Chapter 3: Question Marks
Withal, Tauriel was just as dumbfounded about the king's actions that day as the rest of them when witnessing his centuries' long favouritism. She had been to a great extent aware that she had been lucky enough to partake in experiences that were closer to the royal way of life than a mere subject's, but she had always attributed that to Legolas' attachment to her. And since Legolas had left, yes, she had been forgiven for her rash behaviour during the whole Thorin and dwarf affair, but again, she had attributed that to the prince's stark warnings against his father harming her. Now, she wasn't so sure. Had the king really favour her for some reason? Were his occasional harsh words to her just for decoy? And if he did favour her in some way, was it for Legolas' sake, regarding her as something akin to a daughter or was it for some entirely different reason. Was it even true? Tauriel edged towards the poster bed, not actually daring to look at the faces of the healers or even at what they were doing. She glanced to Galion instead, "is there hope?" She swallowed, trepidation clutching her heart.
"You would know better than me," the faithful servant held, fearful and in doubt himself.
"He called for me?" Tauriel started, steeling and readying herself for the encounter.
Galion winced, "well, he repeated your name raptly, but we weren't sure. He doesn't seem conscious otherwise," he gestured apologetically.
"Tauriel." The archer's head snapped up, gaping openmouthed at the sound. She could hear the manner Thranduil said her name with her own ears and everything suddenly made even less sense than before. The voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and pained and there was so much desperation attached to it that the Silvan froze, her heart breaking with the sound.
"Step forward, lass," chief healer Reluvethel urged impatiently. Taking one step back to get hold of her, he practically pushed her to stand by the bed, presenting her with the sight of the king for the first time since she'd entered.
It seemed that the healers had done a quick job of patching him up, at least as far as appearances went. Thranduil had been ridded of his bloodied clothing, cleaned to as pristine as Tauriel was herself and dressed in a silken, silver wrap that was left open at the front for access to his wound, tightly wrapped in curative compresses, the scent of kingsfoil in the air. Motionless and with his skin turned greyish-blue, he looked distinctly dead. If it wasn't for her name being whispered earlier, the archer would've not doubted the king's departure from this world. She couldn't even discern the rise and fall of his bare chest to convince herself of him breathing. "What. What are his odds?" Tauriel finally dared to ask the experts.
Reluvethel took a moment to reply and that was answer enough in itself. "The wound was too deep for us to reach all the way inside. He will have to fight some of the poison's effects on his own."
Tauriel knelt, stricken, touching the back of his hand with her forehead. "Why." She whispered. "Man agorel? What did I deserve such generosity of spirit with? Take it back, why don't you take it back?" She cried, even if aware of it being impossible.
Thranduil's fingers quivered under her lips and his head moved the tiniest bit, tilting in her direction. "Tauriel?" He questioned the name this time, voice breaking with the effort.
Still startled by his insistence, she raised her head a little and stroked the back of his hand, "I am here, hir vuin."
To the elven maiden's astonishment, a rare, small smile formed on the ruler's lips, unlikely as it was in any circumstances, let alone the current. "I wish to…" He panted, his breathing noticeable now that he struggled to speak, "be alone with…with…"
"Don't strain yourself," Reluvethel soothed, putting a palm on Thranduil's shoulder, fearing he might try to move. But he heeded the order and nodded at his two assistants to depart. "Tauriel, an ngell nin, take good care of him, will you." He appealed to her before obeying the king's command.
Thranduil grunted, gathering his strength to open his dazed eyes and link them with Tauriel's petrified ones. "I don't mind dying," he pacified her reassuringly, though he did not seem comfortable with what was happening during the possible process.
"My magic may be fairly weak in comparison to the healers', but allow me to adjoin it to the efforts," she reasoned and set a palm on his solar plexus, close to the wound, and started chanting a healing spell, binding her will with it, "mellon nín a hûn
Ui el i na dannen ann nín
O' leithon gur..." She didn't reach the end however as the king's hand entwined with hers on his chest and squeezed, attracting her attention.
Thranduil moaned and whimpered, thrusting his head back. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but drew sharp breaths in, trying to speak through it, "listen." He shook his head, not wanting her to concentrate on the spell, but him.
Intuitively understanding his will, Tauriel ran a hand over his arm reassuringly and smiled compassionately, leaning closer. "Why, my Lord. Why did you have to step in the path of the blade intended for me?" She asked the most arduous question on her mind.
Thranduil panted, eyes fixed on hers in guileless wonder, "I need you to know…if I die…I want you to know that I loved you…gi melin…"
"As..as a child? As a daughter?" Tauriel had trouble comprehending that he could harbour such intense feelings towards her.
The elvenking gave a slow, sluggish shake of the head, "I fought it…for long…but I lost. I'm in love with you, Tauriel."
Tbc
Glossary:
Man agorel – what did you do
An ngell nin – please
Mellon nín a hûn – my friend and heart (dear friend)
Ui el i na dannen ann nín – eternal star given to the fallen
O' leithon gurth – to be released from death
Gi melin – I love you