Chapter nineteen

Cool, dry hands passed over my forehead.

"Thorin?" I whispered, my eyelids so heavy I could not open them. I was suddenly filled with such an overwhelming sense of loss I woke.

"She's waking," a voice of rustling leaves and calm zephyrs.

Eyes still sealed shut, I first felt the stale dampness blanketing the back of my neck and condensing in the hollow between my shoulder blades. Sunken into a bed, I blearily swept my eyes across a room; there were tapestries on the walls and a simply carved chair on a bearskin before a fire glowing from the direction of the foot of the bed. The dull, angry glow of the fire induced a throbbing pressure behind my eyes and temples. The walls were stone.

"Tallis, can you hear me?"

The voice sounded very familiar. It came from my right side, clear as a bell. Fuzzily, I turned my head very, very slowly. There was an elf sitting close to the bed, silver hair and a kind, long face, but I looked past him to the other slender figure leaning languidly in the doorframe. Legolas? I looked back to the elf beside me. Nestarion?

I was in Thranduil's lovely little caves, then. I gulped. My mind cleared considerably with the realization. Hopefully, I squeezed my eyes closed and took a deep breath –hopefully, he was in a charitable mood. However, I had a sinking feeling that though I was in a bed with a healer at my side, I was most certainly a prisoner.

"Would you like to sit up?" Nestarion, considerate, as usual.

I tried. The silken sheets rustled like knives across my skin and an agonizing stab of pain shot up from my leg wound. Gritting my teeth, I willed my lethargic limbs to move, but I had to rely mostly on Nestarion, as he put a firm hand under my back and propped me up. Finally, with the sheets rumpled and a new wash of glistening sweat, I collapsed backwards against the pillows, panting.

Legolas spoke and I started at his voice. I had not heard it for many years, but it sounded no different. "Your healing was hardly admirable. A few more days and Nestarion would have had to remove everything below the knee."

"I had to re-open your wound," Nestarion looked at me apologetically.

I nodded uneasily. Where were the others? Where was Thorin? A panic swept through me and I peeled my lips apart to speak, only to find my throat dry as stone and my tongue glued to the bottom of my mouth like a fish left out on a dock for a week.

A bowl of water appeared before me. "Drink this,"

Hands trembling with effort, the cold, smooth surface curved against my feverish palms. Opening my mouth, I felt a cut separate and a warm wetness blossom down my lip. The dried pinpricks of dead skin on my lip felt oddly gritty as I tipped the bowl back –rivets of water freeing my tongue and spilling from the corners of my mouth and down my front.

"More," I croaked.

A sudden nausea swept hit the back of my throat. The Nestarion saw the widening of my eyes and the muscles in my neck tense and a basin was in my lap just as I vomited all the water I had just drunk. The waves ripped through my body over and over and I felt half blinded as I dryly retched before slowly regaining control of my body.

"Your body is trying to rid itself of the spider venom."

Spider venom?!

I rasped painfully, "I –I think, I'm finished."

The healer stood and took the basin, turning to leave to empty it elsewhere. Passing Legolas on the way out, he softly reminded him, "Make sure she drinks all the medicine," and he was gone.

Nodding, Legolas righted himself, silken hair slipping off his shoulders and padded silently over to the bed and taking the healer's empty chair.

"You look awful," His ancient, intense eyes swept over my lank hair, pale skin, and fever-red lips.

"You," I swallowed, wincing, "look like a pretty maiden, as usual."

He didn't answer and handed me a mug of steaming black liquid instead. I spilled a little as I brought it to my lips.

"Durin's beard!" I swore as I took a huge gulp, expecting tea, but graced with bitterness and cloying taste strong enough to make my eyebrows curl.

Legolas looked a little alarmed at my dwarven outburst, but tried explaining. "It will expel the poison from your body."

"I know," I replied, a little sullenly, "I've given this to many a person I've healed, but this –this is very –,"

"Strong? The spiders are the size of two elks put together."

I forced the liquid down, pausing at intervals to fight down the urge to throw it back up. Mind spinning, I racked my memories. I had no recollection of giant spiders at all. A sickening feeling rose in me. What if the elves left the company to the mercy of the spiders?

"Where is Thorin?" I put the mug down, my eyes boring into Legolas'.

"The dwarf?" there was a not so subtle tone of disgust.

"His name is Thorin."

"I know," he snapped back, but fell silent.

I waited.

"Do you remember what happened?" he finally continued.

"Thanks to your damn sleeping circle spells –I was sleeping the entire time!"

"After you and Tho –your frie –your dwarf fell asleep, the elves you were bothering came back speaking of being terrorized by dwarves and my father sent out a party to collect you all. They found a spider dragging you and your dwarf away: bundled with thread, paralyzed with venom and already injected with juices to turn your insides to liquid."

Alarmed, my eyes flew wide open.

He managed an amused smile. "We found you in time. You both were still solid. However, you will be expelling the venom for some time."

I sighed in relief, and then frowned. "The others?"

"The scouts are still looking." He gave me a penetrating glare. "What are you doing with a dozen dwarves?"

"Thirteen, actually," I paused, "and a –,"

He cut me off, "Have you lost your mind? Dwarves cannot be trusted!"

"Have you even met a dwarf?"

"I'm nearly three thousand years old!" He was indignant.

"Oh...Oh! Your ada knows I am here!" I swore again. Legolas pursed his lips. "Thank you for all your hospitality, but you've got to get Thorin and me out of here." I tried swinging my legs off the bed, but I ended up sort of slithering off the side like a bunch of wayward sheets with a weak cry of surprise. Damned spider juices. I groaned as I tried to get up.

Giving me a huff of exasperation, Legolas got off the chair and kneeled down to help me. I smacked him off feebly.

"Tallis," a mellifluous, deep voice came from the door.

I looked at Legolas in panic, but he avoided my eyes and propped me up on my feet. First, a female elf, long red hair falling past her waist and dressed in the clothing of one of the Elven Guard swept into the room, then stood to attention beside the door as the owner of that deep, cold voice strode in behind her.

"King Thranduil," I grimaced and fell back onto the bed, landing in an awkward half reclined position and had to look up at the tall, and lithe elven king as he paced towards me, radiating a charismatic power. His robes shimmered as the red glow of the firelight reflected in the silver threads in the cloth that could not hide the movement of the powerful sinew beneath. A silver crown with autumn leaves of rare gems was caught perfectly in his blond hair. His porcelain skin was iridescent as pale eyes of the dangerous wilderness gazed unfeelingly at me from under his dark, prominent eyebrows.

"You are awake at last."

"I am." I tried arranging myself in a more suitable position, but my limbs were exhausted from the ordeal of sliding off and back onto the bed. So I lay there on the bed.

"I trust Nestarion was satisfactory."

"As he always is."

"Mirkwood is a dangerous place for travellers." His striking brows rose a little.

"It always has been."

"Are you hungry?"

I couldn't help myself. "Yes," I was utterly starving.

"I will have something brought to you,"

"Thank you," I replied a little brusquely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Anything for our guest."

Prisoner, actually. "May I see Thorin?"

"The prince of the dwarves needs his rest as much as you do."

"Where is he, though?"

"Comfortable,"

"Of course..." I knew of Thorin and Thranduil's less then friendly past. I doubted Thorin was comfortable. I waited.

"Why would you keep such company, Tallis?"

"Mirkwood is dangerous. It is unwise to travel alone."

"Travel to where?"

"The other side?"

"Tallis,Tallis... you're wiser than that."

I kept my mouth shut. There was a sudden commotion outside.

"Take your hands off of me!"

Thorin!

I saw a figure, stumbling and barely able to stand, dragged past the door. He had lost his long coat and brigandine shirt and his sword.

"Thorin!" I gasped out.

His blue eyes met mine for a moment, and I could see the relief flooding his face. Something clenched tightly in my chest as I watched him disappear from sight.

Thranduil smiled and strode out the door after them.

"Wait," I heard him say. "We can leave him in a bedroom if he is civil." There was a pause. "Why were you and your horde of dwarves attacking my people at their merrymaking?"

Thorin's voice was gravelly with fatigue and the after-effects of the spider venom. "We did not attack them. We –," I heard his voice catch, "we came to beg, because we were starving."

I bit my lip. It was not easy for Thorin to say such things.

"Where are your friends now? What are they doing?"

"I don't know," Thorin returned with a stony tone, "starving, I expect."

"What were you doing in Mirkwood?"

"Trying to find food and drink, for we were starving."

"Which road do you take? Where will it lead?"

Thranduil was met by silence. "Take him to the dungeons until he feels disposed to tell the truth, even if he waits for the rest of his life." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Thorin!" I yelled.

I heard an equally desperate, "Tallis!" and "Do not touch me!" but the voice was getting further and further away. I could not gauge what direction he was being pulled away. I knew that there were hundreds of dungeons dispersed deep in the caves where one could get lost and never find their way out.

"He needs a healer!" I spat at Thranduil as he re-entered the room, a smirk dusting his lips.

"He already had one, but he refused."

"Let me see to him, you must let me help him,"

He didn't answer.

"He has never wronged you! You deserted him when Erebor fell –what right do you have to lock him away?"

"Ah, Nestarion, you have returned. Your ward is overexerting herself."

"I swear! If you don't let us go, you'll regret it! You will pay for this injustice –," I reached for the mug on the bedside table, ready to throw it in desperation.

Suddenly, the female elf who had stood motionless at the door stepped swiftly in front of the king. She blinked her green eyes at me and the dancing light from the flames glinted in the golden flecks scattered in her irises. She looked exceedingly familiar, but I could not remember a name, nor any recollection of ever having spoken with her when I was in Thranduil's halls the first time. Her over-protectiveness of the king made me laugh. And made me angrier.

"Are you going to hide from a sick, weak girl behind your instrument?"

I could see a flicker of anger flare in Thranduil's eyes. Grinning, I knew that I had got to him. However, the female elf snarled.

"Do not insult my king before me," her voice was hard.

"Tauriel," Thranduil raised a hand and the elven woman stepped back, her young, fiery eyes revealing her youth and how easy her passions were incited. Perhaps as a personal guard to the king, she was skilled in fighting, but I doubted she had really ever left the forest.

"Give me a sword! I'll fight for our freedom –,"feeling the evident look of contempt and scepticism raining down on me from Tauriel's eyes, I took a breath to continue, but was cut off.

"Tallis," Thranduil had stayed infuriatingly calm, "You are very tired and ill. You are a calm reasonable girl. You will come to your senses when you are better. For the time, do not worry yourself about the dwarf. I want you to stay in bed and heal." He turned to leave. "Legolas, Tallis needs her rest."

Legolas gave me an apologetic look and rose.

I let go of a frustrated yell when the door closed, letting my hot tears slide down my face.

.

.

"How long until I can walk?"

Nestarion glanced up from the fire he was stirring gently with a poker. "Not long,"

"Could you give me a more specific time frame?"

He smiled with his kind, old eyes, but they revealed nothing –they never did. I dropped the subject and sat up. The room was so small and being in a cave, there was no way of telling when the sun came up or went down. It could have been hours or days since Thorin and I were brought into Thranduil's halls. The poison seemed to have left my body, as the retching had stopped and my leg was on the mend, but I was in a severely weakened state. Lying in bed all day was slowly driving me mad. They didn't even need a dungeon to contain me.

There was a knock at the door and Nestarion went to open it. Legolas was standing in the doorway, cold and tall.

"I will leave you," Nestarion left and closed the door softly behind him.

The fire crackled audibly as I ran my thumb across the silken sheets, waiting.

"What?" I finally snapped.

"All twelve dwarves have been found," A slight, uncharacteristic sneer flashed across his angelic face. "Or should I say, saved."

I refrained from asking about the fourteenth little one. If Bilbo was still alive out there somewhere, I prayed he would be able to find his way out of the forest and to safety. He had to be alive. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, heart in my mouth. He had to be, or I would have known. I repeated it to myself for good measure. Bilbo was alive.

"Are they alright?" I finally responded aloud.

"Full of spider venom and unwilling to speak," he waited a little before continuing, "and perhaps a little scratched up from the band of orcs we had to rescue them from."

"Orcs?"

"They seemed to have been following your trail."

That, was not possible. We had been in the forest for weeks, perhaps and we had not been attacked. My leg throbbed. I swallowed. A warg had bit me, then –a warg scout that had been sent ahead, perhaps, and not a wolf as I had previously believed. Perhaps they had just caught up with us. I thought the Misty Mountain Eagles had killed them all. Perhaps the Azog was still... alive.

"Please, you have to let me see them. They are ill and wounded as you said and you know they will let no one see them but me."

"They are comfortably stabled."

My temper flared before I pushed the angry retort down. So they were in the dungeons too, then.

He watched me as he continued. "I thought I had made a wise decision all those years ago when I helped you leave. I did not do it so you could return with a stinking rabble of dwarves."

"I didn't lead them here! I know how much you idiots hate one another. This path was our only way through!"

"You should have –,"

"Taken the Old Forest Road? That place is infested with goblins and orcs nowadays. With spiders roaming this far north, what do you think will be swarming on the paths down there? Besides, where did the spiders come from?"

"South," he replied reluctantly.

"How far?"

"The old capitol, perhaps."

"The old fortress?" I swore, "Are you sure? Do you think that the –that he –,"

"That is none of your business,"

I frowned at him. "You elves are no different than any of the other races. All so sheltered and trusting in your Watchful Peace. Your father hasn't sent anyone to go and look around that place?"

"No one goes near that place,"

"His orders, of course. The spiders are happy inhabitants your realm, then?"

"They have not killed anyone,"

"That's because you fight them off –I am pretty sure they have been trying."

"You do not need to trouble yourself with anything outside these walls."

"I thought our reunion was to be more cordial than this,"

"It would have been, if you had not brought the dwarves and led the orcs to–,"

"Yes! I know. Are you finished gloating that you have the dwarves? Yes? Alright –then leave."

Thunderstruck, he realized I was ordering him out of my prison. He obliged, angrily, slamming the door behind him.

Fuming, I pulled the hair sticking to my face and sighed heavily. The old fortress used to be the capitol of the Silvan elves during Oropher, Thranduil's father's time. Once named Amon Lanc, it was a hill where Oropher had hosted great feasts in the shade of the oaks and beeches under the vast, dust strewn velvet sky, but Sauron had taken the hill and built Dol Guldur upon its fair slopes secretly long after his fall against the Last Alliance and the elves had fled northwards. The White Council had cleared him out once and he had fled to the East, beginning the Watchful Peace. But the elves had never moved back. I heard them speak of a lingering darkness and pain that would take a hold of any who wandered too near. With the spiders coming up from the south, there must be something once again dwelling near or in the fortress, and whatever it was it was powerful if it could bring forth the descendants of Ungoliant. Remembering with a jolt that Gandalf had gone south, I wondered if he had gone down to the old fortress. I had not been privy to what Radagast and Gandalf were speaking of after we left the troll cave, but Radagast lived in Mirkwood and whatever led him to find Gandalf must have had something to do with lengthening shadows and spider webs.

If it was Azog and his merry band of orcs and wargs following us at such great lengths through the dangers of Mirkwood, we had been incredibly lucky that they took so long to catch up to us. Hopefully, the elves had killed him too. But with how well recent events were going, I doubted that was the case.

Staring blankly into the fire, I leaned forward to adjust the sheets and the red diamond swung out from the bodice of my nightgown, sparkling darkly. Catching it in my hand, I felt my stomach clench with anxiety that threatened to rise to my throat. All of the dwarves were in the dungeons and every plan I concocted was easily unravelled when I thought about it. Thranduil was thorough in his precautions.

There was nothing I could do. The wave was crashing down over me and I hunched over, unable to breathe with the enormity of our predicament. Fighting our way out of Thranduil's halls was very different from fighting a way out from the Goblin King's realm. The dwarves were sick and wounded and there was nothing I could do. Nothing. Thorin looked so very ill and tired and –I hated myself for thinking so –old. I missed his warmth. I missed the solidness of his body. I missed his the way his voice reverberated through me when he was close. I missed the braids in his hair, the cropped beard, the callused fingertips, his seriousness, his surprising smiles and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. I missed the icy blue of those eyes when he was wary and the darkening warmth of them when they rested on me. I should not have let myself become accustomed to him in the forest. I should not have become used to his arms.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to the edge of the bed and let the bottoms of my feet touch the ground lightly. Leaning forward, I could feel my muscles pulling –but unlike the usual soreness that accompanied the healing, my legs felt surprisingly numb. I supposed it was whatever the spider used to paralyze its victims. Slowly, I stood and took a shaky step, swaying. And another. I smirked to myself.

The door suddenly opened. I threw myself backwards towards the bed, but my legs decided not to cooperate and I landed on the floor.

"I saw that," Nestarion came through the door.

"I fell off the bed."

He gave me a chiding look and helped me up.

"Thranduil will let you leave the room with a guard or two."

My eyes widened and he winced as I dug my fingers into his arm in excitement. I narrowed my eyes after a moment.

"That doesn't sound like Thranduil."

Nestarion shrugged elegantly, and replied, "I am not privy to the king's thoughts." However, I highly doubted he would quench my curiosity even if he had Thranduil's confidence.

Eager to leave, I accepted the terms, though unsure of what price I had to pay.

.

.

I was let out. Thranduil wanted me to stay, and wanted things as they were before. I had worked as a sort of servant, and I supposed he wanted to keep it that way. You see, everyone only sees the elves as these beautiful, clean, perfect beings, but they got things dirty too and did all the things all the other races did. I was sent to be a laundress. The kitchens were probably too dangerous. He probably thought I would poison him.

After a few days of scrubbing sheets and clothes in scalding water, my feet slowly regained their usual mobility and my hands were cracked and bleeding. Kept in the cave where a spring rose bubbling out of the rock and into an opaquely shimmering pool, the guards escorted me directly from my locked room to a fresh pile of stained uniforms each day by the waters.

Days passed slowly. Never seeing the sun, I counted my days with the number of steaming tubs of clothing I emptied and filled. Other than Nestarion occasionally checking my health and the two guards and a silent and suspicious serving elf who collected the laundry from me and never, ever met my eyes, I saw no one. Thranduil and Legolas and Tauriel had not come again. Finally, one of the guard informed me that Thranduil was to extend my privileges. I snorted at his words but let him continue. I was to bring the laundry up to the elves who would fold and return the sheets and clothing to the Elven Guard barracks, but I was to stay in the level I was on and not allowed to descend further into the caves, nor ascend closer to the surface. Thrilled as they left, I yanked all the dried sheets and uniforms I could find hanging about the cave and tossed it hurriedly into a basket before tearing out of the room and down the corridor. I breathed a big breath of stale cave air, relishing my little bit of freedom before heading down the hall through the winding tunnels towards my destination near to the steps that lead both to the upper and lower levels of the halls. I could see a pair of guards at the base of the steps. That way was closed to me.

"Wait! Stop!"

A shout came from behind the guards. It was Tauriel.

I froze, unsure of what to do.

"Did you really think, you could disguise yourself as a laundress and just slip away?"

"Thranduil he –,"

Her knife was at my throat.