling them all was ready. Two Elves came in then, bearing a long box of polished dark wood, adorned with elegant gold engravings. It had obviously been in the making for some time, though Thranduil tried not to think of the reason why; it was too small for an adult. The Elves carefully laid the child in the coffin, their own eyes watering, and bore it out of the room. The royals followed numbly.
Elves stood on either side of them the entire way out of the palace, through the gates, and into the woods, all attired alike in black or dark green. Here and there quiet weeping could be heard, though most just stood silent in their grief.
Finally they arrived at the designated spot, the sun shining directly onto Legolas's favorite tree and the ground around it. Aldamîr was already there, looking much the worse for the wear. Thranduil eyed the freshly dug hole at the tree's base with something akin to disdain. Legolas was set down next to it, and his parents stood beside him.
Thranduil did not hear much of the short, simple service, his mind very far away. He was broken from his thoughts when Isilendiel gave a cry and surged forward, shouting for them not to take him from her. She latched onto the coffin, preventing the Elves from covering it, and her tears fell in earnest as her body shook uncontrollably.
Beryl gently but firmly pulled her to her feet, holding her tightly around the shoulders and slowly leading her back to the palace. Thranduil watched as they went, but could not follow them, not yet.
He looked down at Legolas, the still, cold face imprinting itself onto his mind forever. "Farewell, my son," he whispered, and they lowered the lid over the box. Thranduil watched listlessly as they lowered it into the ground, then covered it completely over with dirt, leaving a small mound.
Eventually the Elves dispersed, some coming by to say their final farewells to the beloved prince, but Thranduil did not notice. At last only one other remained with him.
Aldamîr knelt before his king, placing a hand over his heart. "Forgive, my lord. I have failed you."
"You have done no such thing, old friend," Thranduil returned quietly. "You did all you could for him, and for that I am eternally grateful. You made his last days as painless as possible."
When Thranduil was at last alone, he continued to stare at the raised mound for a long while. He fingered the dagger at his belt, slowly removing it and holding it before him. Then he stepped forward and began to painstakingly carve into the tree.
Legolas ThranduillionBeloved Prince of Greenwood the Great
Much loved as a son and much missed,
Angel among Elves.
Then he sat down and simply wept.
…………End flashback
The three Humans before him sat awestruck, tears ready to fall, not for the first time, even in little Toram's eyes.
Thranduil felt his own heart ache as he had recounted the tragic happenings of the last month.
"I cannot begin to imagine what you and your wife have gone through," Tissla murmured, subconsciously pulling Toram closer to herself. "But at least it is all over now."
Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head briefly. "No, it is not. Today is only day twenty-seven. There are still three more to be certain."
"You mean, after all that, Legolas might still die!" Toram cried in disbelief.
"It is possible. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to return to my family." Thranduil stood, followed by the Humans. "Himlhach will show you to your quarters," he said, gesturing to one of the Elves standing by the door. "Thank you again for returning my son to us. You can never know…"
"I understand," Joram nodded, and they were escorted out of the room down through winding, twisting corridors until they had lost all sense of direction. They were given spacious quarters, with two large beds and a bathing chamber to the side.
"If you have need of anything, you have only to let me know," Himlhach told them, posting himself outside their door with one other. But the Humans could not blame the Elves for being cautious; their prince had nearly been killed by Humans not yet a month before.
…………
Thranduil found his wife in Legolas's room, softly singing as she combed her fingers through his hair, though there were tears running down her face. The child lay unresponsive on the bed, blank eyes half-lidded as in the days before his supposed death.
"I know it is not yet over," she said quietly, though she did not look up from Legolas's face. "Though I wish to the Valar. I know I would not survive if he were to be again snatched away."
"He will not be," Thranduil assured with more conviction than he felt. "Ilúvatar would not be so cruel as to take our child twice."
"You do not know that," Isilendiel whispered. "You cannot control fate, as much as we may wish it. It is in Ilúvatar's hands now."
The parents did not move from the bedside for the next three days, Aldamîr always near. Legolas's condition did not change in the slightest, though each passing day granted a little more hope to those who anxiously awaited the thirtieth day.
The three Humans were nearly forgotten by the king and queen, as they could only think of their ill son, but the three received no less attention and care and news they could from Beryl.
Finally the morning of the long awaited day dawned brightly, bringing with it all the pent-up emotions of the Elves. This would be the day that decided if Legolas were to live or die, if the queen would follow him to Mandos or remain here with him, if the kingdom of Greenwood foundered or stayed strong.
But Legolas remained oblivious to it all, unseeing eyes half-closed to the world.
The three Elves in the room were unsure if the child's continued state was good or ill, though the healer's mind in Aldamîr did not expect him to live out the night.
They were all joyfully surprised, then, when Legolas's eyes cleared and he blinked slowly up at them again. "I had a dream I was lying in a fair green meadow, but you were not there with me," he whispered to his parents.
Thranduil and Isilendiel let their tears of joy fall as they embraced their son, and he was well again.
…………Epilogue
Joram, Tissla, and Toram stayed on at the palace for a few more weeks to be certain that Legolas would be all right. The prince took longer than they would have liked to be up and about again, but he was assuredly on the mend.
Aldamîr never did determine the cause of Legolas's apparent death, and how he had survived being buried alive for four days, but at last concluded that the poison had so slowed his heart and breathing that it had been undetectable to them, yet still enough to keep him alive.
The remaining Men from the original delegation were released once it was determined that they had nothing to do with the attempt on the king's life, and subsequent injury of the prince. They were escorted to the border of the realm with only orders to never again return.
Joram and his family were well cared for during their time at the palace, though they were nervous at first as to how they would be treated, seeing that the Elves' last experience with Men had been anything but pleasant. They were surprised then, when most of the Elves regarded them as though nothing had ever happened.
But they could not remain with the Elves forever, and all too soon were on their way again. They were gifted with such things as they were obliged to accept, including a little bag of gold; a few simple, elegant gowns for Tissla' and Elven dagger for Joram; and a miniature bow and quiver of arrows for Toram.
Legolas stood between his parents at the departure, looking a bit more pale and tired than normal, but otherwise all right. The wound in his side was well on its way to disappearing, and Aldamîr had proclaimed him to be fine.
The young prince did not understand much of what was said, having barely begun his lessons in Common Speech, but would not have missed the occasion for anything. He had already had his father express his immense gratitude for him, and now stood before Toram.
"It's a shame you could never teach me to climb a tree like you can, or anything," the Human child remarked sadly, and Thranduil translated for his son.
Legolas smiled at the boy and spoke in Elvish with dancing eyes, "Do not ever lose your sense of curiosity." He then produced his little harp and handed it to the other child.
Toram's eyes widened as he accepted the gift, turning it over in his hands. "Oh, wow! A real silver harp! Mama, look at this!"
"What do you say?" Tissla reminded with a smile, and looked back to the Elven woman. Isilendiel also smiled, and her eyes were filled with joy. A conscious understanding passed between them, and they nodded to each other.
Thranduil and Joram clasped hands. "Thank you again, for everything," the king was saying. "Remember that you and your family will always be welcome in my realm." Joram bowed, and all too soon they were gone, their old grey mare laden down with provisions for the road.
"Namárië!" Legolas called as they disappeared through the gate, and the off-tune plucking of a harp was heard in reply. "Hannon le…"
Joram and his descendants held the friendship of the Wood-Elves for many years, until their tale of buried treasure was forgotten by all but the oldest Human wives, and the last of his line perished in the attack on Lake Town by the dragon Smaug.
…………Many years later
"We will rest here," Legolas declared to his patrol. They wearily dismounted and settled against or in the trees in the area. They were not far from the palace now, a few hours' hard ride, but the horses needed the rest as much as they.
Losglîn, a close friend of Legolas, sat beside the prince he leant against a large, very old oak tree. "So, milord," Losglîn began with ill-disguised grin. "What are your plans for the feast upon our return?"
"Feast?" Legolas queried, arching an eyebrow at his friend.
"Well, I figured that you might wish to reward me for my dashing bravery and outstanding courage upon this past patrol."
"Losglîn, you are a fool," Legolas laughed, shoving his friend away into what he thought was a large root overgrown by moss. They were both surprised therefore when it shifted and gave way to the younger Elf's weight. "What on Arda?" Legolas started.
The two began pulling away the moss and overgrowth until they caught a glimpse of dark polished wood underneath. More clearing found the object to be a box of no more than four feet by two feet.
"What in the name of the Valar is a box doing out here?" Losglîn queried in confusion. He grinned at his companion. "Hey, Legolas, perhaps it is buried treasure."
And so it was.
The End! (grins triumphantly) I managed to sneak Losglîn in there! I do love him. And also his father, Himlhach! I wrote this epilogue the other day, deciding that the first was even worse than this one, and it needed some finishing elements, such as dealing with the Men from the delegation, and Legolas finding his old coffin. Hehehe, I like that.
Cookies to anyone who can find one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies with my second favorite actor in it! I repeated it twice. Don't forget to review! (If anyone was confused as to the timeline of this story, I put it up on my LiveJournal, so you can check it to clarify.)