The leaves crunched under Thranduil's boots as he slid from Belegroch's saddle. He turned to Maethor and Haedirn, astride their chestnut stallions, and said, "Charlotte and I will search north of here. You two spread out and check the south and east. If you come across any patrols, set them to searching as well."
And then he descended the steep bank to the river without waiting for an acknowledgment of his order. Haedirn nodded once to her, and both ellons urged their mounts further into the forest, leaving her still atop Berior while Thranduil slid the final foot down the bank. She scrambled after him.
"Wait up!" she called as her feet tried to steady on the slope. The grass was invisible under a thick blanket of pale chartreuse leaves, dropped from the thin gray boughs that surrounded her, and her boots slid and her arms flailed as she stumbled down the bank. She prayed she wouldn't fall into the river.
They had little time to find the missing patrol and the cause of the sudden illness spreading throughout the elves. Already, the sun sank below the treetops in the west, leaving only a hazy golden glow filtering through the pines and beeches. The forest was not a place she wanted to be at night, not with just the two of them and spiders roaming about. She had resumed her training with Ellavorn, but still wouldn't likely be of any real help to Thranduil should they be swarmed by the beasts.
Thranduil had stopped a few feet up the bank, his boots shifting through the decaying leaves before he set off again. She'd seen so many sides to him, had known that deep down he was lethal, but watching him stalk the river's edge, his hands reading the clues of the forest, leaping gracefully over lichen-covered boulders, he was primal, as much a part of the forest as the trees. Only the hilts of his twin swords shining over his shoulders and the daggers hanging at his waist kept him from thoroughly blending into the forest around him.
"How will we know what to look for?" She asked him, her eyes darting over the ground in search of anything that looked like it didn't belong.
"You won't," he said.
"So, I'm here because…"
"You're here for when it's too dark to search anymore. Your light and mine should help us keep looking."
She lurched to a stop, and her shoulders caved. Had she become that utterly useless to him that she was only good for an extra bit of twinkly light? "You brought me here so I could be your human flashlight?"
"I don't know what a flashlight is."
"Like a portable flameless torch. It casts a beam of light out so you can see things in the dark."
Her quiet words barely reached him over the gurgling river, but he answered, calling over his shoulder, "Then yes, tonight you're our elven flashlight."
She smoothed the end of a curl between her fingers and trudged after him, glancing up once to see that Berior and Belegroch followed them on the high embankment. Berior's eyes met hers, and he jerked his nose forward as if to say he would follow her all night.
And she would hunt with Thranduil all night until they found the missing elves or the root of the illness plaguing them. She'd failed to heal the elves. Thranduil and his people had guarded her for a month, trusting that she would somehow provide them aid from the darkness that hunted them, and she'd let them down at the first opportunity to prove herself. They'd faced orcs and spiders because of her, and now she couldn't save them. The best she could offer them was a little extra light while they fought to protect themselves.
She tried to shake off the despondency stealing through her body. A flashlight was at least of some help, and maybe the necklace didn't heal at all. The elven leaders had been guessing, based on a handful of supposed signs, that she was some Valar-sent hero destined to save the Greenwood, and she'd let sentiment, affection for the elves she was slowly beginning to feel at home with, convince her to do this before she hunted for a way home. Maybe the necklace just soothed people. Legolas hadn't been sick when it was used on him, and though he had fallen asleep one of those times, that could've been due to how upset he had been. Thranduil might be overestimating its power.
But Hethuon had yet to wake, and he was not asleep naturally.
"Won't Maethor and Haedirn need the extra light?" she asked, more to distract herself from her thoughts than anything else.
Thranduil snorted, "Maethor is the best tracker in the Woodland Realm. If there's an elf who can find our missing patrol, it's him, and he'll need no extra light to do it."
They walked for an hour, following the river north and growing more disheartened with every step. The banks grew shallow until they were level with the water and forest. When the sun vanished and the night sky swept away its last vestiges of light, Charlotte pulled her fëa to the surface, shoving as much power into it as possible.
"Easy," Thranduil said, finally turning toward her. Worry etched in the lines of his face, and his eyes were bleak. "You'll exhaust yourself putting that much energy out. Even I can tell you're forcing it. Let your fëa shine without your help. Besides, you're a beacon right now; a light this bright will attract creatures we do not want finding us." He sighed and turned his gaze across the river, his silver eyes glittering in her light as they searched the trees. "We can only hope—" his mouth snapped closed. His thick brows knotted over his narrowed eyes. "Shine brighter."
She didn't hesitate, burning brighter until her light illuminated the river and the opposite bank.
"There," he pointed to the thick bushes on the other side of the river. Her eyesight was not as good as his, but she could see what had caught his attention. Just under the glossy leaves, a single brown boot stuck out.
"Can you swim?" Thranduil asked, eying the river. There were thick boulders covered in lichen buried in the riverbed, their tips peeking out like icebergs, but they were too far apart and slippery to use as a bridge. "If not, there's a crossing further up."
She could see the concern in his eyes, hear it in his voice, at the idea of leaving her to travel the forest alone. It had been years since she'd been swimming anywhere, but she nodded and said, "I can swim."
Thranduil didn't wait. He strode into the river, boots splashing water as he waded in, and Charlotte straightened her shoulders and followed.
Her boots sunk in the riverbed, kicking up silt, and the chilled water quickly seeped through her leggings, up over her hips and belly, until eventually only her head and shoulders poked out. The river frothed in white crests as it burst over the boulders, and her light illuminated the water around her. She jerked as something slid between her calves, and then another whirled around her ankle. Dozens of sleek, silver fish, narrow in their bodies with bulbous amber eyes, flocked to her light until each step required her to shove them aside.
Her body tensed. Thranduil was halfway across the river already, and she needed to catch up. Her first strokes led to her drinking river water as her hands and arms and legs slid along the slippery fish, and she reflexively yanked away from their scaly bodies.
"Get a grip," she told herself. She probably looked comical with the hoard of silver fish around her. She pushed through them, watching them dart around her body as she slowly cut through the water.
There was a splashing sound behind her, and she turned to see Berior making his way into the river. His sound and movement frenzied the cloud of fish, and she figured that was her best chance, so she dove forward, her arms reaching ahead of her to propel her body. She fought to ignore the shiver of scales looping around her.
Thranduil had managed to reach the opposite bank, but something was off about him. He wobbled as he rose from the river, water streaming from his clothes and hair. He teetered. His feet stumbled as he trudged up the bank. A hand rubbed his face, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "Something…" he muttered. "Charlotte!" He spun, narrowly catching himself as he tilted. His eyelids fluttered. "It's not right," he slurred and toppled face-first near the river's edge.
Her heart pounded, and she cried out, "Thranduil!"
Berior was splashing frantically behind her as he tried to catch up. Charlotte smacked and kicked at the fish with each stroke, her movements sloppy and desperate, trying to get to Thranduil. She could see his silver hair fanned out beside the river, his mouth and nose inches from the water. Any closer and he would've drowned before she could help him. Crawling from the river, her sodden clothes weighing her down, she reached his side and rolled him over.
His wet hair clung to his face, and his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in even breaths. As if…
Her blood froze. She shook him. "Thranduil?" No movement. She shook him again, but he didn't budge. His eyes moved beneath his lids, but his face remained blank, expressionless.
Asleep.
Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at the ends, and tried to control her breathing. She needed to think. They were in the forest, virtually alone save for Berior swimming across the river and Belegroch on the opposite bank. Thranduil was the expert in this domain, and now the roles had switched, and she, an elleth unfamiliar with the forest and its denizens, was supposed to keep him safe. She was the last elf in existence who should be in charge of his safety. Her fledgling skills were insufficient to even keep up with an elfling.
She shouted to Belegroch across the river, praying he was well trained enough to get her meaning. "Run for help!" She yelled, and for a moment, she thought he may have understood her. Until he walked to the river's edge. "No!" The horse froze, inches from the water. It had to be something, a creature living in the river's depths, that caused the elves to sicken, caused Thranduil to fall. "We need help. Find Maethor or Haedirn."
The horse remained still, and Charlotte's body caved. He couldn't understand her. She needed a new plan.
She heard Berior keening from the river and turned to see him calling to Belegroch. The horse's ears twitched, and he stamped. Berior cried out again, and the horse stamped once, turned his head toward the trees, and galloped out of sight.
"Thank the Valar for Berior," she said, invoking the elven gods, praying that somehow Berior had gotten Belegroch to search for aid.
The elk was stumbling from the water, heading straight for them, when she noticed his antlers swaying. Her eyes widened, "Please, not you too." Berior wobbled, his left leg bent at the knee and didn't straighten. His body followed and crashed to the forest floor, steps before her, and his eyes closed.
Charlotte's hands were shaking, and her mind flew over the situation. Berior was out cold, Thranduil was asleep in the dirt, and there was no definite way to call for help. They never should have tried to swim the river, but they hadn't known, never would have guessed that the river held the cause of the elven illness. Plus, there had been the missing elves to think of. Her brain froze, stuttering, before it kicked over again, and she was scrambling up the grass, dripping wet, searching the bushes in her fading light for the boot they'd seen.
She rifled through the branches, catching her skin and clothes on the thorns and brambles until her hands settled on soft leather. Her fingers flew up the curve of the boot, up the tight laces until she found a leg swathed in chilled leggings. Her arms shoved through the leaves, ignoring the pain and scratches as she ripped the branches apart.
Six elves.
Six living, breathing, sleeping elves were piled in the undergrowth, the bushes like a small hut, covering them from the outside world. One ellon had turned, much like Thranduil, to face the river, his arm still extended as if to warn the others about the threat.
Her breath shook in her lungs. Six guards, Thranduil, and a massive elk. All unconscious. They were lucky she wasn't asleep. That made her pause, and panic bubbled up her throat. Why wasn't she sleeping? Would she collapse soon too? All of them would be stranded together within easy reach of the creatures of the forest. The spiders could pick them off without a struggle.
She rushed back to Thranduil, unattended on the bank, and grabbed him under the arms, dragging him toward the bushes. It was the safest place she had right now, and she refused to leave him in the open. She grunted as she tugged him, sweat mixing with the river water still clinging to her skin. She didn't know how she was going to move Berior, and there was no easy way to hide him.
Maethor and Haedirn would find her eventually. Thranduil had said Maethor was an excellent tracker. He would worry when they failed to check in, and he would hunt them down. She would just have to guard them all until then. She eyed Thranduil's arsenal strapped to his body, before rolling him on his side to pull one of the swords free. It was heavy in her hands, but she needed something that would give her more distance than her dagger. She hoped she wouldn't have to use either.
She did try to drag Berior closer to their hideaway, but for all her tugging and yanking, he didn't move an inch. The best she could do was sit at the entrance between the bushes, with her eyes monitoring Berior and her back to the sleeping elves. It served an added bonus of allowing her to search the trees across the river for Maethor and Haedirn.
The night wore on slowly, hours passing in the dark. She'd shadowed her fëa light, remembering Thranduil's warning about attracting creatures, and periodically checked over the seven ellons stacked behind her. Every crack and rustle made her tense, and as the moon tracked over the sky, she fought to keep her eyes open. Staring into the trees was hardly engaging her brain.
When the moon reached its peak, there was a groan behind her, and she turned to find one of the guards sitting up, his hand rubbing his face. "Naneth?" he asked. His eyes were wild, possessed with the same crazed look as the others. He reached for her, "I thought you sailed west. My heart sings to have you returned."
Charlotte backed away, trying to soothe him and stay out of his grasp. "I'm not your naneth," she said gently. But then there was more movement, more groans and murmurs, and the other elves began to shift. Thranduil remained dead asleep.
The elves crawled toward her, hands reaching, all talking at the same time. They called out for loved ones, three of them were sobbing, their fingers grasping her tunic, her legs, her hair. Her stomach wrenched, bile rose in her throat, and she twisted and shoved, trying to dislodge them without hurting them. "Let me go," she begged, trying to pry their fingers loose.
She tried burning her fëa brighter, hoping that it would soothe them as it had Hethuon, and one by one, they released her, eyes widening as they studied her fëa.
"The stars weep, Adar," one said. "Do you see?"
"Meleth nin," sobbed another, and the rest was lost to her under the cries of the third.
Agony traced down their cheeks, and she could see their fëar dimming beneath their skin, fading as if they would extinguish. Heat bloomed on her chest. What would happen if their fëar snuffed out? She had to stop this somehow, this grief would consume them. If only she could put them to sleep as she had Hethuon.
There was a sudden silence, and heat flared across her collarbones. Too late, she realized that she'd somehow finally activated the necklace, and the elves swayed, their eyes drooping closed before they fell back into the leaves and dirt.
Relief coursed through her, and she sighed. "Good to know you actually work," she said to the necklace. It glittered against her glowing skin. If she wasn't tired before, she was after that. Her own eyelids were heavy, and she crashed beside the heap of elves.
The sound of gasping woke her, and she blinked against the sunlight creeping in through the branches. She was instantly alert when she saw Thranduil rocking back and forth, tears pouring from his silver eyes.
"Thranduil?" she nudged him, and his glassy eyes rose to meet hers. He was blessedly more alert than the others had been, though his chest rose and fell as if he struggled to breathe.
She was wary as she reached for him. "It's Charlotte," she said gently, in the same way she'd always tried and failed to nudge her mother's memory.
"There's so much pain," he said, rubbing his chest. "So much pain. Take it from me, I beg you. Adar, why did you leave me? I cannot live like this, not with the grief of your loss and the agony of parting from Legolas. Let Mandos claim me. There is no Doom he could utter worse than that which I now face."
Her head whipped around when the bushes started to shake and rustle, and Berior stuck his wet nose in, jerking the leaves with his enormous antlers. He thrust his body as far in as he could, his face pressing against Thranduil as he keened.
"Berior, no," She cried, but it was too late. The elk knotted his antlers in the branches and panicked, yanking and scrambling to set himself free. His hooves stomped and slammed the dirt, and she watched in horror as he reared back, legs grappling with the air, ready to slam down on Thranduil.
Charlotte didn't think. She dove for him, her arms wrapping around his neck, the force of her body knocking them both out of the path. "Please, wake up," she cried. Tears dripped onto his skin. She couldn't stand the grief on his face, couldn't bear seeing him injured by her own stampeding elk.
"Do not go back to that place!" he cried. He was utterly lost to her, buried in some long-ago memory. "The realm needs you. They have sealed their own fates. Our people need you. I am… I am not enough, Adar. Not enough."
Berior ripped himself from the bushes, branches falling down around her. Her arms swung over her head to protect it, while her body shielded Thranduil. Beneath her, she watched his fëa, his beautiful golden sunlight, flicker and fade.
He was dying, just as the others had started to fade away the night before. She knew it, felt it in her soul as if he were slowly slipping from her hands. Sweet, passionate, vibrant Thranduil fading away… She wouldn't allow it.
She gently clasped his face between her palms, marveling in the smooth warmth of his skin. She could do this. She thought back to his words, whispered against her ear in the darkness of night, and let herself sink into her fëa. Please work, she begged the necklace as she unveiled her light.
Thranduil stared at her in awe as she glowed atop him. Even Berior froze, his pupils constricting against her brilliance. "The stars weep," Thranduil whispered reverently. He ran a warm finger down the curve of her cheekbones, tracing his finger along a solitary tear.
"They weep for you," she whispered, "Come back to me, mellon nin."
His dimming fëa flared, just for a moment, as if remembering the nights it had cradled her own. "I cannot. There is too much. It is agony, and I want to be free of it."
She shook her head, a plea for the brave ellon she knew to return. He'd suffered enough already. The loss of his Adar, the century betrothed to Nemir, the separation from Legolas, taking care of everyone around him at the expense of himself; he would suffer no more. He had been courageous enough already. Now it was someone else's turn to care for him.
Berior nudged the back of her neck as she felt stone burning, and the light burst through all of them, banishing the shadows from their fëar. It scorched through Thranduil and Berior, slammed through the five knocked out elves on the forest floor, and flashed out through the trees. A beacon, a siren's call.
Thranduil's eyes cleared, and he took in everything quickly: her body straddled over his hips, the tears that stained both their faces, her hands pressed against his skin, and his own hand, still reaching out as if to run his finger down her cheek once more.
"The river," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Her stomach twisted, and she thought for sure she would vomit. Shaking, she slid her hands from his face and moved to crawl off of him. His palm on her cheek stopped her. It slid along her cheekbone, brushing a lock of her hair behind her pointed ear.
"Thank you," he said hoarsely. Heartache and gratefulness melded in his eyes. "I doubt I could have withstood the pain of those years. Not again. My memories are blurred, but I know that I was fading, and you pulled me back."
There was movement around them as the elves stirred from their own magically-induced comas. She scrambled off Thranduil before the others could see them, and Thranduil must've taken the move for fear.
"Get behind me," he said, even as he struggled to lift his weary body. He wouldn't be able to take on Belegroch at the moment, let alone five trained elves.
Charlotte smiled knowingly. "I don't think that will be necessary."
The elves slowly came around, though they tried to be more alert when one of the guards noticed who was with them and said, "My King!" Followed by a hushed, "Annuiel!"
Watching a dazed, seated elf bow should not have made her laugh, but it did. "I don't know about you all, but my back is sore from crouching under these bushes." She was the first out, comfortable in the knowledge that all of them were, at least, cognitively present, if not healthy. Meluieth would probably still want to examine them since they'd been unconscious for so long. She needed to get all of them home, but the six elves seemed wobbly and weak, and she wasn't doing so well either.
She'd never noticed, probably because the acts had been so small, but the necklace took energy to work, and she'd just cured six grown ellons and an elk. She felt like she'd been awake for days, and her body quaked with each step. Berior looked a bit green himself, if elks could look nauseated. She patted his neck, running her fingers through his fur. It felt shorter to her like he'd shedded layers of it during his fight with the bushes.
"Lady Charlotte!" She heard and glanced over the river. Her body sagged against Berior at the sight of Maethor and Haedirn on the opposite bank. A proud Belegroch nickered behind them. Her guards started toward the river, intent on swimming across, and she panicked.
"Don't go in the water!"
They froze. Maethor had to pull back his foot to keep it from landing in the water.
"Something in there is causing the illnesses. Don't touch it," she called.
Maethor was the first to move, striding up the bank and leaping onto his horse, but it was Haedirn who cried, "Wait there. We'll ride up to the crossing and come find you."
"Any chance you could bring more horses?"
Their eyes blew wide as the five missing elves and Thranduil emerged from the bushes looking ragged. Maethor turned to Haedirn, and there was a brief discussion, drowned out by the sounds of the water. Thranduil must've been able to hear them though, for, at one point, he huffed with laughter and rolled his eyes.
Maethor nudged his horse into a trot to head upriver, and Haedirn called out, "Maethor will be there soon, I'll join you with horses as soon as I can."
As Haedirn and his horse vanished into the forest, Thranduil said, "This was a productive trip."
"How so?"
"We now know the river is causing the elves to grow sick," he tilted his chin to look at her, "and we know that you can heal them."
"And yet, the how of it remains," she said.
"We also know that you are immune to it," his eyes narrowed, his brain working over the pieces.
Charlotte yawned large enough to crack her jaw. "On that note, I'm taking a nap, and if any of you try to wake me, I will poke you with my dagger."
Thranduil laughed, the sound of an ellon who wasn't the least bit threatened by what he perceived to be an empty vow, but she ignored him.
Berior settled on the forest floor, an invitation to be her cozy pillow, and Charlotte said, "At least one of you has manners," and cuddled up in her usual position against his side and slept. When Haedirn arrived with the horses, she found Maethor guarding her once more, and a warm, dry cloak draped across her body.
Thranduil's cloak was once again conspicuously absent.
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AN: Thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites! Hope you like this newest chapter!
