Thanks to everyone who reviewed and liked the story. Your comments are greatly appreciated.
They were much faster on their way back, since they didn't need to look for tracks. As they neared the palace, Fingaeron, one of the warriors, rode ahead to alert the healers of the situation.
When Thranduil and the others arrived, they were already awaited. Four elves carried a litter and neared the king as soon as he stopped his horse.
Tinwion dismounted and took Legolas from Thranduil. He gently placed him on the litter and swiftly Legolas was carried inside the palace and to the healing rooms.
Thranduil walked beside his son, watching his ashen face with anxiety. The thought of losing Legolas terrified him.
The elves they passed on their way looked shocked as they saw their injured prince. There were several exclamations of horror and dismay.
Finally they reached the healing rooms and Legolas was carried to the room that was reserved for the royal family. Celairdir, the head healer, awaited them along with two other healers. He had already prepared bowls of hot water, several herbs and bandages.
Keen eyes took in Legolas' condition and the healer couldn't suppress a shocked gasp. "Elbereth, what happened to him?"
"Orcs," Thranduil explained curtly. He helped to transfer his son carefully from the litter to an examination table. The elves that had carried Legolas bowed to their king and left the room.
Celairdir began a first cursory examination, then he began to cut Legolas' tunic and shirt off. With the garments gone, they could see the full extend of his injuries. The wound in his side was deep and had started to bleed again.
Celairdir looked at Thranduil. "It's bad. Why don't you wait outside while we take care of him?"
Thranduil shook his head. "I have tended more than enough wounds, especially at Dagorlad."
The healer gave him a questioning look. "That you did. But he is your son. Are you sure you can handle it?" He bent over Legolas again, pressing a cloth against the wound in his side.
Thranduil was determined. "I will not leave," he said firmly. He took a cloth, wetted it and began to gently clean Legolas of the blood and gore.
Celairdir kept pressure on the wound for some time, then as the blood flow had stopped, he began stitching it.
One of the other healers had mixed a herbal paste and brought it over. Celairdir thanked him and spread the paste over the wound. "I fear the orcs' weapons have been poisoned," he said quietly.
Thranduil faltered for a moment. The fear he felt for his son's live nearly paralyzed him. Legolas was deathly pale and the prospect that he had been poisoned on top of his injuries didn't bode well for his chances of survival.
"Will he live?" he asked.
As much as Celairdir wanted to reassure his king, he felt that Thranduil deserved honesty. "I can't say yet. He lost a lot of blood and his wounds are severe."
Thranduil sighed, once more taking in his son's still face. It wasn't the first time that Legolas was injured, but this was the worst he had seen so far. Speaking a silent prayer to the Valar he continued to tend to him.
After what felt like an eternity, Celairdir finally finished, stitching and dressing the arrow wound at last. He thanked the other healers and dismissed them.
They dressed Legolas in loose fitting leggings and a shirt then they transferred him carefully to a bed. Celairdir lifted his upper body and placed a cup against his lips. Slowly and carefully he fed Legolas the liquid. "I hope this helps, since we don't know which poison was used," he murmured. After the cup was empty, Celairdir lowered Legolas back down and placed the cup on a table near the bed.
Thranduil took a blanket and spread it over his son. Wearily, he dropped in a chair beside the bed and buried his head in his hands.
Celairdir came to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Have faith, my friend, Legolas is strong."
The king lowered his hands and stared at Legolas. "I hope you are right. I can't bear the thought of losing him."
Celairdir didn't know what to say to that. He knew Thranduil for millennia and he had been there when he lost first his father, then his wife. Both losses had been devastating blows to the other elf. He didn't know if Thranduil would find the strength to cope with another loss. Especially since Legolas was all he had left.
Sending a silent prayer to the Valar, he started to clean up the room, leaving Thranduil sitting at his son's side.
It had been several hours and Legolas' condition hadn't changed. His breathing was shallow and his skin clammy. Thranduil hadn't moved. He still sat in the chair at his son's bedside, holding his hand and watching anxiously for any change. Celairdir had stepped out for a moment so he was alone with Legolas.
Thranduil was so deep in thought that he took a moment to realize that somebody had knocked lightly at the door. Pulled out of his worried musings, he straightened, stood up and went to the door.
Angon stood on the other side, smelling faintly of smoke and carrying a wrapped bundle. Thranduil motioned him in and preceded him to the small chamber that adjoined the healing room. The chamber was used by the royal family, when a patient was well enough to be allowed out of bed or for family members to stay close to the patient.
As they crossed the healing room, Angon cast a look at Legolas. "How is he?" he asked quietly.
"He lost a lot of blood and Celairdir thinks his wounds are poisoned. We can only wait and hope for the best." Thranduil was subdued and Angon noticed the worry in his eyes.
As they reached the adjoining room, they sat down in two chairs grouped around a table.
"We found a clearing a few miles ahead where obviously a fight took place," Angon reported. "There were more than twenty dead orcs." The captain was still amazed about the amount of orcs and the fact that apparently Legolas had fought and killed them on his own. This explained the condition they found him in. It was a small wonder that he had survived at all.
Thranduil closed his eyes. He couldn't believe it. It was supposed to be a quick damage check within the safe part of the wood. How could things have gone so wrong? He opened his eyes and held Angon's gaze. "More than twenty orcs?"
"Yes. From what we could see, they attacked Legolas from one side of the clearing. A few were killed by arrows but most of them were killed with his blades."
"Elbereth, it is a wonder he is still alive," Thranduil murmured.
Angon nodded affirmatively. "We gathered the corpses and burned them. Since I suspected that their weapons were poisoned, I took a few of them with me." He put the bundle on the table and pulled back the cloth. The package contained three arrows and two scimitars.
"Well done," Thranduil praised. I hope that will help Celairdir to determine the poison."
"I'm glad I could be of service. May I see Legolas for a moment?" Angon had been Legolas' weapons master and Thranduil was well aware of the fact that he was very fond of his son.
"Of course," Thranduil permitted. He led the way back into the healing room and to Legolas' bedside.
Angon had to suppress a gasp at the sight that greeted him. Legolas was deathly pale, his eyes were closed and there were dark circles beneath his lids. He carefully reached out and put a hand on Legolas' shoulder.
Thranduil sighed. "I should not have let him go alone. If there had been a bigger group of elves maybe none of this would have happened."
Angon looked up from the still elf in the bed. "Sire, you know how careful Legolas is. He wouldn't have gone alone if he would have thought there was danger. Do you blame him for what happened?"
Thranduil was taken aback. "What? Of course not. How could any of this be his fault?"
The captain met Thranduil's gaze evenly. "So why do you blame yourself? If he didn't know, how should you have known?"
The king took a deep breath and gazed down at his son. Deep inside he knew that Angon was right, but it pained him to see Legolas like this and his mind was churning. It wasn't easy to accept that what happened had just been bad luck.
"I want patrols to search the forest. Make sure that there are not more orcs hiding somewhere. I don't want those vile creatures threatening the elves of this kingdom."
Angon nodded. "I will arrange groups to scout the forest up to the old forest road. We will find them if there are more." His eyes flashed with determination.
"Good," Thranduil approved.
Angon bowed, cast one last look at Legolas and left the room.
Outside he leaned against the door and took a deep breath. He prayed to the Valar that the prince would pull through and recover. The alternative was unthinkable.
During the night Legolas had developed a fever. Although Celairdir had been able to determine the poison and administer an antidote, the poison was still wreaking havoc in Legolas' body. The fever sapped him of his last strength and Celairdir and Thranduil did their best to fight it. Celairdir hoped that the antidote would do its work soon. If not, the outlook was more than grim.
At last, after hours of battling the fever, their efforts succeeded. Early in the afternoon, the fever finally broke. The whole ordeal left Legolas utterly drained and weak. His pulse was feeble and his breathing labored.
Celairdir laid a hand on Legolas' brow, checking his temperature. "The fever is gone, but he is very weak." He carefully checked the wounds for any sign of infection. "Let's hope that he doesn't develop any more complications."
Thranduil wearily sank down into the chair next to Legolas' bed, studying his unconscious son anxiously. The normally so composed king looked haggard and troubled.
Celairdir went to the table, put a few different herbs in a mortar and crushed them with a pestle, then he mixed a herbal potion out of them. "I'll give him something to strengthen him and to dull the pain. Even if I doubt that at the moment he is feeling much of it."
"How long until you can say for certain?"
"We will still have to wait and see but since the fever is broken, I am cautiously optimistic." The healer studied the king. "When have you eaten last?"
Thranduil shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
Celairdir snorted. "You need to keep your strength. I'll send for refreshments." He raised a hand to prevent Thranduil from voicing his protest. "No arguments."
Thranduil relented, feeling that it was not worth the fight.
For a while both of them were quiet as they listened to the labored breathing of the prince.
He floated in darkness. At first he didn't feel or hear anything, missing the outside stimulus completely. Slowly, little by little, he began to become aware of some things. He was lying on something soft and a dull pain coursed through his body. Soft voices drifted through the air but he couldn't make sense of them. He was incredibly weak, he couldn't move or open his eyes.
Suddenly, there were hands on him and he felt himself being lifted gently. His back was supported by what felt like a chest and his head fell back and rested against a shoulder. The smell of pine and sandalwood wafted to his nostrils and he recognized the familiar scent of his father. He was too weak to open his eyes, resting limply against the older elf.
Somebody held a cup against his lips and slowly fed him a liquid that tasted like medicine. He even had trouble to swallow, so it took a while until the cup was empty. Still not being able to open his eyes, he tried to determine where he was but his mind was too muddled. Somebody softly stroked his brow, lulling him back to sleep and he slipped into oblivion again.