His father was here.

"Ada," Hyrondal murmured. His lips burned when he knelt to drink from the river. One arm and his ankles bit into his body and everything was hot—so hot even the river water only cooled his mouth.

His father was throttling him, shoving him against the woodshed wall until Hyrondal could not breathe. Then the horse whip battered his shoulders, but the wall behind him broke open and Hyrondal stumbled and ran.

His father's legs were longer then his and Hyrondal struggled as his father grappled him, punching him in the face until he tasted blood. His father smelled of rot . . . and there were tusks under his nose?

Orcs!

Hyrondal grunted and wriggled under the weight holding him down until he found the hilt of his crude weapon and stabbed it. Thick, black liquid flooded over his hands and the orc howled and clobbered him. Hyrondal squirmed free as the creature writhed and fled until the air howled fresh in his nose and milky white substance clouded his eyes.

And then Hyrondal saw it; the door at the end of the ravine. Haloed in white, it was beautiful and dark. He slammed against it, but it would not open.

"No," Hyrondal groaned. He was too late; a week had slipped by and the door would not open until the next full moon. He would be a skeleton by then.

Stupid apprenticeship. Stupid! Stupid. Why dream? Hyrondal rested his forehead against the smooth slab of wood that was the door and tried not to lose precious water by crying.

"Dreams are deadly, Hyrondal," his father's voice said.

Hyrondal opened his eyes and whispered his words of long ago, "I dare to dream."

Hyrondal stood up straight. He looked up the wall; tall, certainly, but perhaps he could climb it? His injured arm said he would fall before he made it two feet off the ground, but there was a tree half a dozen feet away, its long branches extended around it.

Hyrondal could not seem to think; his mind wandered but his body knew what to do. He crossed to the tree and climbed until he could climb no higher and the branches tried to bend under his weight. His head bobbed, almost level with the ravine wall and Hyrondal stared at it, imagining the freedom on the opposite side. Perhaps he could jump the distance between him and the door.

Common sense told him he would break bones before he made the jump. Hyrondal slid to the base of the tree and sat with his back against it. Trapped. No way out.

Or perhaps not.

Hyrondal pulled himself up. The base tree trunk was thin; he could circle it with his arms and the tree itself was tall. He readied his jagged orc blade and hacked at the trunk. His injured arm sliced pain into his chest and bark flew into his face.

Gritting his teeth, Hyrondal repeated the movement. He cut with his back to the ravine exit and slowly the pain became a part of the motion until he felt the sun go down. In the twilight, he dropped the orc blade and walked around to the uncut side of the trunk. Only a few inches remained between the bark and the deep cut he had made.

Hyrondal heard a crack as he pushed against the trunk. His hands were raw and bleeding, but he pushed again. The tree pitched forward. Even as it fell, Hyrondal leapt up the trunk. He grabbed the first branch he could and climbed even as breaking limbs bounced off his back.

The top of the tree hit the top if the ravine wall and bounced. Hyrondal heard the few branches holding it up creak and scrambled faster. He reached the tip of the tree and scraped his knees as he fumbled to slide onto the top of the ravine wall.

It was a long way to the ground and the tree was breaking behind him. a branch caught under Hyrondal's shirt and wrenched him back. No. No! Hyrondal heaved and threw himself over the wall, to freedom.

He fell and fell and heard someone shout. Arms wrapped around him and a body cushioned his fall.

"Blessed Valar, I have killed the prince!" Hyrondal gasped. He laughed until his chuckles turned to choked sobs.

"He is terribly sick." Jailil's voice.

"We must rush him to the healers." Ailunai's voice.

"And to think I brought cookies!" Nimrethil's voice rang with disgusted tears.

"Ada, are you alright?" Thranduil's voice. "Hyrondal, you have to hold on to life. You have come too far to give up."

Hyrondal felt Harune shift beneath him. Harune said, "I believe I am fine. Come, we must hurry to the healing ward."

Hyrondal sighed as Harune gently lifted him. He could not open his eyes, but he whispered, "I failed, Thranduil. It has been longer then a week."

He faded into blackness before he heard Thranduil's reply. It seemed he swam in the black sea, not drowning but unable to find land as voices chattered around him. He felt fire on his arm and needles in his flesh, but he could not feel the pain. Hyrondal choked on the flavors that appeared on his lips and tried to fight back the smothering heat around him, but the blankets lay thick and heavy with his sweat until suddenly he was freezing, and he bolted upright in bed.

Hands shushed him and made him lie back. Hyrondal closed his eyes.

"His fever has broken!" rejoiced one healer.

"Good," said another. "But I do not think we can save his arm. It must be cut off else the fever may return, and the rot keep spreading into his body."

Hyrondal's yellow eyes flared open. "Jailil!" he screamed.

In the doorway of the chamber Ailunai startled before she whirled and ran.

"You cannot cut off my arm!" Hyrondal cried as the healers tried to move him back. "I did not survive the ravine to have my dream snatched away by you. Do not touch me."

The healers swarmed him, a dizzying cluster of hot faces and angry eyes. "If we do not cut off your arm, dear child, you will lose yet more parts of your body."

Afraid they tried to send him into a paralyzed doze, Hyrondal knocked away the glass at his lips. "It cannot be the only way."

"Stand back!"

The mobbed thinned and parted as Thranduil's voice commanded the room. Hyrondal wiped at his tears as his friends surrounded his bed. Hyrondal grabbed Jailil's slender hand and clung to it.

"Jailil," he begged. "You have to help me; I cannot lose my arm. How can I hope to wield a sword?"

Jailil's golden eyes appraised the thick bandages on Hyrondal's. "I know but little compared to the healers. Perhaps you ought to listen to their wisdom."

"Wisdom?" Hyrondal spat. He steadied his breath. "Look, Jailil, the healers will cut my arm off. I am willing to listen to your advice because nothing is worse then the fate I am destined for now."

Jailil's finger twitched. "I need to look at the wound, Hyrondal."

Hyrondal reached for Thranduil's hand, where the prince stood opposite Jailil. "Look all you like."

"This is unacceptable!" one healer exclaimed from the corner of the room near the curtained windows.

"No," Hyrondal growled. "It is my body and I do not want you to touch it."

The healer protested again, but the Head Healer stepped past him. Jailil's hands curled at his side. "I know you. You twisted my ear and threw me out when I asked for your tutorage."

The Head Healer dipped his black head. "Do you as you will, little orphan boy. See what you can do."

The elf's voice made Jailil drop his eyes to the floor. Jailil unwound Hyrondal's bandages and gagged as the hot smell of rot and pus flooded the room. Black tendrils spiraled and snaked through Hyrondal's flesh like watercolor paint flecked with water. The cut refused to bind shut; it wet, slimy, and oozing. Hyrondal covered his mouth with his good hand.

"You see why we must cut it off," the head healer said.

Jailil's hands shook. He met Hyrondal's yellow eyes and shook his head. Hyrondal blinked and offered a weak smile. "Thank you for trying."

The Head Healer leaned toward one of his companions and spoke. Jailil caught the word 'knife' and could not bring himself to leave the room.

"Wait!" Jailil said. His eyes pleaded with the healers. "I have heard about acrophelia."

The healers chuckled. "My dear child, surely you know they are extinct."

"What are they?" Hyrondal asked.

Jailil coughed. "Slugs. They breed in swamps and corpses and live off rotting flesh. It is said if you put them on wounds like yours, they will eat away the rot."

"Nothing is more disgusting then my arm now," Hyrondal said. "Slugs do not bother me."

"But Head Healer Avaron is right," Jailil said, glancing at the black-haired elf. "The healers used too many acrophelia in past wars and . . . they died out."

"Can you be sure?" Hyrondal asked.

Jailil answered, "I will look, Hyrondal, but I cannot promise success. You may yet lose your arm."

Hyrondal closed his eyes. Ailunai stepped beside Jailil. "I will help you look for acrophelia; sometimes the forest guides me."

Avaron folded his arms and his swallowed sleeves swished. "In twenty-four hours, I take Hyrondal's arm."

Jailil clenched Ailunai's hand and ran from the chamber. Thranduil curled on the pillows beside Hyrondal.

"Nimrethil!" Hyrondal cried, as she turned to the door. "You cannot leave me."

Nimrethil wiped the tears on her cheeks and splattered them on the floor. "I am not leaving, Hyrondal, but you have to eat, and I know how to make a good bone broth."

Nimrethil walked away and Hyrondal's heart throbbed as he saw her shoulders were shaking. He murmured to Thranduil, "Oropher will be furious if you stay here and miss your lessons."

"I do not care," Thranduil said. "I will not learn that you have died while I am learning new things about our selfish ancestors."

Hyrondal chuckled and closed his eyes. For all that he might have his arm only twenty-four hours more, he could not feel the limb to enjoy it. One by one the healers left the room and Hyrondal leaned his head on Thranduil's shoulder. They waited. And waited.

And so we reach the end of Hyrondal's painful journey and are hopefully relieved it has ended, though there are still challenges ahead.

Thanks so much for reading; you know I love hearing from you!

Next Chapter: Cue Jailil.