Chapter 6

Despite the years between, Miriel's muscle memory snapped into place effortlessly. Her hands moved of their own accord, one pressed against the king's chest and the other sliding up to the nap of his neck. Her shock and anger evaporated with an overwhelming tide of need. Thranduil held her chin and her waist with a vice-like grip, unwilling to let her slide away from his wrath. He need not have feared — she melted against him like a candle to flame.

His kiss was not forgiving - Thranduil's lips were hard and hot, his tongue not coaxing but ravaging for entry. Miriel did not deny him, allowing entrance but meeting him stroke for stroke. When she bit his lower lip, the king hissed and returned the gesture, sucking the bite slowly in a way that was agonizingly arousing.

Once they'd both relaxed into the embrace, the king swept back her hair from one shoulder and proceeded to launch an attack on her neck, mouthing and nuzzling the stretch of skin before biting the juncture of her shoulder. She shuddered and clung to him, making small noises that felt both unfamiliar and exactly right. Thranduil backed her into the vanity, moving his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts. He was not gentle, finding her nipples beneath the cool cotton fabric and rolling each between his forefinger and thumb. Keening at the sensation, Miri guided his lips back to hers, relishing their clash of teeth. It was a battle, but one they sought to win together. One hand moved to bury itself in her hair, fingers digging in deep to hold her in place as he continued to savage her mouth, pressing every moment of fury into lustful motion.

Miri's hips sought his, and she was rewarded with the feeling of his length pressing into the valley between her legs. At the contact, she felt a frisson of pleasure that swiftly morphed into an aching need. How long had it been since she'd last felt anything like this? Beyond the cusp of a dream, it had been ages….

The bed was so close. She could maneuver them towards it easily, and let him cradle himself between her thighs. Her arousal was wet and hot, the ache pulsing, ready to take him. He would no doubt stretch himself over her as he thrust. She could picture him pressing his face between her breasts, circling his hips to hit just the right place that would send them both over the edge. As he speared her over and over she would arch into his touch, beg more, harder, faster. They'd need to be quiet so as not to wake —

She tore herself away immediately. Thranduil still had her between himself and the vanity and gazed down at her with lusty confusion before registering the fear in her eyes. Taking a step back, he allowed her to stumbled towards the wall and sink against it.

They watched one another with wide gazes for what felt like an hour. Guilt colored her cheeks, the pink blooming like a shameful stain. The king's expression was remote. For a moment she thought he might finally speak. Then Thranduil swept from the room wordlessly, his robes flying like a hazy of angry smoke, shutting the door behind him with a sharp snap.

She woke the next morning, eyes and heart sore. Legolas was already awake when she entered his room, sitting on his bed with his chin resting on his knees.

"Little Leaf?" she asked, padding in on soft feet.

He looked up, eyes red-rimmed. Miri lowered herself onto the mattress, putting an arm around his small shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. Legolas leaned into her touch easily. With gentle fingers, Miriel began to untangle his hair, preparing strands for braiding.

"Did your adar come to say goodbye earlier?"

He nodded wordlessly, gaze downcast.

Miriel ignored the twinge at the knowledge that Thranduil had not made the effort to say goodbye to her. It was unsurprising, given their parting last night. But it still hurt.

"He'll be back soon," she reassured the prince quietly. "He's a strong, smart ellon. I have no doubt he will dispatch the orcs and be back before you even miss him."

"I already do," Legolas mumbled.

She paused in her braiding. Leaning down, she gave him another kiss followed by a sigh. "I know. He will miss you dearly too. Maybe we can practice your archery while he is gone? And when he returns you can show him how much you have improved. You have a lesson with Rovain this afternoon?"

The prince brightened marginally. By the time he was dressed and they were walking to breakfast, Miriel could only spy a hint of shadow in his blue eyes.

They were in the garden, assisting with one of the final harvests before the frost when a commotion drew their attention. Legolas, who had been balancing two large pumpkins stacked atop one another, immediately managed to drop the topmost. It landed with a thud, cracking and spilling stringy wet guts and seeds upon the ground.

"Tuigalen will have your head," Miriel warned, quickly removing the surviving squash from her charge's arms, and trading it for her basket.

The threat of the cook's displeasure was hardly enough to concern the prince, who was gazing towards the gates. "That horn," he said with a frown. "It's the warden's call."

Warmth rose in her chest. It had been nearly a month since the king had left. "Then your ada must be home," she said with a smile. "We must get these inside and greet them. Come, gather the broken one, I'm sure Tuigalen can still do something with it once it's had a good wash."

"No, it's a call they use in an emergency," the prince insisted. "Three short notes means hurry. Something must be wrong, Miri."

The blossom of warmth quickly froze. She maintained a calm tone. "I'm sure whatever it is, your father and Lord Morcion have it well in hand. Now, we ought to finish our task and get cleaned up so that we can greet our brave wardens."

Legolas's worry was not assuaged, however. He followed Miriel inside, small face pinched in concern. She spoke as they walked to the kitchen, guessing what would be made with the bounty they were delivering. Not even the prospect of his favorite autumn foods or Tuigalen's greeting with a hot tray of apple tarts were enough to banish his fears.

"What have you brought me, Little Leaf?" Tuigalen asked as he set his basket on the center island of the kitchens. "Fennel and beets, oh and some kale. Very good."

Miri presented the ruined pumpkin without comment. Tuigalen merely rose a brow before turning back to Legolas.

"A fine harvest," she said, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "Hard work ought to be rewarded with a treat. Come, let's get you a tart."

The cook had just plated a perfect tart for the prince when Galion appeared, pale and tight-lipped. He practically raced to Miriel's side at the sink where she stood washing beets.

"The king needs you," he said shortly, eyes clouded.

Miriel glanced toward the prince, who'd risen from his stool at the kitchen island.

"Is adar back?" he asked, his voice a higher pitch than usual. Miri looked to Galion who gave the slightest nod. She moved to kneel before Legolas.

"He has returned, but I think he needs to rest a bit before he can see you. I need to go prepare a few things now. Can you stay here with Tuigalen?"

"We have some biscuits that need icing," the cook said seriously. "Can you help me, Prince Legolas?"

Biting his lip, Legolas nodded to Tuigalen. His brow was still furrowed with worry. Her heart ached to see his concern, knowing that he was much too young for all the burdens he'd already shouldered. Miriel pressed a swift kiss to his temple before she rose and followed Galion up the stairs. As they passed a guardsman on their way Miriel asked that Carwegeth be found and brought to the kitchens.

"That is good," Galion said tightly. "I know not how long you'll be gone."

"What happened?" She was practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.

He shook his head. "I barely know myself. Only that he's asked repeatedly for you."

She did not realize they were headed to the infirmary until Galion halted before the guards that flanked either side of the door. The healers who tended to all those in the Elfking's care were not elves she often saw — their patients were more often wardens, guards, and the occasional clumsy kitchen maid. She balked as Galion ushered her inside.

Morcion waited in the central chamber, a long room filled with numerous beds. Miriel had never seen the chief advisor look so grim. He took Miri by the elbow and steered her past bed after bed of ellons, all presumably new patients from the southern border. Galion hastened after them, speaking quickly as they strode deeper into the room.

"Marchwarden Beleg says they were ambushed in the middle of the night. They suffered minor losses, but the king took a particularly brutal blow. The orcs conspired to draw him away from the rest of the party, so he was on his own —"

"— he's been asking for you since they arrived," Morcion interrupted. "Refuses to allow anyone but the head healer and his apprentice into the room. Galion only just managed to talk to him when Beleg carried him in."

"— he's in a terrible state, but he won't see anyone but you and Healer Ceven."

"I'm not a healer!" she cried as they halted before one of the doors at the end of the room. "What does he want with me?"

Galion was grim. "I don't know, my lady, but please, he's begging."

Begging? The King of the Great Greenwood?

"It is one of the few things he has managed to say. Beleg claims he's done little more than moan since he's awoken." Morcion knocked on the door, then stepped back and twisted his hands fretfully at his waist. "When you are finished, please report to me on his status."

She wanted to argue Legolas was her first priority, this was a job beyond the scope of her duties, but then the door swung open and she was being pulled inside.

The room was not an office or supply closet as she'd assumed on previous visits. It was a private chamber, the majority of the room blocked from sight by a large screen that faced the door. From beyond the taut ivory fabric, the sound of anguished cries could be heard. The apprentice who had grabbed her outside was now pushing her forward, uncaring that she nearly tripped over her own feet as they rushed to move her to the other side of the screen.

Ceven, a dark-haired elf who had overseen centuries of injuries from warfare, stood calmly over the bed that sat center of the room, dressing an open wound that extended from the patient's right shoulder, slashing diagonally down his chest to his upper abdomen. A myriad of other injuries were scattered across the ellon's body. There was not an inch left unscathed by bruises and lacerations, some of which were yellowed with infection and weeping noxious pus. The smell of death hung in the air, permeating the room with its rotten-sweet fragrance.

Completing this hellish scene was the patient's vocalized pain, a continual moan of agony punctuated by guttural sounds when the healer had to touch a particularly inflamed area.

Ceven only glanced up briefly at Miriel, whose eyes were on what was by far the most disturbing of maladies — the half of the face barren of skin. Shiny white sinew stretched along exposed muscle and veins. Glimpses of bone could be made out between the strings of flesh. The eye socket, missing its lid, contained an unseeing misty white orb.

She stumbled forward, bile rising in her throat. "Thranduil."

Her legs moved of their own accord, bringing her across the room and to his bedside. Miri knelt blindly. She reached for him, uncaring if Ceven disapproved. Thranduil's hand left hand was hardly better off than the rest of him, but it appeared safe enough to touch. The limb was set in a flex and shaking. With coaxing it relaxed marginally in her grip. Stiff fingers curled slowly, returning the grasp.

The healer spoke as he worked. "They've poisoned their blades — a known trick with orcs. I've yet to discern what they used, but it has necrotic properties. The other injuries are just infected, the journey from the south didn't allow for much time to tend to the most egregious parts. Beleg made the decision between stopping to try healing with what he had on hand or rushing here where we're better stocked and better skilled. He made the right choice. Even if at the time it didn't feel like it."

"Has he been awake the whole time?" The thought was horrifying.

Ceven shook his head. "In and out. I wanted to sedate him when he arrived but he's been emphatic that he sees you first. I would have disregarded that demand if Galion had not insisted on his behalf."

Turning to his patient's face, Ceven spoke loudly with great enunciation. "Your majesty. She's here."

Thranduil's head lolled towards her, his features unmoving save for the flicker of his one good eye. Miri bent so that he might better see her, lightly smoothing the matted and bloodied hair from his moderately unsullied side.

"Miri. It's Miri."

His eye was focusing in and out, struggling to discern.

"I'm here," she murmured. "Right here."

"Mir," came out from his parted lips in a rasp.

She stroked his cheek gently. "I'm here. You're home. You're safe, you're home."

It became a chant, the reminder that he was back under the mountain and she was beside him. Ceven and his apprentice worked while she continued to murmur reassurances and held his hand. At times he nearly broke the bones of her fingers while squeezing during a challenging moment, jagged cries filling the room as Ceven grimly reset a bone or drew out a lethal measure of poison. It was impossible to tell how long she knelt on the infirmary floor while the healers struggled to treat the king. Without a window in the room time passed unchecked. The only measure that the day passed was the number of bloodied rags littering the floor. Finally, they were done and a draught of poppy was administered. Thranduil's distress subsided as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"His face," she began as Ceven set about washing away layers of blood and grime from the king's torso.

"Dagorlad," Ceven said shortly. "He's able to maintain a glamour, most of the time. It's only on occasions like this when he is very weak that he cannot summon the strength."

Weariness made her uncaring if she was prying. "What kind of injury never heals? Has he been cursed?"

The healer shook his head. "No, he's not cursed. It's the effect of dragon fire. That kind of flame is unforgiving. He's lucky he didn't die. It took months of work for him to be able to function normally while maintaining the glamor."

It was clear Ceven was not one to gossip — an admirable and necessary trait in a healer — so she stopped her questioning. The healer passed her a sponge and gestured for her to start working on the king's face and neck. Miri was grateful for the task and rose from the flagstones with a small groan as her joints popped in protest. Thranduil, asleep, was still unwilling to release her hand. It took careful navigation to slip her fingers from his grip. Even in sleep, he looked grim, his jaw tight.

She gently wiped at a crusted layer of brown blood on his chin, eyes averting from the other half of his face. The sight did not scare her as it once might have. But it was clear that this was the king at his most vulnerable. She wanted to preserve his dignity as best she could and staring did not accomplish that particular goal.

When she emerged, Galion was waiting on a bench beside the door. He rose quickly to meet her. Miri gestured for him to follow her out of the infirmary.

Up close, Galion looked positively haggard. It made Miriel wonder how she must appear after half a day kneeling in a bloody surgery.

"He's sleeping," she told him wearily. "Ceven said he'll likely sleep for the next few days, but he ought to be alright. How is Legolas?"

"Also asleep. It's nearly dawn."

"Fantastic," Miri grumbled.

"Carwegeth is tending to him," Galion said, faintly amused. "You ought to head to bed."

She shook her head, setting off for the stairs down the corridor. The thought of sleep was appealing. But duty came first. "I ought to stay up so I can tell Legolas of his ada's state. Perhaps after breakfast, I can bring him to see the king."

At that Galion frowned, following her step for step. "Thranduil has given explicit instructions that no one be told specifics."

Fair enough, Miri thought. It would serve no one if news of his status caused a panic.

"And he was very insistent that no one is allowed to see him save you, me, Morcion, and the healers."

Her head was so muddled it took several seconds for Miri to process this statement. When she managed to fully digest what the ellon had said, she rubbed her temples."I'm not even going to ask how the ellon I just saw managed to say all of that when he was barely able to say a single word when I arrived. Why would I, of everyone in this fortress, be the only one admitted?"

To his credit, Galion looked uncomfortable. "He was a little more coherent when he was brought in by Beleg. They'd given him all the poppy the party had on the journey, but it wasn't much. The king was able to make those conditions clear before he was brought to the infirmary. I didn't have much time to ask questions. "

"Are you certain he meant me?"

"Yes, he was very specific," Galion said, rolling his eyes. "I believe his words were, verbatim, 'only the hard-headed elleth.' And then after that, your name repeatedly."

She continued her long strides to the royal wing, grateful that there was no one present besides Galion to watch her flush. It would, if what Galion said, probably remain secret that she'd been the one summoned to the king's bedside at his weakest. Miri truthfully wasn't sure how she would feel if everyone knew Avarethil was the elleth he'd cried out for. There would be some who didn't give it any mind — she'd been a fixture for years now. Others would be less indifferent.

The time to cringe over that would be later. She passed the guards at the door to the king's private apartments and headed towards the corridor where her and Legolas's room lay. With Galion behind her, she stopped before her own chamber.

"I'm going to sleep until Legolas wakes. I won't tell him anything more than his father is feeling unwell," she said, cutting over the start of Galion's protest. "But then I'll return to bed."

"And you'll return to the infirmary when you awake?"

Miri frowned. "I don't think —"

"Ceven says that it helps when there is someone talking to the patient." Galion was desperate. "We have prepared for instances such as these, but I'll be needed to assist Lord Morcion. Miriel, he'll need someone there."

"But Legolas —"

"Please, the king was very specific, he only wanted one of us to see him like this. He wanted you. And my duty requires me to be away from his side. Can you stay with him?"

She hesitated.

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