Chapter Forty-Three
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SUMMARY: Thranduil has arrived in Dale to try to save his Bowman, no matter what the cost.
Even if it means the ultimate sacrifice.
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City of Dale, 15th of April 2942 T.A.
"ADA!" Tauriel ran up to Thranduil and threw her arms around him, sobbing. "I knew you would come! Hortho!" Then she took him by the hand,and quickly pulled him into her room, to help him out of his armor and his outer clothing.
As they did so, Tauriel tried to tell him what happened in a shaky voice. "We were on our way to the house they were working on, and we stopped to talk to Old Ben…" She wiped her eyes, as she helped him with all his buckles. "A stone block fell on his leg. I didn't even have time to…" he voice caught. "I heard the rope snap. It happened so fast; I couldn't get to him in time! I'm so sorry. I'm sorry…" She began to weep. "I didn't get there in time to save him! I should have protected him!" she sobbed. "I was just a second too late… I'm so sorry!"
Thranduil's body swayed at those words, and he had to grab a bedpost, to steady himself, as he heard a loud rushing in his ears. Those had been his exact thoughts, when his wife died.
Tauriel grabbed his arm and began to take off his vambraces, as she continued to tell him what happened. "The dog saved his life. Thangon jumped at Bard and knocked him out of the way, just as the top stone fell; how he was not killed himself, I do not know…"
The Elvenking took a couple of deep breaths. "I must know what his condition is, Gwinïg. Please, tell me everything,"
"His leg has been crushed, and a piece of bone nicked an artery. He is in a healing sleep, now, to keep him still. They managed to slow the bleeding, but they are focused on Bard's heart, to keep it working. He's lost so much blood, and… the Healer said he needs more than we can give him. I do not know if he will live… Oh, Ada, I should have gotten him out of the way sooner; I should have…" she sobbed. "Goheno nin, Ada. Gin iallon, díheno nin!"
"Shh…shh…" He kissed his daughter's brow, again, as the last piece of armor fell to the floor. "Thank you, Gwinïg." He squeezed her hands, before they rushed to Bard's door. This time, his hand didn't hesitate, when he turned the knob.
The Chief Healer looked up from the bedside at Thranduil, wide-eyed, as if a miracle had occurred. "I do not know what caused you to come so soon, My Lord, but I thank the Valar you did. He is almost beyond any of us."
Percy was sitting in a chair, holding Bard's hand, staring open-mouthed at the sight of the disheveled Elvenking.
"What does he need?" Thranduil snapped, terrified he was too late. "Tell me, quickly."
"You, my Lord. He needs his bond-mate. Now. Are you fatigued?"
"Do you have time for me to rest?"
"No. You are right." The Healer turned to Percy, "Lord Percy, please bring Feren in quickly. When he is here, I am going to have to ask you to step out, as we will need to concentrate. We cannot be interrupted for any reason. You and the guards make sure no one comes in that corridor or makes any noise. Do you understand?" Then to Tauriel. "You may stay, but only if you can be calm."
The Elf nodded, determined.
Percy took off to get Feren, who arrived less than a minute later, and the door was closed to the bedroom and locked.
Thranduil was unaware of anything but his Bowman's pale, barely recognizable face face. He took in the swath of bloody bandages on his leg, and the enormous stain of blood on the mattress. He had never seen that much blood before, except when Mírelen bled out all over him…
No! Stop! He blew out some short breaths, forcing his mind to the here and now.
A hand touched him on the back. "We must begin, My Lord by completely closing the cut in his artery. There are pieces of shattered bone in the way, so they must be moved into place, before we can seal it. His main organs must be kept functioning, and that is my main worry, as he has lost so much blood, but until we can correct his bones, we cannot be sure that is the only place from which he is bleeding. You will see when you touch him." The Healer and Tauriel poured boiling water from a kettle hanging over the fire, and poured them into bowls, adding Athelas.
"Let us begin, My Lord."
Thranduil forced his eyes away from Bard's face and centered himself again bent down and placed his hands over the top of Bard's thigh, gently. He closed his eyes and concentrated. No. He was up too high. He slowly moved his hands down, seeing the mess that his bones once were. Where is it? He listened to Bard's body, asking where the biggest danger was, but there was too much hurt, too much pain, even in a deep slumber, there were too many cries, coming from so many places.
Now he knew why the Chief Healer couldn't pinpoint the tear in the artery. He drew on more of his power to drown out the "noise" and searched very carefully. Soon, he saw. It was a nick, with a shred of bone still in the artery. Bard was only alive now, because of the quick application of the tourniquet, and the Healers' attempts to seal the wound, and slow the bleeding. Even so, he could sense Bard had minutes left, possibly seconds, before it would be too late.
"It is here. I need help to move the bones." Thranduil whispered. He felt the Healer's hands next to his. "No, put your hands atop mine, but do not press down."
Once done, they combined their power to pull out the bone and seal the artery, stopping the bleeding. They both inhaled deeply and began to sing, as they slowly moved the splinters of bone into place and held them there, until they began to grow together, near the site of the arterial damage.
All these bone fragments around the wound must be knitted fully, and with precision, or the slightest movement of them could make him bleed again.
Suddenly, Bard's heart faltered into an erratic and rapid rhythm. Thranduil quickly removed his hands from the leg and placed his hands on his chest. He sang gently to the heart, urging it to slow down, and he gave much of his own strength, to keep it beating. It didn't matter how well they could set his leg, if this was all too much for his heart. He urged Bard's lungs to take deep breaths. Yes…That was it….
Once Bard's organs calmed, he and the Healer returned to Bard's shattered thigh. This was so much more work than healing one broken rib! Months ago, when he and Bard worked together to repair the jagged rib in Rhian's chest, it was difficult and exhausting – and that was just one break. This felt endless, as they looked for every splinter, every crack.
Again, Bard's heart faltered, and, again, he moved his hands up, to keep it going.
By silent agreement, he kept his concentration there, while the Healer and his assistant continued to work on the leg, and Feren and Tauriel were doing their best to help wherever they were needed most. Bard's body was still crying out from all the pieces of bone the other Elves were putting into place, as quickly as they could.
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For a long time, Thranduil was the only thing preventing his heart from stopping altogether. He urged on its every beat, told his lungs when to take in deep breaths of air. He couldn't stop his efforts for even a second: if he paused, or even faltered, Bard was dead.
He was beginning to tire, but he kept up his efforts to keep Bard going. He felt his glamour fall, and it hurt terribly, but Bard was still in danger, and he would not, could not, stop.
Feren felt Thranduil's power flagging, and stepped to the other side of him, and laid his hands over the Elvenking's.
"Gi nathathon, Mellon nîn; Gi nathathon…" Feren whispered, encouraging both Thranduil and Bard. Thranduil kept on, until his hands and body were shaking. Salty tears stung the wounds on his face, yet he didn't waver.
Bard's heart rhythm became erratic, and threatened to stop, yet again. Feren, the Healer, and Thranduil heard it and felt it, and all three sent even more energy to it, to calm and strengthen.
"De nathathog… de nestathodh…" he begged the Valar. Please help him… please heal him…
Finally, finally, the heart began to beat in a steady, if weak rhythm, again. After several minutes, his heart still maintained its pace, but it was still unpredictable…
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Ermon, the Chief Healer now had two patients in grave danger.
Even if they completely set the leg around the artery, the Healer could see that the loss of blood could stop Bard's heart at any time; it was working too hard to keep beating.
They had done all they could for Bard. Elven magic had reached its limit, and Bard was in the hands of Eru Ilúvitar and the Valar, now.
He also knew the Elvenking had to stop now, regardless of their success with Bard, or his own life would be lost. He fully understood the consequences for Thranduil, should Bard die, but he could not, in all good conscience, stand by, and allow his beloved King to kill himself, when it might not do any good.
Never had he seen an Elf give so much and survive. Thranduil was more powerful than any of them, but even he was far beyond his limit, and now the Healer had to save his King, if he still could…
"My Lord?" The Healer gently put his hand on Thranduil's wrist. "You must stop, now…"
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Out in the Great Hall, all they could do was wait. Bombur came over and with the cooks, made sure there was plenty of strong tea on hand, and food to snack on, while they paced, and worried. Hours before, several volunteers and scrubbed and scrubbed, until every trace of blood was gone from the floors, and from the stone streets outside.
Many of the Men and Elves went back out to work, because they couldn't stand being helpless. "Beggin' your pardon, My Lord," one man told Dáin and Percy. "We'd feel better pounding nails; it gives us something to think on, and we don't want to let Lord Bard down, by lettin' the work slag off. He'd want us to keep it up."
"Aye, that's good thinking," Percy nodded. "Lord Bard would want that."
There was still no word, at suppertime, and into the evening. The Dwarves served them all supper and brought out some wine and ale. Feren's Captain asked Bofur and a few others set up in the corner, and played soft, soothing music to help keep those waiting as calm as possible.
"It will help those who are healing Lord Bard, if we can send them strength," the Elf explained.
Dáin retained his outward appearance of calm and confidence. He didn't let any of his terrible worry show, not just for Bard, but for the North. Everything they were trying to accomplish here, was balanced on the edge of a knife, and if one King fell...
It felt morbid to be planning ahead as if Bard was already dead, but it had to be done. Bain would make a good King, but he was just a young boy. If the worst were to happen, Thranduil would act as regent, and they both would keep Dale safe, until the lad was ready to take over.
Once the wider world knew of the Kingdom's vulnerability, Dáin was afraid they'd be constantly fending off attempts to conquer Dale, and its surrounding areas. It was energy and manpower nobody had to spare, right now. Too much depended on getting the economies of Erebor and Dale moving.
The Great Hall was a somber place, as he paced and waited for word. Percy paced with him, looking like a ghost. Alun had made sure the man ate and had a hot cup of tea in his hand, whenever he sat down.
Dáin clapped his hand on the man's shoulder. "They're doin' everythin' they can, Percy. We've got te believe it's goin' te be all right, yeah?"
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"Please, My Lord… You have done all you can…" The Healer urged the Elvenking.
"NO!" Thranduil wouldn't stop. He couldn't let another spouse die. He couldn't fail; he couldn't lose yet another one he loved. Bard had to live.
"No… I can't…" Thranduil growled, through gritted teeth, as his trembling hands remained on his husband's chest. "I have to…"
The Elvenking heard Healer's voice, whisper to him, "You must stop, now. I am sorry, but you must." Gently, he took Thranduil's hands and, with effort, pulled them away.
The voices in the room barely registered, as his vision blur, become fuzzy and grey. Still he was determined to save his husband. Several times, Thranduil freed his wrists from the Healer's grip, and placed his shaking hands back on his Bard.
He couldn't stop; Bard had to live!
"Feren, quickly!" The Chief Healer's frantic cry was heard.
Just as the Elvenking began to collapse, the Commander jumped forward and caught him, and barely managed to keep Thranduil from falling on Bard's injured leg, which would have killed him.
"Take care of him," the Healer said, tersely. "We will try to stabilize Lord Bard."
Tauriel quickly ran around to the other side of the bed, and helped maneuver Thranduil, so Feren could pick him up, bridal-style.
"Put him in my bedroom." Tauriel said, with tears in her eyes, and she unlocked the door and opened it for him.
The Commander carried him into the hall, and into her bedroom, where he gently laid his King down. They quickly removed his boots, and took off his belt, then arranged his pillows, before covering him with several blankets, to keep him warm.
Thranduil stirred for a moment and mouthed, "Bard?"
"We have done everything we can for him, Mellon nîn," Feren told him, as he tucked the blankets around him.
The Elvenking felt himself float and drift, but managed to whisper his husband's name, one last time, before he felt himself begin to sink into oblivion.
"Thranduil," he heard Feren whisper, worriedly. "You have given too much. Please, do not leave us," he begged, "please!"
He felt his Commander kiss his hand, and the wet tears that fell, as Feren whispered. "You must live, Mellon nîn. Please, stay with us…" and the sound of heartbreaking sobs filled the room.
Thranduil was very sorry for his friend's pain, and hoped one day, Feren would forgive him this sacrifice.
It is Bard who must live… he thought. My Bowman must live… as the blackness took him, and he knew no more.
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Tauriel wiped her eyes as she watched Feren take her Ada away, and covered him with a thick layer of blankets.
"Go back and see if you can do anything for Bard." Feren ordered. "I will monitor your Ada." When she hesitated, he gave her an encouraging nod. "I am not going to let him die, even if I have to keep his heart beating myself, I promise."
She still struggled to wrap her head around all of this. Just hours ago, she and Bard were laughing over their breakfast, and playing in the snow with Thangon… In the blink of an eye, her life was turned upside down, and its foundations were crumbling.
"Is there nothing more we can do?" she asked the Chief Healer. She looked up at him with desperation.
He sighed. "I am afraid not, child. He is alive, but barely, and I do not know if he will last. He should have died hours ago, despite all Lord Thranduil was doing for him."
"But Bard's different… We don't know what will happen."
"Tauriel," he said patiently, "you are not wrong. Bard is a unique creature now: no longer a man, yet not an Elf, and perhaps this is working to his advantage, right now. I wish I knew what to tell you, or what to predict."
Her heart squeezed. "I do not know what to do; I need to go to Ada, but Bard is… What if I lose them both? We just became a family… I might lose my parents all over again and I will be alone!" She buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
She felt a comforting arm around her shoulders, as she leaned on him for support. "Come hênig; my assistants will stay with Bard. Feren is sitting with Thranduil; take a few minutes to collect yourself, while I go speak with Percy and the others."
The Chief Healer helped her steady herself, and made to leave, but Tauriel wiped her eyes and stood straight. "No. I want to go with you."
The Healer looked her over carefully. "Are you sure?"
"I am." She nodded. "You are just as exhausted and upset as I am; we will support each other."
He sighed heavily, and agreed. "Thank you. I will never get used to giving families bad news, and this day… hurts deeply." He put his fingers under her chin, and gave Tauriel a weak smile. "We must all be ready to face whatever comes, and lean on each other."
Tauriel took his arm, and together, they made their way down the corridor, and into the Great Hall, where utter silence reigned.
Percy, Ben, Alun and King Dáin were sitting at the first table, by the door, and they jumped up anxiously, as well as every other Man, Elf, and Dwarf there.
"Well?" Dáin asked impatiently.
"I am afraid Bard is in very critical condition, and it is not known, at this time, whether he will survive. Frankly, it is a miracle he is alive at all, and that is mostly thanks to Lord Thranduil."
The Healer then took a deep breath. "We have done everything possible for him, and we will continue to monitor him constantly. We have closed the tear in the artery in his leg and fixed the bones around it so that it will not reopen, but we are not able to re-knit all the bone fragments; that requires more effort than even My King can accomplish. If he can remain stable, if he survives the night, we will enclose his leg in a stiff casting, to immobilize the limb and encourage the rest of the bone to heal.
"Can you do that now?" Alun asked.
"No. Bard has lost a tremendous amount of blood. So much so, in fact, that his heart faltered three times." At these words, everyone in the Great Hall gasped, and Percy went white. "Each time, King Thranduil managed to start it again, but with great difficulty. Any further stress on his system, such as shifting him around, will kill him." The Chief Healer's voice cracked, "I am so sorry we cannot do more."
"So, we wait." Percy's voice was hoarse, and he had to grab the back of a chair. "Oh, gods…" Alun stepped over and put a hand on his back to steady him.
Tauriel and the Healer looked at each other, before he sighed, "There is more, I am afraid."
"What in Mordor do ye mean, 'there's more?'" Dáin said warily.
The Chief Healer tried to keep his professional composure, but it was a tremendous struggle. Tauriel took his hand and squeezed it, as she struggled with her own tears. "King Thranduil worked a miracle to keep Bard alive, but he did so to his own detriment. He has given away too much of his strength and stamina, to save his husband, and now –" He choked up and had to stop and blink back tears.
"What happened?"
"My King has collapsed, and he is extremely frail." The Healer held his forehead. "He may die, as well."
"WHAT?" Dáin bellowed. "WHAT THE FECK HAPPENED IN THERE?"
Captain Mablung stood, "Where is Commander Feren?" he asked, with a horrified look on his face.
"He is sitting with King Thranduil, but he is in a weakened state from our efforts, and will need to rest very soon. Tauriel also needs to sleep, but we have put Thranduil in her bed."
The Captain stepped forward and turned to everyone in the Great Hall, and shouted out in Sindarin, "I want any Elf with a gift of Healing to step forward. Now!"
As some of the Elves stepped toward the back of the Hall, he said to the Healer. "I do not know if it would help, Master, but they might help keep Bard's organs functioning, until his condition stabilizes."
The Chief Healer shook his head. "I do not know, but we must try everything. I will need you to organize shifts, and I want someone's hand on King Bard's chest at all times, to closely monitor his heart, lungs and other vital organs. We will need to feed him liquids using a hollow reed, as well. I am going to arrange to have some brought to his bedside, and you must dip the reed in the water and such and use your finger to bring it to his mouth, a few drops a time."
The Elves who had gathered around the Healer all nodded; they were familiar with this therapy, and they knew it would help keep Bard hydrated and stable, and help his body replace the blood that was lost.
"We will also sit with King Thranduil, so support him, as well. It might help," the Captain told him.
"It may. If Lord Bard does not survive..." he couldn't finish his sentence.
The Captain nodded, then turned and said to the Hall, in Westron, "We will begin a prayer vigil for our Kings' recovery. Anyone present, is welcome to join in."
"Thank you," Percy said to the Captain, as he wiped his own eyes. "This means a lot."
Old Ben stepped over to the Steward of Dale, to offered what help he could. "I'll see to it, that anyone who can help, will have their shifts covered and make sure they get everything they need."
King Dáin then stepped up, to speak with the Chief Healer. "I'm sendin' fer Oin, te look after the rest of yer patients, while you'uns take care of those two."
Then the King Under the Mountain stood in a table and bellowed to everyone in the building. "Listen up, an' listen good! Until those two are back on their feet, the Kingdom of Dale is under my protection, and so is Lord Bain, the heir to Dale. These lands will no' be vulnerable to outsiders at any point, is that understood? Anyone, near or far, with an idea o' takin' over Bard's Kingdom will meet with my sword personally!"
Dáin addressed the Captain of the Elves. "I'm sending fer Dwalin. I want the guard doubled both here and the Mountain, and the roads watched in all directions, is that clear? News like this travels faster than one o' my Ravens, an' we won't take no chances. Yer in charge o' yer bunch, till the Commander can take over."
"Ma, Hîr nîn." And the soldier nodded his deference and saluted.
"I'm goin' to send a message to the Woodland Realm; I think they should tighten their borders."
"I agree My Lord. In the absence of the King and Feren, the Royal Council is in charge, and Lord Galion will work with them to see it done."
"Good." Dain nodded back. "Dwalin will assign Dwarves to make up for yer lads who'll be busy with the Kings back there."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, My Lord." The Captain saluted and left to arrange the roster.
Alun put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'll take over your duties, best I can; you need to go sit with Bard. Don't worry; we'll take care of everything out here. Go."
Percy nodded gratefully, and made to leave, but not before the Healer cautioned. "You may sit with him, but do not try to move any part of him. Speak softly and be encouraging."
Percy indicated his agreement, then turned to Tauriel. "We'll do our best to get us all through this, yeah? But you're exhausted, so I'm going to put you in my room for now, to get some sleep." When she started to protest, he held his finger up. "You're dead on your feet, love. We'll set up a bed for you in Bard's study to use later."
"But," she began to cry again. "I need to –"
"I know, love." Percy gathered her to him and held her. "We're all scared, but you're no good to anyone like this. You're weak and pale and ready to fall over. We want you to look after yourself, so you can help your Ada and Bard, right?"
She didn't say anything; she just looked to King Dáin with desperate eyes.
He stepped over and patted her arm. "Come no' lassie. Percy's right." Dáin told her gently. "Ye need to go get yer rest. Do as he tells ye, and I'll see ye in a while."
The Dwarf turned her in the direction of the passageway, and motioned Bofur forward. "No' lassie, he'll be takin' ye to go lay yerself down. We'll come an' git ye the minute summat 'appens."
Like a lost child, she allowed Percy and Bofur to lead her away.
In the meantime, the Captain was busy arranging shifts between the Elves that stepped forward. Two would sit with each King immediately and will be relieved by the others on a regular basis.
One of the Elves that stepped forward, was Daeron's cousin, Turamarth, and he spoke to the Healer in Sindarin. The other volunteers nodded in agreement, and the Elf pointed to four of the volunteers to go back.
After they left, Dáin walked over to the Healer, and Turamarth. "What did you say?"
Turamarth, who had been working hard to learn Westron this winter answered, in a heavy accent. "They are willing to give their fëas - their own spirits - if need be, so that the Kings might live."
"They'd do that?" Dáin asked, with not a little respect.
"Absolutely, if it comes to that." The Chief Healer nodded. "Just as Lord Thranduil gave too much to Bard, they are willing to give their all, as well."
"Would it save them?" The King Under the Mountain asked, when he saw the sad look on the Healer's face.
"I wish I could tell you, My Lord. I simply do not know." The older Elf said, weakly. "This day has been a calamity."
"You, lad," he pointed to Turamarth. "Take 'im to his bed."
Turamarth saluted. "Yes, My Lord," took the Healer by the elbow. "You are very weak; lean on me," as he walked away.
Before Dáin went back to see the Kings, he scribbled a short note, and whispered instructions to his guard. "Send this wi' a Corbie to Gandalf and tell that bird to hurry. He's stayin' with the Skinchanger down south. Tell no one, ye hear?"
After the Dwarf saluted and left, Dáin made his through the passage, then turned left down the long corridor.
Dáin cursed under his breath. "If those two die, the North is lost, an' we're all doomed."
He prayed Gandalf would get the message in time
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Gi nathathon, mellon nîn; Gi nathathon – I will help you, my friend; I will help you.
Goheno nin, Ada; gin iallon, díheno nin. – Forgive me, daddy; I beg you to forgive me.
Gwinïg – "Little Fingers," Thranduil's pet name for Tauriel
Hortho! – Hurry!
Mellon nîn – My friend
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NOTES:
Corbie is the Scottish/Celtic name for Raven.