11

Chapter Twenty-Two

SUMMARY: Bard hits his breaking point, and has a complete meltdown.

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It's not pretty.

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The Woodland Realm; 19th February 2942, T.A.

Bard sighed, as sat next to Thranduil, and drank his wine.

Since yesterday he'd been so filled with anxiety, he could hardly stand to be in his own skin. It wasn't as if he didn't know such thing ever occurred - so, what was wrong with him? Even Alun himself said he suspected sexual abuse.

So, what was wrong with him?

Maybe it was because he was the father of two daughters, himself. Maybe it was the strain of Tilda's sickness, and his fear she'd never be the same. Maybe it was because he was forced to face how much damage this caused, up close and personal.

And Iola spoke of murder with such a matter of fact voice, it went straight to his gut. Before him was the most frightening enemy he'd ever faced. A madwoman, who was capable of absolutely anything.

And he hadn't seen it coming. He should have seen this; he should have suspected this sooner.

He'd screwed up.

"Are you well, Meleth nîn?" Thranduil asked him.

"No. I'm not. I feel like I'll never be able to see the world in quite the same, way."

"I am sorry."

When Bard felt Thranduil's arm around his shoulders, he pulled away; he couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry love; I just… It's more than I can take, right now." Bard apologized.

Thranduil looked hurt, but he stopped trying to touch him. "Can you tell me what you feel? Can I help?"

Bard shook his head. "I – "

Just then there were frantic footsteps outside the door to the study, and a guard rushed in. "My Lord!"

"What is it?" Thranduil demanded. "What happened?"

"Captain Dior and Lieutenant Elion have been stabbed, and the one called Iola is dead! You must come quickly!"

Bard looked at his husband in horror; his mouth was too dry to speak.

"Tell us what happened, on the way. Are the guards in the Healing Halls?"

"They are at the scene. Elénaril is trying to stabilize Dior, so he can be moved."

They all broke out into a run, with the young, black-haired guard ahead, ordering everyone to make way. At this moment, Bard didn't care if anyone saw how fast he could run, now. They needed to get there; they were already too late.

Whey came up to the scene on the walkway, Bard cursed, under his breath. There was Dior, who moments ago, had been standing straight and strong in their office, lying in a pool of blood, unconscious. Elénaril and another Healer were frantically working over him. Elion was propped up against the railing, grasping his arm in agony, as blood seeped out around his fingers.

The prisoner - where was she?

"She jumped over the railing, My Lord." Elion answered, though Bard hadn't realized he'd said anything out loud.

Bard quickly looked around. The doors to the Main Dining Hall were in direct view. Oh, shit...

He yelled across to a nearby guard. "You! Get to Mistress Bronwyn and tell her to shut those doors – " But just as he said that, they all saw two guards across the way taking care of it. "Good, then; keep the children inside, until we say so. I don't want any of them to see this!"

"Yes, My Lord."

Bard knelt beside Elion and tried to help him staunch the bleeding. "Do you have anything to tie this off?"

The guard groaned in pain. "Yes, My Lord, in my left pocket. I cannot take my hand off my arm to reach for it."

Elion was right. His fingers were barely staunching the flow of blood, as it was. Quickly, Bard grabbed for the cloth, and tied a tourniquet tightly above the wound. It helped, but not much as he'd hoped. Elion's face was becoming dangerously pale, and his lips had lost their color.

"Stay awake, do you hear me? Stay with me." Bloody fuck… This can't be… How could this happen?

"I am doing my best, My Lord." But the guard's voice was barely audible. His hand fell away, and his eyes closed.

"I need some help over here!" Bard cried, desperately, has he put pressure on the wound.

As if in answer to a prayer, Daeron ran across the walkway and skidded to a stop in front of them. "I was in with the children, Lord Bard. They are safe, and cannot see. I thought I could be of service."

"Yes, you can. I've got this tied off, but he's still bleeding, and I can't stop it."

Daeron stopped and took a few breaths, to ready himself.

"Do you want me to move my hands?"

"No. You will help me." Then placed his hands over Bard's and spoke some words in Quenyan. Instantly Bard felt the connection, and began to see what they were looking for. The blade had nicked the artery his upper arm and the guard had lost a dangerous amount of blood. Instinctively Bard pushed down harder, and ignored Elion's moan of pain, as Daeron began to sing the edges of the rip together. Bard began to feel the light inside him, and he knew he was enveloped in it; along with the Elves. He'd no idea what words Daeron was saying, but somehow he knew what they meant. He also knew it wasn't just Daeron doing the healing, he was doing it, too.

This should have fascinated him. He should be excited about this new discovery about himself.

He didn't. It was yet another unfamiliar burden to bear; something else to show he had no idea who he was right now.

At last, they both sensed when to let up the pressure, and they sat up straight, as Daeron felt for his pulse. "It is weak, My Lord, but it is still there. He needs to get to the Healing Hall, right away." Bard helped Daeron pick Elion up, just as some other guards stepped forward to assist in taking their Lieutenant to the infirmary.

"Sigrid! Get back here!" Hilda's outraged and frightened voice echoed through the cavern. But his oldest was determined and continued to run to him, as fast as her legs would take her.

"Da? How can I help?"

"You can't." Bard snapped at her. "I ordered you children to stay in the Dining Hall!"

"But Da – "

"No buts! You were given an order, and I expect you to obey it!"

Sigrid froze in her place, with her eyes wide with hurt. "I just wanted to help. I saw Daeron run out and I thought – "

Bard was past the end of his tether and endurance. "You will never, ever defy my orders, again, do you understand? Suppose that madwoman was still running around?"

"But she isn't, Da. I heard the guard tell Daeron she jumped. I just want to try and hel –"

"ENOUGH!" Bard screamed at her. "DO AS I BLOODY WELL TELL YOU!"

Sigrid stepped back from him, as her eyes spilled over. Hilda came up behind her, and took her arm. "Come now love, let's go back. I need your help to look after the children, yeah? Rhys will need us, right now." The young girl nodded silently, and was doing her best to keep from crying.

Hilda turned her around and they both left, but not before the woman gave him an I'm-going-to-kick-your-bloody-arse look.

Bard tried to care, but right now, it just wasn't in him.

He went over to where they were working on Dior. He saw an object on the floor, and picked it up. It was a metal nail file, with a mother-of pearl handle. It must be part of a vanity set. In fact, Thranduil had one in silver, but this one didn't have dull, rounded edges. It had been sharpened along each edge, and the end had been shaped to point: it must have taken her weeks, but Iola had turned it into a small dagger.

It was covered in blood, the Elves were covered in blood, his hands were full it, and there was blood all over the stone walkway.

Bard barely made it to the railing before he began to retch.

When he recovered his sensibilities, he made his way to where Dior lay. The Captain was still unconscious, and it wasn't looking good. Before he could stop himself, he kneeled in the pool of blood surrounding Dior, and placed his hands over his husband's and Elénaril's. Again, he could "see" it; a punctured left lung, which was bad enough, but blood was filling the cavity surrounding his heart, and it was killing him.

Elénaril reached into her bag and took out a knife. "This is too wide. I need something thinner."

Bard picked up the dagger, again. "Will this do?"

"Wipe it off on your shirt and give it to me." Bard did as she asked, then she took out a bottle of spirits and clean the dried blood off. Then she dipped the blade in the bottle, and swished the blade around in the liquid.

"Hold him steady. Do NOT let him move!"

They placed their hands on him again, as Thranduil began to chant. Bard steadied his own breathing, and he could see Elénaril slowly and oh-so-carefully insert the blade into Dior's side. She went slowly, to avoid any of the veins and arteries in her way, until she pierced the sac. His heart was barely moving. It was Thranduil and the other Healer who had repaired his lung, and were sending the blood through is body, keeping him stable, until the surgery was finished.

Once the sac was pierced, Elénaril began her song, and Bard felt compelled to assist her, to help drain the blood, as quickly as possible. Together they drew it carefully from him, sending it out of him, and onto the stone floor. Once done, they sealed the sac and the hole in his side.

But Dior's heart was still so weak. Shouldn't it be stronger by now? It wasn't. In fact, it had stopped, entirely.

They all looked at each other in horror.

"He's dead," Elénaril whispered. And they all sat back on their heels in shock. The Elves lowered their heads in sorrow.

This was all too much for Bard. Furious, he said, "No, dammit, he bloody well isn't!"

"Bard – "

"No!" Bard put his hands on Dior again, determined to do something. "Don't you dare die! Don't you fucking dare!" But nothing happened.

"Bard," Thranduil whispered.

"Shut up!" Then he looked down at the lifeless Elf and felt nothing but rage at all the destruction that monster Ioan had wrought upon so many lives. When would it end?

Before he realized what he was doing, he balled his hands into fists and brought them down with all his might on Dior's chest. "Don't you dare die!" He hit him again. And again. He cursed the heart that lay so still in his chest, and made sure to aim his next blow right on it. "LIVE, you bastard!"

Thranduil's hands were on his arms, shaking him. "Stop it, Bard. BARD!"

The Bowman came back to himself, and sat up straight, panting, and saw everyone stare and him, with wide eyes.

Had he gone mad, too? Oh, gods…

"Bard?" His husband was upset, but Bard couldn't bring himself to care, as they looked at each other.

No one was expecting what happened then.

"Look! Dior's chest is rising!"

"What?"

"He took a breath!"

Elénaril quickly put her hands back on his chest, as the other healer put her fingers to his neck. They looked at each other incredulously. "His heart is beating again."

"But how could that happen?" Thranduil asked. "It stopped. We all saw it!"

But the Healer was too busy checking over the Captain. "I do not care how it happened, I am only glad it did." She looked up at a pair of waiting guards. "Take him to a treatment room, quickly. I will be right behind you."

Once Dior had been taken away, the two Kings were left standing on the walkway, standing in, covered with, and reeking of, blood. Thranduil ordered that Iola's body be recovered as soon as possible, and several guards left to begin the task.

"This needs to be cleaned up, I don't want any children near this." Bard heard himself say, in a faraway voice.

Thranduil gave the orders, then put his hand on the small of Bard's back to guide him back to their chambers. When they got there, Galion had soap, water, and changes of clothes, ready for them, in the study.

"I hope this is all right, My Lord. I did not want to take the chance of Tilda seeing you in this state." Galion said, as the Aide's eyes ran over both of them.

"Thank you, Galion." Bard heard his husband say. "That was thoughtful of you. Please make sure any bloody footprints are removed from the floor; especially this hall, before the children come back."

Bard didn't acknowledge Galion's presence, so he didn't see the concerned look on the Aide's face. He removed his boots before stepping into the Elvenking's office. Once the door was closed, he tore off his clothes and rolled them in a ball and viciously threw them in a corner. Then he poured some water into the basin and began to soap his hands and arms. He his movements quickened, and he began to dig viciously into this skin, to remove all traces of the violent crime that had just taken place. He only realized how frantic his movements had become, when Thranduil put his hands over Bard's wrists to try and still him.

"Meleth nîn?" Thranduil's voice was soft and tentative, and held him firmly, until Bard slowed down. Bard didn't want to look at him, or anybody, he could barely stand to be touched like this, but he did manage to get himself under control. Bard rinsed off, redressed, and went over to the couch to put on his clean boots, as Thranduil took his turn with the soap and water.

He felt like he was watching himself go through the motions, as if he had somehow drifted out of his body, to observe all this from afar. All that was happening in this room, in this Palace, even inside him seemed far away.

Bard glanced over and saw Thranduil finish dressing, and added his clothes and boots to the bloody heap of fabric in the corner.

"Galion will take them to be washed." The Elvenking said, and moved toward the door.

"No."

Thranduil blinked. "Bard?"

"Burn them. I don't ever want to lay eyes on them again."

Thranduil looked at him for a long while, then nodded. He opened the door and ordered the guard to take them away. He also requested their warm cloaks, which soon arrived.

"Come, Hervenn nîn. Let us get some fresh air. Galion will see to Tilda, and the children will not be back for hours."

They stepped outside, and walked for a while. Bard's steps were quick and hard, as if he was trying to punish the very ground he stood on for everything he was trying not to feel.

"Bard, please…"

"What?" he whipped his head around to look at his husband. "Tell me, what? What?!"

"I know you are upset and angry…"

Bard looked into his face, and all the feelings he was trying to stave off, began to touch him, and soon he was drowning in them.

Thranduil was concerned. "Just talk to me, Meleth nîn. Tell me what you are thinking, and feeling."

Bard knew that his husband only meant well, but that moment, he didn't care.

"I can't begin to tell you what I'm feeling." He said in a quiet, voice, as fists clenched and unclenched. "As for what I'm thinking? Trust me Thranduil, you really don't want to know."

"Yes, Meleth nîn, I do."

"Don't call me that!"

Thranduil flinched back with his mouth open, and his eyes wide, but there was such a storm in him, he didn't let it register. Bard knew what he'd said, but it had come from a place in him that lacked reason or restraint.

"You want to know what I'm thinking? Fine, I'll tell you: What the bloody fuck happened out there, Thranduil? How could those two have no fucking idea that bitch had a knife on her? How could you let it happen? I was under the impression you chose them for the job! You said they were 'highly trained' and I trusted you!"

Bard couldn't stop now; whatever popped into his mind poured right out of his mouth, whether it was true, or not. He was desperate to get this dreadful, violent wrath out of himself. He was suffocating from it, and was clawing at anything, anything to breath the fresh air, again.

As Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, Bard cut him off. "No, Thranduil! I trusted you! From the beginning, it was you I trusted, and looked up to and felt safe with."

Bard laughed bitterly, then continued with scorn, "You fed my people when we were about to die of starvation, and I'm grateful, but then you had this brilliant idea that you could turn me into a King! You knew I didn't know the first thing about it, but you pushed me into doing it. You made me feel like my people wouldn't survive, if it wasn't me! I didn't have any choice, did I? Then you and Gandalf made me negotiate with the dwarves, by making me feel like it all depended on me, and the whole future of Middle Earth would fall, if I fucked it up!

"I've been separated from my children, for the first time since they were born, which was your idea. Then my youngest, my baby, almost dies, and I wasn't there, Thranduil! I wasn't there to help her, and now, I don't know if she'll ever be the same!"

When Bard began to talk about Tilda, he was incensed beyond all control. "Every time I see her wrestle with her thoughts and memories, IT SLICES MY INSIDES TO RIBBONS!" he screamed. "To bloody ribbons! She can't even FUCKING WALK, Thranduil, and I don't know if she ever will again! How I am supposed to try and live with that, and be the King you decided I had to be? HOW am I supposed to keep all of this up? You have all the fucking answers; but I don't hear a word about this, do I?"

The shocked and hurt look on Thranduil's face barely registered through his rage. The Elf was frozen to the spot, and his eyes began to fill.

Bard saw it, but the part of him that would despise what he was saying was gone, right now.

He continued to yell at the top of his lungs. "Because you wanted me to be a King, Thranduil, I had to sit in there and deal with something more revolting than anything I ever saw on the battlefield! Gods, I can't get rid of the feeling of being covered with insects! Every time I close my eyes to sleep, I see… I can't even say it!"

Bard clenched his teeth and spat, "Oh, but now, thanks to the incompetency of your fucking guards, there was blood everywhere, and they almost lost their lives! Where in the fuck was Iola hiding that knife, and why in the bloody fuck didn't your men know it was there? Do you have any idea what could've happened if one of my children happened to be on that walkway when she managed to get free? Or any child?"

Thranduil swallowed and said, quietly, and his breath caught. "I do not know."

"Oh, really? The mighty Thranduil, the ancient Elvenking who's done and seen everything 'doesn't know?' You want to hear about what I don't know? EVERYTHING! In the last three and a half months, there is nothing of the life I once knew! I sit in my study and pretend to know what the fuck I'm doing, but I don't. I sit behind that desk or walk around among my people and they all look to me like I'm supposed to have all the fucking answers, and I don't!"

Then the volume of Bard's voice lowered, and his lip curled in fury, as he continued. "Let me tell you something else you don't know. Do you have any idea what I've been going through in Dale? What it's been like, to try and get used to a body that acts in a way I can't recognize? My weapons practice is a fucking joke! You haven't a clue how many bruises the Chief Healer has to take care of, because I can't even swing a bloody fucking sword right now! And he treats me as if I'm some sort of… specimen, he wants to study, because no one knows what's going to happen to me! I don't know what's happening, and it's MY fucking body!" His cheeks were wet, and he could hardly see, and his body shook with fury.

"Do you know what I'd be doing now, if I were the way I used to be? I'd be taking my bow and arrow out to shoot, and shoot, and shoot, until I felt like I had some control in my own fucking life again! Even if it was a lie, at least I could feel good enough about myself to pretend it was the truth for one more day. Archery was the ONE thing that made me feel like a man, when so much else was gone. Thanks to my marriage to you, I can't hit a fucking target anymore! I'm drowning in all this shit, Thranduil, and I feel like a stranger in my own body, and I fucking HATE IT!"

Bard fell silent as struggled to pull air into his lungs, and realized what he had done. He'd stepped over a line he'd never meant to cross.

And now...

Oh, gods… No, no, no…

Thranduil stood frozen on the path, as a tear fell down his cheek, unnoticed. Then that same cheek began to change shape and color, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The spark and life that Bard had loved about his eyes was gone.

Oh, no… Bard's rage and confusion, was instantly replaced with regret and shame. All the remaining fight went out of him, and he didn't know what to do, now.

They stood there staring at each other for several minutes; unmoving.

Bard was mortified, and tried to fix it, before it was too late.

"Oh, Stars, Thran, I…" He took a step forward, and began to reach out to him, but Thranduil flinched out of his reach, as if Bard's touch would burn him.

The Elf turned and fled, leaving Bard alone.

Iola's death was his own fault. Dior's and Elion's blood were on his hands. His ignorance and neglect had caused that bloody, murderous scene in front of him. He was King, and he'd not done due diligence, and now there was death and bloodshed.

Worst of all, he was too much of a coward to face his own guilt for what had just occurred, so he turned on Thranduil, his love, the one who'd nothing but support him and love him and help him.

What have I done?

Bard just killed the most beautiful thing in his life, and destroyed the family they were trying to make, before it ever had a chance to really get started!

Oh, Valar… no…please…

Bard made his way over to a nearby bench, buried his face in his shaking hands, and felt his insides shatter into tiny pieces, as he sobbed.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Hervenn nîn – my husband

NOTES:

Bard did what was called a "Precordial thump" on Dior's chest. It is not a recommended procedure, and is no longer a part of CPR training. It looks great in the movies, and it also sounds great in a story, which is why, on my version of Middle Earth, it works miracles.

Just don't ever try that at home, kids; not without the proper supervision...