Chapter Forty-Four
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SUMMARY: Bard and Thranduil still lay unconscious in their beds, while while Percy, Dain and Tauriel hover over them and worry. King Dain learns a bit more of the motivation behind the Elvenking's decision, but he's still anxious to hear from Gandalf.
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The Woodland Realm; 15th of April 2942, T.A. (Morning)
Two hours after Thranduil left for Dale that morning, Galion received a message via Raven that that Bard had hurt his leg, and Thranduil was needed right away.
"Well, that explains why Thranduil stumbled, doesn't it?" Hilda held the paper in her hand.
"It does," Galion said.
"He seemed right enough after a few minutes, so I suppose it can't be that serious."
They sent for Daeron, and the three of them debated what to say to the children. After discussing it at length, they decided it didn't hurt to let them know what the message said; it wasn't exactly ominous news.
"Is that why Ada left?" Sigrid asked.
"Yes." Galion said. "He did not know what was wrong, but when he stumbled this morning, he thought it might have something to do with your Da. He could feel it through their bond. You understand about Elven bond-mates?"
"Aye. I read it one of the books Ada gave me. Why didn't he say something then?"
"Because he was not sure, and he only left for Dale as a precaution. Remember, theirs is a mixed-race marriage, and nothing can be certain."
Bain looked upset, but nodded. "I guess I can see that. And Tilda was there, so even if he did know for sure, he wouldn't want her to get upset."
"A lot of people hurt their legs. Mine don't work right, so maybe Ada went to help him feel better, like he does me."
Galion picked her up from her chair and put her in his lap. "That is exactly why he went, hênig."
Sigrid nodded. "Will he be all right?"
"All we know, is that your Da hurt his leg and they wanted Ada to go." If there was worse news, it would have said so."
Galion told them. "As upsetting as it was when your Ada collapsed, it seemed a good thing. Thranduil arrived in Dale hours before they expected him."
"Ada's a powerful Elf, so he'll make sure Da's all right." Bain agreed.
So, it was settled. They were concerned, of course, but felt sure all would be well.
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City of Dale; 15th of April 2942, T.A. (Evening)
Percy sat beside Bard, who was so pale, so still. He watched his chest, to see if it would rise, but the movement was barely noticeable. He sighed, and placed his hand over his friend's and gasped at how cold it felt.
"Talk to him." The Healer's assistant suggested. The Elf's hand remained on Bard's chest, over his heart.
"What do I say?" Percy asked, with a broken voice. "Doesn't he need to sleep?"
"He in a state much deeper than sleep, Lord Percy. Talk to him like you normally would and make sure your words are relaxed and positive. It helps."
Just as the Healer finished her sentence, King Dáin stepped into the room, followed by two of Feren's soldiers, ready to offer when they could.
Dáin stepped over to Bard, looking at his face, intensely. "May Durin and Mahal protect ye, an' keep ye safe, boy." He whispered. He took in the sight of the room, full of bloody cloths and a blood-soaked mattress. "This place looks like a war zone." He commented. "I know he canna be moved yet, but tha's no reason te 'ave te look a' all this."
"You're right." Percy said. "I'll get this cleaned up –"
"Sit here down." The King Under the Mountain waved him back to his seat, and ordered a Guard to go and arrange it.
What can one say, when something like this happens? Neither of them knew what else to talk about, so they began to speak of practical, trivial matters, which brought them a strange sort of comfort. Solid problems, with workable solutions, helped anchor them in this terrifying situation, where everything else depended upon intangibles.
Percy took in the condition of the bed. "If – no, when – Bard can be moved, I'll have to have to burn this mattress; it's ruined. But we can cover what we can with blankets."
"Good idea." Dáin said. "We can just tuck them against his side for now; it'll 'elp wi' the smell, it will be less o' a fright to Tauriel. The poor lass has enough te deal wi'."
Finally, Dáin began to speak on a more personal level. "Ye ken it's no' a secret I couldna stand that Elf King, when we first came. But I liked Bard from the start."
"Really?" Percy was surprised. "Even though he was the 'enemy,' at that time?"
"Oh, aye. Ye'uns had nothin' but the clothes on yer backs and a ragtag Army, but there ye were, every bit as straight an' tall as the Elfs. Ye boys had true courage, and that counts fer a lot wi' my kind."
Percy nodded. "That was the first real chance most of us had to make a better life for our families, after years of tyranny. We weren't about to let it slip through our fingers."
"I ken that, right enough. I heard abo' the ol' Master. A right bastard, he was. But Bard stood head an' shoulders above 'em all, on tha' field, even more than Thranduil. The lad was ready te plunge in and do for his people, no matter what it took."
"So was Thranduil." Percy countered.
"True, but the Elf had thousands o' years te get the hang o' bein' a King, and he had tens o' thousand o' his men backin' him up, so it were easy fer him ta feel sure of himself, ye ken?" Dáin smirked. "Bard was a King fer what? A week or two? But the lad had the same bearin' as if he was born to it. He's sure to be a grand ruler; his humble start in life'll keep 'im from bein' arrogant and drunk on his own power."
Percy agreed, as he looked at his friend's face. "Bard is the best of all of us. I've loved this boy like a son for all of his life, and looked after him since his Da passed..." He looked up at Dáin. "Thranduil really isn't the ass everyone thinks he is."
"Oh, I ken that, no'. Took a while te see it, I admit. But he's got good qualities, fer an Elf. Thorin had me thinkin' he wanted te take over Erebor…" Dáin sighed. "Well, Thorin had me thinkin' a lot o' thin's, but tha' hardly matters now. I miss 'im, and the boys."
"Thranduil always said it was the Gold Sickness that was responsible, not Thorin, and not even Gandalf could cure him of it. He and Bard were impressed that Thorin threw it off. Gandalf said it was a miracle, and it spoke to his quality, and Thranduil agreed with him. It took a lot of guts to go up to Ravenhill and take out the Orc leaders."
"He's right. It were a trap, te be sure, but those two albino assholes had te die, or we could never win. The Elf's son saved our Tauriel, an' we won't forget that."
Percy looked at the Dwarf with a small smile. "A lot's happened since the Battle, hasn't it? Look where we all are, now; this area has never had a better chance at peace." He looked sadly at Bard's still body. "I just hope and pray…"
"Aye, lad; we all do."
"May I ask you something, My Lord?"
"Ask away," answered Dáin.
"If Thorin had lived, would he still be fighting the Gold Sickness?"
"Seems likely." Dáin heaved a sigh. "He might ha' kept it at bay fer a time, but when it's in yer blood, it's in yer blood, ye ken. There's a good chance Fili and Kili would ha' been tormented, wi' it, too."
"I'd never go so far as to say I'm glad they're dead, Lord Dáin, but for everyone's sake, I'm glad you're King Under the Mountain."
"Twas meant to be so, I reckon. But at a high cost." The Dwarf shook his head sadly. "Te tell ye the truth, it wasna the Gold at all. It was that feckin' Arkenstone that caused tha' wretched madness. An' now, the damned thing's back inside the mountain an' good riddance to it."
"How can you be sure?"
"Well, Thror and his get ha' been around gold all their lives, but it wasna' until that damn' stone were dug out o' the Mountain, that the madness began."
Percy considered this. "One night, Thranduil told us about the three Silmarils, made in Valinor," he mused. "He said all they really did was fester greed, disaster and bloodshed over there, and it followed the stones here in Middle Earth. He'd wondered if the Arkenstone was of the same type."
"What made him thin' so?" Dáin asked, curiously.
"When Bilbo brought the Arkenstone to them, the night before the Battle, Thranduil sensed something from it. He said it 'called' to him somehow, so he told Bard keep it. He refused to even touch it."
Dáin sat back thoughtfully. "A smart move on 'is part. I ken the story o' them old jewels, 'cause o' that damned necklace my folk made for King Thingol. Caused no small amount o' bloodshed between Elves and Dwarves, and the Elves even turned on each other for 'em! It's funny that neither Men nor 'obbits were bothered by 'em."
"Eärendil carries one across the sky, every night, and that's not a bad thing." Percy said.
"True enough, but Eärendil was only half an Elf, weren't he?" Dáin tapped the side of his nose.
"Ah."
"Whether tha' wretched stone was part o' a Silmaril or no', we'll never know, and I don't care te find out. All I know is that when Balin suggested Thorin should be buried with it, it saved me from getting' rid o' the cursed thin', myself, and we're all better off."
"We were glad to see it returned to the Mountain, too."
"Aye; we've go' enuff work te do, wi'out that blasted thing to harass us." Dáin got up, and put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "'Twill be all right, lad. No matter wha' 'appens, we'll do our best. It's all we can do, lad."
"Thank you, My Lord."
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Dáin wearily made his way into Thranduil's room, where two of his Elves were sitting beside him, with their heads bowed.
He took a chair on the other side of the bed, and looked at the Elf King. Durin's beard; he was a pasty-faced bastard on a good day; now, he looked like a carved piece of ice!
"Ye've got te live, ye pointy-eared Princess," Dáin told him in a low, yet commanding voice. "You and tha' damned wizard kept tellin' me we had te stick together, and I'll no' let ye bail on me, do ye hear? I canna keep all the North together by meself! Why'd ye do this to yerself? I ken ye love Bard; anyone wi' a brain kens that, but we need ye! All them bairns need ya!"
Perhaps Dáin thought he could goad Thranduil, into waking up, but whatever the reason, it had no effect on the Elvenking; he remained still.
Just then, an assistant to the Chief Healer came in, put his hands on Thranduil's chest and closed his eyes. Dáin saw him heave a sigh of relief, and when he took his hands away, the King Under the Mountain motioned him into the corridor.
"Wha' in Mahal's is going on 'ere?" he demanded. "Why would Thranduil do such a thin' to himself?"
The Healer gave him a patient, but grim smile and asked Dáin to follow him into Bard's study, so they could talk in private.
"I understand your frustration and fear, Lord Dáin, and I share it. You must understand that King Thranduil had to do this. For everyone's sake, including yours."
"How can ye say that? They're both courtin' death, now, instead o' just Bard! How could tha' be any good for anybody? They've got three bairns in o'er there in the woods, and poor Tauriel… That lass is about ta lose both her parents! Again! I ken he loves the lad, but someone's got ta think o' them little ones!" The King Under the Mountain couldn't contain his anger.
"Please, My Lord; sit, and allow me to explain, and perhaps you may understand."
"This 'ad better be good!"
"My Lord, I know you understand about Elven bond-mates, and you also know about the choice the Valar laid before Bard and Thranduil, if they married…
Over the next half-hour, the Healer shared with Dáin all the agony and sacrifice Thranduil made, after Queen Mírelen's murder, to keep from fading, and remain with his people, and his son. He spoke of all the centuries of loneliness, and deep depression, until he met Bard, and they fell in love. He even told Dáin about Thranduil's sacrifice during the War, and how he suffered from the Dragon.
"You were not wrong, My Lord, when you say that my King was icy and remote, but not because he was arrogant or haughty; it was because he was trying to survive. When he and Lord Bard joined, their fëas joined, as is the way of Elves. It is how we are made."
"Why?"
"I suppose for the same reason Mahal, or as we call him, Aulë, made Dwarves with special talents and characteristics no other race has. There are some who think, because Dwarves were adopted by Eru Ilúvitar, and not created, they are lesser, but anyone with wisdom understands it was meant to be so, and we are to appreciate and respect - not compete - with each other."
"So, yer sayin', if one dies, the other…"
"The spouse can die from the grief and the loss. They either fade into nothingness, and hear the call of Mandos, or the remain here, as a shapeless spirit. Most of them sail to Valinor as quickly as possible."
Dáin shook his head in wonder. "So… it were a miracle tha' the Elf lived after his wife passed."
"It was, My Lord, and I think he knew he would not be able to do it again. King Thranduil knew, if Bard died, he could not survive another sundering of his fëa. His only choice was to sacrifice himself, if necessary, to make sure Bard lived, for his children, for his Kingdom and for the North. If only one of them could survive, it needed to be Bard. Prince Legolas could take over the Woodland Realm, and Lord Bard would have his children, and their love to help him.
"So… Thranduil ken he was killin' himself? And still he wouldna stop?"
The Healer's eyes filled with tears. "Not if it meant Lord Bard would die; because he would die, as well."
"So, what happens now?"
"We wait, and hope, and send our most fervent prayers to the Valar. If the King of Dale cannot overcome his injuries, they are both lost."
Dáin nodded his head. "So, if Bard lives, Thranduil will?"
The Healer blew out a breath. "That I do not know. My King gave away too much of himself, and he has almost nothing left. Another miracle is needed to save him, as well."
"Durin help us all," Dáin rubbed his eyes and whispered, and sent up yet another prayer to Mahal for his message to the Wizard to be delivered in time.
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ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:
Nae; û! – Alas, it cannot be!
Posto hí, Gwinïg – Rest here, Little Fingers (Galion's pet name for Tauriel when she was a child)
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NOTES:
*-The three Silmarils were created by Fëanor during the First Age, and more information can be found here: /wiki/Silmarils.
**-The Nauglamír or "Necklace of the Dwarves" was a famed piece of jewelry originally made for King Finrod Felagund, and King Elu Thingol had the Silmaril that Beren and Luthien retrieved placed on it. The Sons of Fëanor, driven by their Oath to retrieve all the gems at any cost, drove them to try to retrieve it, and brought about a terrible Kinslaying and the destruction of Doriath. For more information: /wiki/Nauglamir
(Of course, if you want to know the entire story of these jewels, read The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien!)