Ch2 - Left to Calm the Unhinged Patient
Legolas rode his horse swiftly through the woods of Mirkwood, weaving and twisting between the trees and brush. He whisked past villages and lone stony houses, ignoring the confused elves' questioning looks. Every couple of minutes the Prince would glance down at the young elven woman in his arms. He prayed to the Valar that he could make it to the healers quickly for he believed such a young creature deserved a chance at life.
The intricately designed gates opened immediately when the guards saw their Prince for his blonde locks and piercing blue eyes made him quite recognizable.
As Legolas's horse thundered to a stop he yelled out to the guards, "The healers! Get the healers! NOW!"
The Prince dismounted his steed, which was difficult with the dying elf in his arms. However, he was sure to be careful to not move her in a way that would worsen her injuries.
Legolas looked down at her delicate face. Please let there still be a chance at life for you, Dilthen Er (little one).
"Legolas!"
His head shot up immediately when he heard his father's voice filled with fear.
"Legolas, I was informed that you arrived screaming for the healers..." Thranduil let his sentence trail off as he noticed the broken body in his son's arms. "You are not injured?" He questioned.
Legolas looked up at his father's worried face, "No Ada (father), worry not, I am alright."
Before another word could be spoken, the healers arrived and rushed to take the dying woman from their Prince. They were quick to lay her broken body on a stretcher and begin pressing more cloths upon her form to slow the bleeding.
Legolas felt a sudden feeling of reluctancy wash over his heart as they pulled her from his grasp. He desperately wanted to follow and be present as the healers worked. He was the one who discovered that she still had a chance at life and it was his duty to see to it that that chance did not slip away. He took steps to do so, but his father stopped him with a stern tone.
"Legolas."
The Prince of Mirkwood turned towards Thranduil, "Ada (father), I must—"
"Legolas!" Thranduil hissed. He grabbed his son's arm and lowered his voice, "That is not your responsibility. You are the Prince of the Woodland Realm, not one with a duty of taking care of the ill." He paused, "You are covered in this stranger's blood. Change into fresh clothes, then we will discuss your actions."
Legolas looked at his father with furrowed brows, "My actions?"
Thranduil clenched his jaw, "Bringing this unknown individual into our lands."
He looked at his father in complete anger, "She is elven—she is our kin!"
The King did not respond so Legolas continued, his voice rising as he did so, "She is minutes from death—tortured by Orcs! Did you expect me to leave her to die?!" He paused, his tone changing to an astonished whisper, "She is one of us, Ada."
Thranduil glared at his son, "No. No, she is not."
Legolas's lips parted in shock.
How could his father say such a thing?
This elleth was fighting a war with death—desperate to live—and Thranduil did not care.
He did not care at all.
The Prince watched as his father walked back through the vast, embroidered, wooden doors—leaving his son behind with astonishment and regret.
How could he be so harsh?
...
Legolas strolled through the silent halls of Mirkwood. The familiar stone and wood that usually brought him a sense of peace could not settle his restless mind this time. His thoughts kept wandering as if he was exploring the secrets of the deep sea; but it was not the ocean that entrapped his mind, it was the elven woman.
He had tried numerous times to visit her, but the healers refused to divulge much detail. Apparently, the situation was too unstable and not one could enter—not even the prince. However, Halafarin, the head healer who had been healing Legolas since he was a young ellon, did disclose some information to quiet the Prince's inquires.
He stated that her injuries were quite extensive and for a while they were unsure if she would make it to see another sunrise. Legolas knew this to be true of course as he had been the one to find her body. If the Prince had to guess, he would say—at the very least—she had a couple broken ribs and a considerable amount of bruising and lacerations—one of which was that deep slash across her torso. And if anything, it was that cut that would be her end.
Legolas was slightly irritated that he was not permitted to come and see the results himself, especially with his statues. Yet, he understood the intention of the healers. He just wished he could actively monitor the young elleth's symptoms. He normally would not be so persistent and—as Halafarin would say—a pain in the ass, but something within his soul drew him to her.
It was unknown to Legolas that he had wandered into the healing ward while his thoughts journeyed until his elvish ears picked up a loud fearful scream. This instantly brought him back to his senses.
As instinct kicked in, he took off sprinting in the direction of the noise.
Legolas pushed open the doors of the place where he had been healed time after time, only to be completely shocked by the scene before him. The dark haired elleth that he had found upon the battle scene was holding a knife to a young healer's throat.
She laid her wild vibrant eyes on the intruder and he froze in his place. Her emerald orbs poured into his soul as if she could see all the hopes, desires, and fears that rested within him. They danced with a fierce aura, like burning moisture evaporating into nothingness. They were angry and feral, daring him to make the wrong move.
She then spoke with a tone full of intimidation and force, "Show me the path out and she will not be harmed. If you refuse, I kill her."
Legolas's lips parted at her words, yet he did not speak. He just stayed frozen, examining her body language.
She stood as still as a deer blending into its habitat. There was not a single quiver or shake in her hand, showing the blonde prince that she was definitely a warrior for none other would hold a grasp so steady. Although, as much as she held her position strong, he could tell she was in pain. Her body bent forward slightly and she favored her right leg. Moisture clung to her brow heavily, yet it was those eyes that conveyed the most to him. Even though they were raging and strong, they shifted back and forth—revealing her anxiety, panic, and uncertainness.
"My Prince," the healer whispered, "please—"
Legolas glanced at the healer and nodded in attempt to provide some sense of comfort for the poor girl's face was filled with fright.
He raised his hand and looked the unknown elf in the eyes, "You are not being held captive, Mellon (friend). You need to heal, you have been through a battle and received wounds."
The woman gripped the knife tighter. "They are coming," She hissed out.
Legolas's dark brows pulled together for he had seen this in many. Her mind was lost at war and she was unaware of its dancing lies.
Her tone then became frantic as she spoke again, "They are coming! Hain are tul (they are coming)"
Legolas spoke again, his voice gentle and comforting, "You are safe in Mirkwood, no harm may come to you here." He stepped closer to her and held out his hand, "Hand me the weapon."
Her jaw clenched and her grip tightened. "I must not be here...I...I have to—"
As if a new panic took hold, she stumbled backward—releasing the healer from her grasp in the process.
The young girl saw this opportunity and ran from the room, leaving the Prince to calm the unhinged patient.
"After all this time..." The elleth's voice trailed off quietly before picking up again, "I...I..."
A single tear streaked down her cheek as she stumbled once again. She slowly began to sink towards the ground like a ship lost at sea. Her hand rested on her stomach as dark red began to seep through the white fabric upon her.
Legolas knew what that meant: the stitching had broken.
"Please, don't!" She held up her hand weakly in defense, "please," she whimpered quietly.
Her emerald eyes that held so much emotion rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed.
