"That will not come to pass because you will not let it happen." Her father's voice cut through the air like a knife. His eyes sliced through the Elf-Lord so fiercely that for a second she almost thought the latter would back away, but he did not. The words were spoken with authority, the voice an unyielding King, as if he needed to believe that commanding it he could bend fate to his will. It was an empty order, and she could see it in the King's face, behind those seething determined eyes, like some desperately trying to hold onto sand that kept slipping through his fingers.

"Thranduil," The Elf-Lord sighed, always the healer, calm even under eyes that seemed about to burn him alive. "Even the strength of all of your healers and myself might not be enough to reach him, to help him hold on to this world."

"You will not let that happen." The King hissed, a beast-like snarl, like an animal that could prove deadly in provoked. And yet once again the Elf-Lord did not seem the least affected by the sudden hostility, as though he had been expecting it. On the contrary, the fiercer the Elvenking looked the more pained the expression on the Elf-Lord's face.

"Thranduil-

"NO!"

The stone walls seemed to shudder at the cry, the temperature in the room dropping drastically, her own self cringing unintentionally at the power of the King's voice. The Elvenking stood tall and mighty, fitting all tales of the powerful unyielding figure she had heard could make the bravest of beings cower in fear. Nevermind that his robes were splattered in blood that was not his, that his hair was unkempt and falling off the few braids it had carried in the first place. It was a figure not to be crossed.

"You call yourself the greatest healer in Arda. I have seen you pull lives back from the doors of Mandos." The King's words were venom, the harshest and deadliest type. "And yet you dare tell me that my son may die. He is in your hands, and yet you dare day that it might not be enough? Tell me, Elrond, where is that blessed gift of yours, then? Or is it all a farse?"

The words were not fair. But they were not spoken rationally either, they were spoken in pain, in agony, in fear so desperate that could make the most centered of begins border in the brink of madness. But the Elf-Lord did not rise to the bait, standing still and calm, a mountain that could not be moved even by the harshest of storms.

"Could…someone else…reach him?" She heard her own voice echoing through the room before she even realized she was speaking, all heads turning in her direction making her almost want to disappear among the cushions.

"No, Almarëa." It was Lord Elrond the one to answer, his voice laced with finality, not to be debated with. "The risk is far too great, and even if you were careful and in full control he would not be able to take the stress of it. It would kill him before you even reached him."

"I was not talking about me." She clarified, watching as the others slowly took in her words, the air tense and silent. "I meant….if…there was a bond…."

She had not thought about her, had not even dared consider it. And she would not dare to try it. Not now. Not when eve starting a connection would be too much for his already weakened spirit to take. She did not know how, but somehow she had already known that there was nothing she could do this time. She was not a healer. The way she could reach him, could reach her father, was not the same as the way healers did. It was not what was needed. It was only power, and energy, but not life sustaining.

"No." The King was the first to speak, his voice flat yet once again unyielding, even as his ice blue eyes looked pained and tortured. He had understood what she was suggesting, she could read it so very clearly on his face.

"But, if Indilene -" She tried, but her father cut her off before she could even start to argue.

"No, Almarëa." Her father's voice rose a notch as he silenced her, raising a commanding hand in return. "You know not of what you speak of."

Anger rose within her at those words, making her want to yell, to scream and yet she held herself together. She did know. She did. She herself shared a bond with Elladan, could feel him right at this very moment just as she could every second of every day. She could reach him in ways no other being could, their spirits so very deeply tied to each other. She was tired and exhausted and so very angry at everyone always telling her what she could not do, what she did not understand or did not know.

"But, "She tried again despite her father's command, despite his hand still raised in a silencing gesture, despite his eyes who were warning her to drop the subject. And still the way her father seemed so determined to say no so quickly, without even considering it, hearing her out only made her inside burn all the fiercer. It was Arahaelon they were talking about. Arahaelon, whose life was currently holding by less than a thread. And yet the King was not willing to even try? For his own son? IT was outrageous, so very difficult to believe, much less when he seemed about to murder to Elf-Lord for daring suggest that Arahaelon might not make it. "If there is a bond…she could-"

"I said no, Almarëa." The King cut her off again, before she could finish speaking, his voice setting an end to the conversation, not to be contested with. "You know not what you suggest. Even though you think you do. It is far more complex and risky than you think. If there is a bond, then yes, she might be able to reach him, but if he….if he does not make it, he could pull her with him. And even if he does not pull her, her spirit would be forever scarred by his passing, deeper than you can possibly imagine. I cannot ask Lord Laeronor and his wife to agree to something that might very well kill their niece. She is half a child still. I will not ask that of her. Not unless there is nothing else that can be done…. And Elrond will make sure it does not come to that."

The King's cold eyes turned to pierce at the Elf-Lord with his last words, dangerous and powerful. And yet there was so much pain in his eyes, so bare, so raw that she almost looked away, suddenly feeling terrible for having even thought her father unwilling to try anything in order to ensure Arahaelon would live. But of course he could not do that. And the realization hurt more than she thought she could possible handle. It was just as it had been on that clearing, by the Palace's door, that night that seemed so far away now. He was the father, and still he would always be the King, the crown and heavy and immeasurable burden. And even though she had suddenly no doubt that the father would give his own life in exchange for that of his son, the King could not ask his subjects to do the same…and not once had she thought of that.

"My Lord." Galion had just stepped inside the room, stopping behind Lord Elrond, by the door. Always by the door, it seemed. Never fully inside, never fully outside, always ready to come and go. The butler's pale blue eyes fixed on his King, hands always neatly folded before him. "He is here, waiting outside."

There was not a spoken answer, Lord Elrond only turning on his heels without a second of hesitation, disappearing back inside Arahaelon's bedchambers in rushed steps, no doubt ready to interrogate the prisoner. The door closed with an eerie sound, so loud inside the once again silent room, the butler still by it, unmoving. Far in the back of the room the fire crackled, as if the flames wanted to remind everyone of their presence, so very perfectly aware that their warmth could not be felt, held no comfort. Like a ghost trapped in a loop he could not escaped, Tadion started pacing once more. Back and forth, back and forth.

"What…..what happened? How…..?" She whispered, words only loud enough for Legolas to hear. When had it gone so wrongly, so direly in such a short time? How? Arahaelon had not been well the last she had seen him, he had been in so much pain, but this….it had not been this bad…or had it?

For a moment she thought Legolas would not answer, his lashed casted down, brushing his cheekbones, hands so very still over his lap.

"I…." Her brother's voice was so low that she had to inch closer to him on the couch to hear it, his head shaking lightly, trying to find the words. "Tadion was there, and Ada…not me. I did not…see. He…..his wounds, they….started bleeding again, except…except the healers could not stop it this time…and there was so much blood. It was not right."

Legolas did not continue, his silence joining the others, and she found that she did not really want to hear more. Her eyes drifted back to Tadion, his long golden hair swaying at his back as he paced, restless, anguished, and she had to look down, studying the carpet, its patters, every single thread in it.

She could not tell how much time had passed, or how long they sat there, in the silence that reigned like a lurking ghost in the shadows. It felt as though time had stopped, and at the same time accelerated, and all that could be heard was the deaf echo of Tadion's footsteps on the carpet, and the occasional crackling of the fire. She had memorized the patters of the carpet already, even though it felt as though she would never remember looking at them in the first place. She had counted the books on the shelves, from top to bottom and then from bottom to top, and then back to the carpet.

"My Lord." She was vaguely aware of Galion once more entering through the ornate wooden door, approaching the King. She had not even realized he had left at some point. She could not tell how much time had gone by.

A couple of healers followed the butler, carrying a bowl with water and setting it on a small round table by the King. Her eyes followed the butler, noticing the long dark green robes he carried in his pale hands, careful that the rich silk embroidered in pearls never touched the floor. And yet her father's eyes looked up at the butler in puzzlement, momentarily dazed and lost, eyeing the offered garment for long minutes before finally looking down at his own robes, as if for the first time realizing they were still covered in blood.

The Elvenking did not complain, did not even seem to care, too docile to her liking, allowing Galion to carefully and patiently was the blood off her father's hands, his face, and slowly helping him out of the soiled outer robes and into the new ones. Next to him, the Queen had not once moved, did not even seem to blink, as if she was not really there, a specter, a beautiful mirage with a blank and empty face. The only sign that she was still alive was the way in which her hand continued to grip fiercely to her father's wrist, crushing it. Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed a couple of healers too trying to lead Tadion out of the room in gentle and soothing words, no doubt to try and convince him into changing his blood covered tunic, but her older brother would not move, shaking the healer's hands in such a harsh move that they seemed to get his point, not touching him again.

Darkness had already fallen, and she had not even noticed when. She just looked up and the sky outside the long narrow windows was black and starless. There had not even been a sunset. She had missed it. At some point some servants stepped inside the room, carrying trays and trays of food that would remain untouched. They seemed to know it. She could see it on their faces, their eyes as they looked down at the carpet, wanting to become invisible, to leave the room as quickly as possible, their faces grim, sad...already grieving. And she wanted to shove them out, to yell at them that Arahaelon was not dead. Not yet. There was no need for their sympathy, for their pity. And there would not be need for it. Because the Crown Prince would not die. He would not.

And so she stared at the door, almost always closed, waiting. But she could not tell what she was waiting for anymore. Was she waiting for it to open? For Lord Elrond to appear again? She did not if she wanted that. She did not know she wanted any news. Feared them even. She wanted that door to open, and at the same time would rather stay there, waiting in the torturous anguish forever than to hear the words that she feared the most.

But the door did open. She could not tell what time it was when it happened, only that it was sill dark outside. The change in the air was palpable, all pairs of eyes flying to the entrance, piercing through Lord Elrond as he slowly stepped inside the room. The Elf-Lord's face was impossible to read, blank and carefully composed. And it sent shivers down her spine, her gust tying tightly in cold ripping claws that would tear her apart.

Nobody spoke, nobody seemed to have any words to say, did not want to break the silence that had so heavily imposed its presence in the room. It was clogging, drowning, stripping the air from any oxygen and making it unbreathable. And the longer it stretched the harder it was to bear. The King's eyes pierced mercilessly through the Elf-Lord, daring him to speak and at the same time looking so utterly frightened that she barely recognized them. He had risen to his feet, and once again she had not even noticed when.

"We managed to stop the bleeding." The Lord of Imladris informed, his voice carrying through the room like thunder through a void, as flat and blank as his silver eyes. There was no smile, there was no reassurance whatsoever, none.

"That…" The King's voice was a frail small thing as he spoke, a shadow of what it was, blinking a couple of times at the healer, letting the words sink in, trying to read through the healer's sober expression. "That is good. That is…a good thing…..is it not?"

But his words were only met with silence, the Elf-Lord's steely eyes softening for a moment, coating in pain, in sadness in….sympathy.

"Is it not?" The King pressed again, a little stronger this time, staring down at the healer impatiently, desperately.

She felt as though she was suddenly floating, everything feeling so far away, like a dream, a nightmare, where things would happen whether she wanted them to or not and she simply had to watch. Lord Elrond's eyes fell closed, a sudden pained expression crossing his face, and that was all it too for her to feel as though she was falling. Falling and falling and falling into a dark abyss from which she would not be able to get out, because she had nothing to hold on to.

"Thranduil…" The Elf-Lord's voice had dropped to a gentle whisper as he spoke, his head slowly shaking from side to side. She hated that tone. She knew that tone, had heard it before, on others, on men, every time the news were not the ones that wanted to be heard. "I am so very sorr-

"No…" The King's word dragged on his lips, so low she barely even heard it, his face dazed, puzzled, as if he could not understand what was being said to him, would not accept it, because it sounded absurd, It sounded surreal.

"You just said…" Her father shook his head, slowly, looking like someone trying to wake up from a dream, eyes falling closed for a second, fingers flying to his temple. "You said…..you stopped the bleeding…..that is good."

"Thranduil." Lord Elrond sighed, the devastated expression on his face once that she never wanted to see before, and that tone…..that tone she wished she could block out, to cover her ears. "We have done everything we can. It was not enough."

"But…" It seemed as though the words had not really reached the King at all, as though he could not really understand them, was not willing to understand them. "But you stopped the bleeding."

"Thranduil…."

"Is he….?" The Elvenking did not seem able to finish the question, the word she knew he was trying to say not managing to leave his lips, eyes falling closed, shaking fingers once again reaching for his temple, pushing a stray strand of silvery hair away from his face. She dared spare a glance in the Queen's direction, only to wish she had not. On the couch, the Queen looked as though she had died, as though she was not there at all, her long golden fair falling in waves over the neckline of her pale rose dress, her eyes dazed, empty. "Is he….?"

"He is still alive." The Elf-Lord's words did nothing to comfort her, his face betraying too much pain to be reassuring. "But it will not be long now…if you want to see him."

"No." The King shook his head once more, his voice louder, shaking. "If he lives, then you can still do something. You stopped the bleeding."

"Thranduil." The Lord of Imladris took a step forward before stopping abruptly, as though deciding that approaching the King at the moment was the wrong thing to do, silver eyes looking down at her proud father with such pain, such sympathy that it tore at her heart.

"There is nothing else that I or your healers can do." The words were spoken gently, softly, as though trying with all his being to make the Elvenking understand, but seeming to have already known that his words would once again fall of deaf ears, on ears that did not want to listen, did not want to accept.

"There has to be somethi-

"Thranduil…."

"There has to be!" Her father's voice tore through the air in a cry that made the crystals shatter, eyes piercing through the Elf-Lord so sharply that it seemed to cut him to pieces. "There has to be something you can do!"

"We have done everything possible…" The Elf-Lord's voice was still soft, tender even, the way one speaks to a grieving being, hopeless and empty and lacking any of the comfort it tried to give.

"YOU ARE NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!" The King's hand landed violently on the round side table, so loud that it made the bowl sitting there crash to floor, scattering in a thousand pieces. She jumped at the noise, clinging closer to Legolas who she just now noticed was as paralyzed and absent as the Queen.

"Thran-

"NO! Do not dare. Do not dare say that, Elrond." The King took a step forward, closer to the Elf-Lord, looking almost like a wild animal, his breathing ragged, hands shaking. His eye closed for another moment, as if trying to recollect himself, to regain his breathing, to calm his rage. "Let me do something. There has to be something. Let me help him. I will do it."

"Thranduil, you cannot." She could hear Lord Elrond trying to reason with a King who did not seem capable of reasoning at the moment.

"Yes, I can." The Elvenking added stubbornly, his voice shaking as much as his hands and yet his gaze was firm, settled. "I will do it. It will work. I have done it before, with Almarëa, it will be just like that…it will work-

"Thranduil you are not a healer!" Lord Elrond's voice rose high as he spoke, hands gripping at the King's shoulders as though trying to wake him from his sudden madness. "You. Are not. A healer. You will not be able to help him, and you will kill yourself trying. And what good is that?"

"I DO NOT CARE!" The King shook his head stubbornly, refusing to listen. "I did for Alamrëa, and I will-"

"It is not the same, Thranduil, and you know it!" The words set silence in the room, bouncing off the thick stone walls.

The King dropped back down on the couch, all the power the stubborn will the rage that had surrounded like a storm ready to break loose only seconds ago suddenly gone, vanished. And in its stead there was only a shell, a frail and suddenly small looking thing, with eyes once again dazed, lost, defeated.

"I am sorry." Lord Elrond's voice spoke after what felt like a lifetime, his voice once again gentle, barely a whisper in the torturing silence. She looked at the Elf-Lord's face, at the way in which his eyes closed as if in physical pain as well, as if wishing he could deliver different news, and for the first time she noticed that the Lord of Imladris looked absolutely exhausted, with dark shadows underneath his eyes, his skin a little too pale.

"How long?" Her father's voice was hollow, and empty cold sound that made her cringe in pain, not lifting his eyes to look at the Elf-Lord as he spoke.

"It is hard to tell." Lord Elrond's shoulders dropped as he spoke, and she felt as though covering her ears, not ready to hear the rest. "As long as Melnor can hold on to his spirit. Dawn…at best."

Dawn. That was too soon. Hours away, if there were still hours left. It felt as though the air had stopped being breathable, and even though her lungs continued to drag it in it did not really reach them. Her hands clenched to fists, for the first realizing that her fingers had been shaking on her lap. In the corner of the room there was suddenly silence, a silence so heavy that it felt too loud. Tadion had stopped pacing. Btu she did not dare look in his direction, did not dare look at any of her siblings, frightened of the looks she would find on their faces, expressions she knew she would never be able to erase from her mind.

"And…" Her father spoke in a broken tone, his voice fragile, trembling. His eyes were once again closed, his face scrunched as though he could feel physical pain with speaking. "The elleth?...Lady Indilene…could she….?

So that was it. The scattered, unfinished words made something break inside of her, as though her very being had turned to pieces, no longer feeling anything around her. Even the fabric of the couch felt cold underneath her, Legolas' body sitting next to her suddenly feeling so very far away. So there was truly nothing else to be done. The King was holding onto the last resource, the last chance, the one he had not wanted to try even….and if that did not work, if that did not help….Dawn was coming soon, and for the first time in her life she did not want the sun to rise.

"There is a chance she could help." Lord Elrond nodded, but his eyed held no promise. "I cannot guarantee it, and he may be already too far gone. But there is a chance."

"Tell Lord Laeronor and his wife that I would speak to them, and their niece." The Elvenking rose to his feet, green silk robes pooling towards the floor, looking directly at Galion who only nodded his head before disappearing out the door once more.

"You may see him now." The Lord of Imladris stepped aside, clearing the way to the still opened wooden door, waiting for the King to walk past him. But the King did not move, his face turning towards the Elf-Lord, hard and accusing, furious.

"Get out." Her father spat, voice a low hiss filled with venom and disgust, lips trembling. "You were supposed to heal him. My son. Get out of my kingdom. You are no longer welcome here."

Lord Elrond seemed momentarily taken aback, but once again did not react, did not seem at all affected by the sudden hostility. It was as though he had been expecting it. But the King did not spare a second glance at the Elf-Lord, gliding past him in long graceful steps, followed closely by the ghost-like Queen still clenching to his arm, who was not about to be left behind. She did not know who had moved next, whether it had been Tadion, or Lossenel, or even Legolas next to her. She never noticed, and she would not remember it. But suddenly they were all moving, so slowly and yet so quickly, one second they were all paralyzed and then next thing she knew they too were crossing the threshold back towards Arahaelon's bedchambers. But she could not move, her limbs would not respond. And she sat there, watching the others leave, trying to decide whether she wanted, whether she dared, to go back into those bedchambers she now knew all too well. She could still hear all the words that had been exchanged dancing and coursing through her head, repeating themselves back and forth, trying to convince herself that they were real, that they were not her imagination.

And time kept slipping through their fingers, a traitorous and cruel thing that would not stop, and dawn would be here soon. And Arahaelon….the Crown Prince could not die. Her eldest brother could not die. He simply could not. It felt…surreal. It had to be prank, a cruel prank, a nightmare, and she would wake up any time now. Any time now. She would wake up. And she would find Tadion there, mocking her for sleeping so long, and Arahaelon would be there too, rolling his emerald eyes at his younger brother. She needed more time. She had barely known him…..He could not die now. Not now. He needed more time. And she could not do anything. Anything. All this power….all this cursed power that everyone kept reminding her she possessed, she could wield, and yet she was still so…useless. What was the point of having so much power, then? She wanted to laugh, a humorless empty laugh. She had healed him. Somehow, still not knowing how it had happened and how she had done it, she had healed his spirit, had healed that void that she herself had caused in the first place…..and what had been the point in that? If he would die anyway. It was not the kind of healing that would help now, it was not the kind of energy, of sustenance that he needed. But then why was fate so cruel as to let him heal a wound that had tortured him for years, only to end his life mere days after. Not even her father could help…could not do whatever it was he had wanted to, whatever it was he had apparently done with her…and what did that even mean? What had he meant by that? What had he been talking about?

Hello! As I promised I tried to make this wait as short as I could, knowing how the last chapter ended. I will try my best for the next update to come quickly as well, but can't make any promises. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's a bit sad. As always I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

Thanks again so much to auris-australis., LOTRUniverse, Fainne-on-Sienna, Wtiger5, helenaxo, mystarlight, Flower-Uchiha, ZenovZ, Luna dans les Etoiles, artvandelay5001, HannahOfLasgalen and guest reviewer for you kind words on the previous chapter.

Everyone stay safe!

Love,

Elena