Chapter 7
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…
A little after the noon hour, Miriel crept back into the infirmary. Ceven was with another ellon who'd suffered in the attack and spared her a nod as she passed. Two guards didn't shift when she moved past them wordlessly. The room at the end of the hall was blessedly silent when she stepped inside. The screen was still in place. Miri rounded it tentatively, relieved to see that Thranduil was still sleeping. He had been dressed in a loose grey tunic, hair brushed and washed. Damp, it lay fanned out on the pillow, gleaming pale gold strands that shone against the simple cotton bedding. It was a painful juxtaposition against his marred features.
Someone had placed a chair beside him. She wondered if Galion had let Ceven know to expect her.
Awkward, she sat down, clasping her hands together. There was nothing much to do besides watch his chest rise and fall in steady breaths.
Galion said it helped to talk. So talk.
"Legolas is worried," she blurted, then winced. Not a helpful thing to lead with. She tried again. "He missed you. When the party returned, he was one who noticed the warden's call and knew what it meant. I told him that you'll be fine, though."
It was strange, talking to someone who couldn't reply and likely wasn't even aware she was speaking. Miri twisted her fingers in her lap, taking a breath. There was no one here to judge her missteps. The king needed this and even if he made her feel like she was a harpy while consciously in her presence, she at least owed it to him to try. He'd asked for her for a reason — though she suspected her name only came to mind because she was one of the few who was aware of his glamour.
"When you're better, you'll have to tell me why it was my name you kept saying," she murmured. "I have my theories but no doubt you planned for maximum guilt. That's probably your greatest vice. You hold grudges too easily. I think the only reason you let me in the Greenwood is because Cala would have protested had you tried barring me."
Miri paused. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened, if things had been different?"
It's a question she'd only allowed to ask herself late at night, on the cusp of sleep. Only once in a few decades. And never aloud.
She sighed. "I could never ask that. I thought we'd both agreed to never speak about the past. But it seems like you want to rehash our decisions. I still think I made the right choice. We made the right choices."
Thranduil did not answer. Miriel watched the steady incline and decline of his chest. When he twitched, she held his hand. She told him stories, described her weeks with Legolas, how the elfling had missed him. How everyone in the royal household was fretful, despite being in the dark as to what had afflicted their king. How her duty felt tenfold since he'd left. She spoke of her childhood amid the golden trees with Cala. And she told him just how much she'd missed him.
Ceven appeared to administer another dose of pain relief draught at dusk. Miriel excused herself to eat a brief dinner with Legolas and Carwegeth in the kitchens. Then, with heavy limbs, she climbed the stairs back to the infirmary and sank into that chair again.
…
Five days passed at the king's bedside. The pattern of staying until she fell asleep in her chair, catching a few hours of rest in her own bed before accompanying Legolas to the kitchens for breakfast, then heading back to the infirmary, broke on her arrival the fourth morning when she was greeted by the sight of a pale and wane Thranduil propped up on some pillows.
He and Ceven looked up at her entry. Ceven smiled shortly at her. But Thranduil stared, unmoving as she approached.
It was strange. For the past week, she'd touched him more than ever before — holding his hand, washing his face and chest, assisting the healers in changing his dressings. She'd been more intimate with him through acts of care than she'd ever been with any other male. Yet the thought of her skin against his now felt as taboo as before he'd returned from the southern border. Strange how something as small as clasping hands could suddenly feel utterly improper.
Ceven had been talking while they gaze upon one another. Miri's focus jerked back at the sound of her name.
"— has been at your bedside every day. It would not surprise me if her assistance brought you back to us earlier than anticipated."
Thranduil's eyes did not leave hers. Reading his expression proved to be even more difficult with his burns exposed. The misty orb set in his left socket revealed nothing. "She's nothing if not loyal."
The words bristled. But Miri didn't react, merely turned to the chief healer. "When did he rouse?"
The king did not appreciate being spoken around as though he were not in the room. His lips curled. Ceven glanced between them before replying.
"Early this morning. Perhaps only an hour after you left."
She nodded, studiously ignoring the eyes boring into her from the bed. "We are all indebted to your tireless care, Ceven."
Perhaps sensing the shift in energy in the room, the healer took the opportunity to excuse himself. Most of his patients from the skirmish on the southern border had vacated the infirmary, so Miriel didn't believe for one moment that he was leaving to check on any of them. But protesting was hardly polite. There was nothing she could conceive, at the moment, to coax him to stay.
A long pause filled the space once Ceven closed the door. Miri focused on the wrinkles of the wool blanket at the foot of the bed, trying to think of a graceful way to leave the situation. With any luck, Galion might be on his way. Morcion could very well demand entry, he was a persuasive ellon —-
"Come here."
His voice was hoarse, commanding despite it. She bristled, but moved closer to bed, dropping down into the chair a few feet from the head. Studiously keeping her gaze on everything but the king, Miri prayed this forced interaction would not last longer than a few minutes.
"Ceven said you slept here. Every night."
The statement was flat.
Miri didn't look up. "I fell asleep once or twice. He merely exaggerated."
"Galion said the same."
Had everyone besides her been alerted when Thranduil awoke?
"They also claimed when I arrived the only thing I said was your name, over and over."
Her nostrils flared. "I believe it was more like a demand. And I live to serve, sire."
"Miriel." Then, gentler, "Miri."
She felt tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. The memory of him, trashing and moaning on that bed, was at the forefront of her mind. This stern and awkward encounter was only marginally better.
"Are you afraid to look at me?" he whispered.
She couldn't help it; laughter rose up her throat like bubbles. It was short and dry, but laughter nonetheless. "I've stared at your face for nearly five days straight, sire, I am hardly frightened now."
Thranduil pursed his lips. "Then will you not look at me?"
A light touch on her chin. Grasping her gently with two fingers he compelled her to lift her head, steering her slowly enough so that she might school her expression carefully to a facsimile of placid interest. Once her gaze met his, Thranduil let his hand drop back to his lap.
"I hardly know what to do with myself," she confessed. "I don't know why mine was the name on your lips when Galion, Morcion, or Legolas should have come first by all reason and logic. The last few days have been nothing but a blur to me, but I've spent more time in this room than any other, and seen you bared as no one ought to. And when we last met, we were at each other's throats. Yet you call for me. I cannot pretend as though all is the same between us."
He extended a hand again, this time giving her the option to accept the touch. Reluctant, Miri accepted it. Another pause fell between them as his thumb moved across her knuckles. His skin was cold in a way that made her nervous.
"I was not in a place of logic or reason when I arrived." He attempted a smile. It was perhaps the first time she'd seen a genuine, soft smile from him directed at her. Usually, they were strictly reserved for Legolas. Understandably. But now, despite his torn features and weariness, she found herself breathless at the warmth it spread.
"You've earned my trust," he said quietly. "Time and time again, despite having no cause to seek it. Our feelings for one another aside, I know you can only do what you think to be fair and just. Our definitions of those values have proven to be equal. How could I not want you by my side?"
"Galion or Morcion do have that regard for you. They both care for you deeply," Miriel protested.
"They do," he conceded. "But they were not who I wanted to see when I thought I was near the end."
"And Legolas?"
Pain flared in his silver eyes, sharp and swift. "I watched my own adar on his deathbed. It is not something I would ever want to subject Legolas to. The agony and helplessness are not worth the knowledge that you were with them til the end, particularly if they are unaware of your presence."
This was a fair enough reason.
"The last time we spoke you practically told me you hated me."
"And then I kissed you," he countered. "I don't often kiss those I loathe. Do you tend to make a point of it?"
She couldn't help it; she laughed. It didn't linger. She sobered quickly. "I still cannot make sense of that either."
…
He watched her closely as she sat back, folding her hands in her lap. Her fear was palpable. Supposedly his face was not the source of her anxiety — so was it the thought that he might want her, still?
The nearly fifteen years she'd spent in his domain had only proven that his heart still held out for her stubborn soul. He'd seen the gentle dedication she had given to Legolas live alongside the windswept rage that could be summoned in a mere moment. She was more than the elleth he'd met in the moonlight of Lothlórien an age ago. And what he'd found had only supplemented his existing, vexing admiration.
Yet Miriel hadn't allowed herself to think that he'd thrown himself at her with any intention other than — what? Fury? Lust? Confusion?
"You were angry," she said finally. "And, I don't know. Maybe it was the only way you thought to react. Kissing wasn't so foreign between us, once."
Thranduil's brows rose. "Once," he echoed.
"It was a mistake," she said firmly. "Nothing more needs to be said on the subject."
This was not the conclusion he'd hoped for; Miri seemed determined to dismiss what had happened as a stumble in his reasoning rather than a release after years of suppressed emotion. The Elfking had been angry, lustful, and confused when he'd lunged for her. But his actions, as thoughtless as they'd been, were not a mistake. Thranduil was ready to defend himself, prove that it was not a mere failure of judgment, but her next words stopped him.
"When will you see Legolas?" Miriel's eyes were deep with concern. "He's asked about you every day since your return, and I know not what to tell him other than that you are unwell. I know you're reluctant for him to see your scars, but Thranduil…he is your son. He loves you. This will only strengthen your bond and prove to him what duty means."
"Miriel, this is a horror," he said, gesturing to his exposed muscle and bone and sinew.
She leaned forward again, gentle fingers alighting on his temple. "This is strength," she insisted quietly. "And sacrifice. This is what makes you king and what has allowed Legolas his birthright. You treat your wounds like they're something to be ashamed of, Thranduil. When they're proof of how far you will go for those you love. There is no shame in that."
"He's too young."
Miri's fingers continued stroking that small stretch of unmarred skin on his left side. "He loves you. He wants so badly to know you. Let him in."
Thranduil sighed.
…
Legolas bounced on his heels as they stood before the door within the infirmary's halls. Miriel had been holding her breath since Ceven went in ahead of them to confirm Thranduil's readiness. She had reluctantly agreed to tell the prince nothing beyond his adar looked different but dearly wanted to see Legolas. Part of her feared Thranduil would lose his nerve and change his mind last minute. But Ceven finally appeared, gesturing them inside.
Placing a hand on Legolas's back, she urged him forward. They were behind the ivory screen when she heard Thranduil's hoarse voice call, "Legolas?"
The prince surged forward, moving around the screen and launching himself into his father's arms with no hesitation. He wept openly, face buried in the king's chest. Over his son's head, Thranduil met Miri's gaze, his own eyes red-rimmed.
"Ion nin," he managed. "I have missed you."
"Ada," the elfling sniffled. "Are you alright? Miri said you were hurt? Is that what happened to your face?"
Thranduil's wince was barely perceptible. Gently, the king shifted his son to sit on his lap so they were eye-to-eye. And with a sigh, he began his tale.
...
I'm increasing the chapter count to 15 rather than the original 14. I decided I wanted more of a buffer between this story arc and the next.
All reviews, follows, and favorites are much appreciated.
