Keeper 18

I ought to be caught up on answering reviews. Mostly….

-XXX-

The following year and a half is uneasy between us. I have returned to our shared room, yet we are not what we once were. It will take time – I know this. But I can feel Thranduil's impatience with every touch I stiffen from, with every lost look, and every short reply. He cannot comprehend my distance. And there is little I can do to help him understand.

Legolas is a little more at ease. I know he can sense his parent's unrest, but he chooses to ignore it. When before court it is easy enough to mask, but with him, with Beriana and the others close to us, it is nearly impossible.

I thought losing the baby was the worst thing that ever happened between us. The event that would break us apart. I was wrong.

Nearly two years after the fall of Erebor, was when it happens. We've not heard much of what happened in the Lonely Mountain, after we left. Thror was gone, died in a battle against the cursed goblins, and the rest of his peoples disbanded. Thorin was still somewhere in Arda, working as a blacksmith, perhaps. As Thranduil care little, we didn't have many clear details.

It is autumn. Thranduil has received reports of disturbances in the southern parts of the forest. This is nothing new – the southern part of the woods have long troubled us. But for the first time, Thranduil decides to investigate for himself. Five elves who lived on the land were attached and died, being found half-eaten by those beastly spiders. The king must look into these attacks. I am wary, however, happy he's decided to take the matter more seriously.

He takes with him Tauriel, who now been in the guard for nearly four hundred years now, and a handful of patrol. Legolas was also to go, but he had something of a stomachache. He ate some bad cheese, I think, as several others share his symptoms. I insist he remain, giving him an infusion of willow bark and wild mint. Thranduil snorts, murmuring something about me "coddling." I ignore him.

"Go along," I scold after the king lingers. "I won't sent my boy out there ill. We shall see you tonight."

He left, kissing me lightly on brow before making his exit. Shortly after, I leave Legolas to sleep, climbing up to the top of our caverns to visit the bees, where I remain for sometime, wandering among the hives, talking to my bees.

-XXX-

That is where they find me, several hours later. It is one of the tiny stable hands that rushes up to the surface, where he breathlessly attempts to deliver his message. I lead the small fellow to a nearby log, letting him get some air before he tries to again.

"Your highness," he gaps. "The patrol has returned from the southern boarders. They encountered spiders. My lord Thranduil -" The boy takes a breath. "He was hurt –"

I cut him off. "Where?"

"Infirmary."

I turn and run without another word.

-XXX-

By the time I reach the infirmary, Fortesbrawn had just received my husband, and has had no time to clean him up. I'm at the healer's side immediately, examining the king. Fortesbrawn's expression is grim.

It is not good. The king is extremely pale – at least the side that isn't heavily scarred. His illusion has slipped, exposing his pale eye and brunt flesh, the pink muscle that never healed. Thranduil is extremely weak. There is a gaping wound on the right side of his torso, hitting the bottom three ribs. The flesh is pink, bloody, edged with a grey-ish hue. "Venom?" I don't know much of the bites of these spiders. I pray it is something Fortesbrawn has the skill to tackle. For I certainly do not.

"Do you know how to deal with this?" I ask the healer softly.

Thranduil is half-awake. His head lolls at the sound of my voice. Blinking up at me, his dim eyes find focus, locking onto mine. "Cala," he mouths.

I smooth my hand overs his brow. "Be still."

Instead, he shudders beneath my hands. A shudder, which turns to a shiver. Fortesbrawn with draws, eyes dark. "The venom. It's taking hold."

Briskly, he orders his assistant to fetch a number of things from the supply closet. Then he tells me to hold Thranduil down. The assistant returns, passing off the herbs and infusions. Fortesbrawn dumps hastily-measured spoonfuls into a bowl, using the mortar to blend them into the paste, which he applies to the wound his assistant his been cleaning. When it makes contact with Thranduil, the king bucks. I blindly strain to hold him down.

After a time, the color returns to his skin. Finally, my heart can begin beating normally. I burst into tears when he opens his eyes blearily, blinking up at me with confusion. It's the first time his Dagorlad that I've seen him brush with death. I do not like the sinking feeling that accompanies it.

He opens his mouth to speak. I make to hush him – later, I am glad that my efforts failed.

"Tauriel," he breathes, voice hoarse. After a moment, he falls back into a hazy sleep. I draw back, confused. He's near death, sees me, and the first thing he says is another elf's name?

Suddenly, Fortesbrawn's assistant speaks. "The second-in-command of the patrol – Tauriel. She was also struck down. But I don't know –"

I am struck, frozen, my eyes flickering over his. "Beriana. Ulain." Did they know? "She's my friend's daughter," I say slowly. "Practically a daughter to me." I look up at them. "How does she fare?"

Fortesbrawn's expression is just a grim as when he first began examining Thranduil. "Her bite was a bit more fierce. She's got a fever. If it does not break soon…."

"Send word to her family," I command, sounding, for once, like the queen I was crowned to be. "I want her attended to. She's family, Fortesbrawn."

He prickles slightly. "I tend to all sent to me as though they were Lúthien herself," the healer snaps. He is weary.

I soften. "I know," I assure him. "I do. I'm sorry, Fortesbrawn. It is…difficult." Sinking into the chair beside my husband, I care hardly restrain tears. "This is foolishness. If he hadn't gone with so few –"

"There is nothing to be done, my lady," Fortesbrawn sooths. "You know your husband. Feel blessed that he and most of his party returned alive."

"Most?"

The healer sighs. "Two men died before they could reach the palace. They're being given back to their families now."

I close my eyes, bitterly feeling the deaths of more elves upon our hands. Two, when five had died last week at the hands of these villainous creatures. They were coming closer each year, an inch nearer every season.

When Beriana arrives, she comes to our room after seeing to her daughter. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she starts crying again when she sees Thranduil. I rise to hug her. We say little. She only stays for a few minutes before returning to Tauriel's side. I sit beside Thranduil, dozing fitfully.

He sleeps for hours, waking only when the poppy infusion wears off. I'm at his bedside the entire time. When he wakes I go to administer a new dose, only to find his hand on my wrist, stopping me.

"Not yet," he begs. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, breathing shallow.

"You need your rest. The more you sleep, the faster you heal, my lord."

Still, he won't let go. "Tauriel?"

"She is alive."

He sags. "If that is all you can claim it must not be good. I tried my best, truly, to take care of her. I knew if she died under my watch, you and Legolas would never forgive me."

"If you'd died, I'd have never forgive you either," I tell him, kissing his brow. "You fool."

"Has Legolas come yet?"

I hadn't even sent for him; I don't even know if he knows of his father condition.

"Bring him to me," Thranduil commands. At my expression, he assures me, "I merely want to see him. These are no parting words, I promise."

"Your wounds…."

He lifts a heavy hand to his face, feeling at the skin that isn't there. A pause.

"I can manage for a few minutes," he says quietly. "Go. Please."

Though it is early in the morning, I go to the royal apartments, reaching my son's room just as the light begins to break from the trees against the horizon. Legolas opens the door, blearily peering out into the corridor.

"Mother?"

After I've told him of the circumstances, Legolas stares at me, uncomprehending. He takes a moment to shake off the shock.

"Come with me," I say. "He wishes to see you."

"And Tauriel?" he inquires as we walk, exiting the family's wing of the palace. "How is she?"

I heavily explain how his friend fares. His eyes darken further, and he turns to brooding as we walk to the infirmary. It, like the royal apartments, are on the upper level of the caverns, and have windows to allow in fresh air – something Fortesbrawn insisted upon for his patients' health.

Once there, I leave Legolas to his father, going to Tauriel's bedside. She lies palely against the stark white of the down pillow, red hair fanned out against fabric. Her breathing is shallow. I can see a black tinge against her collar – likely from a bite near the neck or shoulder. I take up one of the hands that lies on the woolen blanket. It's cold.

If she dies, Beriana will never be able to look at me again. I'll never be able to look at Thranduil again.

-XXX-

The next day finds me again at Thranduil's side. Fortesbrawn sternly forbade the king from leaving the infirmary for the next twenty-four hours though he can walk and can again summon enough magic to retain an illusion for several hours. It put Thranduil in a slightly sour mood. I try to clear the stormy clouds over his head by reading to him, only to be interrupted by one of his advisors, the sallow-skinned Javaril. I frown when he enters unannounced.

"My lord, the captain of the guard wishes to know if you would like to send a larger patrol unit out to rid the southern forest of the spiders."

"Yes." Despite his illness, he sounds just as commanding as ever. "Drive they beyond our boarders. Then return."

I pause from my embroidery, frowning at the fabric. "Why not obliterate them?" It seemed like the safest bet to me. However, I held my tongue.

"And Radagast the Brown wishes to see you," Javaril continues. "He insists he has something important to inform you of -"

Thranduil sighs. "I shall see him tomorrow afternoon."

When the duke left I remained silent. But Thranduil sensed I had something to say.

"You don't agree with my decision to remove the beasts?"

I do not look up from my needle. "I simply do not comprehend why you choose to simply push them back, rather than destroy them altogether. If they choose to not attempt to reclaim our woods, they'll be unleashed upon the rest of Arda – allies and enemies alike."

Thranduil's lips curl in a frown. "We've already lost five lives. I do not wish to lose anymore to these creatures."

"But it's alright to let others suffer?"

"If it keeps my kingdom safe," he says calmly. "Yes."

It is the same argument we'd had two years ago, overlooking Erebor. And neither of us had changed our position. I hadn't thought that we'd be faced with this again so soon.

I say nothing, choosing to turn back to my stitches. I can feel him examining me, though, wary and curious.

My mind goes to Elrond's invitation to visit Rivendell. I wonder if I would do well with some space from the Greenwood.

-XXX-

Radagast comes the following afternoon, meeting us in the gardens. I've not seen the old wood-dwelling wizard in well over a hundred years, but he'd not changed a hair. I smile warming as he approaches us. He bows slightly, keeping his staff upright. Thranduil gestures lightly with his hand, indicating that the wizard should stand.

"King Thranduil, I thank you for taking the time to meet with me so soon after your unfortunate encounter with the Mirkwood spiders."

My husband isn't pleased with the mention of the unofficial name of our wood. But he inclines his head, nonetheless.

"We welcome you, Radagast the Brown. My advisors tell me that you have some urgent news to share with us." Thranduil's fingers steeple. He's doing his best to give off an impression of strength and nobility. He does not wish to come across as weak, despite his injury.

"I do indeed." The wizard straightens. "I am sure you are aware of the darkness seeping into your woods, your highness. First through the south, though now it has travelled further into the realm."

"This is nothing I am not aware of," my husband answers, bored. "We seek to rid the Greenwood of these vermin."

Radagast frowns. "I speak not only of the spiders, my lord. There is an illness, in the very trees. Something…magic. Dark. It climbs through all living things, latching on until there is nothing left. A leech, killing all it crosses that isn't strong enough to throw it off."

Thranduil looks hardly concerned. "And you have seen this?"

"Yes, King Thranduil."

"And what action do you propose we take?"

The wizard tilts his head, eyes bright. "It needs another touch of magic. A stronger influence. Bring a council of elf lords and kings, your highness. Gather a force enough to squash out what is gathering in your realm. If this is not reigned in soon –" The old man falters. "I fear for the inhabitance of this forest."

Thranduil nods. "We shall take your words into deep consideration, Radagast."

"Will you stay and dine with us?" I offer, playing my duty as hostess.

The old wizard shakes his head with a smile. "I know having visitors must be very draining on his highness. But thank you for your kind offer."

When he leaves, I turn to my husband.

"You have no plans of following through with his advice?" It is not truly a question.

Thranduil looks up from the reports he has been reading. "Not at the moment, no."

"He knows these woods better than nearly anyone, my lord." I earnestly sit forward, pleading. "If anyone were to recognize the sickness about the Greenwood, it would be him. Please, Thranduil. Radagast would not come to you if this were not a grave matter."

My husband's eyes darken. "I am king of this realm. If anyone should know this forest, it would be me."

"Can you see beyond your own ego?" I snap. "These woods are ill, Thranduil. You need to get over your own pride and help your kingdom and your people before this spreads beyond our boarder and into the rest of Arda."

"See to yourself," he warns. "You do not rule the Greenwood, Cala, not as I."

"I am queen! Mayhaps I have not been as attentive as one could be in my role, but I am stepping up now. This is not permissible, Thranduil. It is not ignorance that rules your choice to not tend to this problem, it is some fear or pride. This is not the king I have known, the husband I have known. You've let this darkness get so far that its already harmed people we love."

His hands grip the arm of his chair dangerous, eyes flashing, though the rest of his face is impassive. He's gathered a calm into himself – which means he's incredibly, blindingly furious. "Cala," he says lowly. "You don't know of what you speak."

"We cannot go like this, leading our people blindly when we know what is out there. It isn't fair –"

"Silence," he roars. As soon as it's done, he sags back against the chair, clutching his wound. Following a few heavy breaths, he finally meets my eyes. "I cannot abide by this."

Fiercely, I shake my head, rising from my seat. "This was not what I was promised," I say softly. "Neither when we wed, nor when we last had this conversation. I am to be your equal."

"You are in nearly everyway," he begins quietly. "But not in this. I was bred and raised for this, Cala. These lands…they're everything to me. Just as you are."

I shake my head. "Your actions hardly make me believe either to be so."

I make to go, but he reaches for me, catching my arm. He's found a new surge of strength in his anger. I watch in horror has his illusion flickers, revealing ruined flesh and pure white orb for an eye. It's terrifying.

He doesn't speak, simply tightens his grip, gazing up at me. Our eyes lock, mine likely wide in fear, his sparking. There's a sudden urge for me to press my lips to his – I get the distinct impression that I won't be able to do so again for quite some time – so I stoop to kiss him, He responds instantly, crushing his lips against mine. I can feel his scarred skin against me, caressing possessively, pulling me closer. He channels all of his fury into me, nipping and biting, kissing me with a bruising force. A moan crawls up from the back of my throat. At the sound, Thranduil rises, forcing me to stand on tip toe, melding into him. I feel his need, which only spurs mine. Then I remember myself.

I pull back, pressing my forehead against his. Thranduil still hasn't gathered enough energy to regain his illusion, so I am carefully to avoid hurting him by touching the burns. We're both breathing heavily. After several long seconds, we meet one another's eyes.

Something passes between us. An unspoken acknowledgement. Thranduil moves away, dropping his gaze.

Heart in my throat, I flee.

-XXX-

Another dramatic ending!

I really appreciate constructive feedback, I do. What I'm not a fan of is simply flat out telling me my OC is probably going to be Mary Sue and is dry and my plot summary makes the story sound too ambitious.

But I hate is even more when those particular reviews are given in guest mode because you as the reviewer don't want to have a conversation with me.

Criticism and constructive feedback is great, but only if it's given in a civil manner and with an open dialogue. This is supposed to be a community that inspires growth and progress in young writers. To maliciously tear another writer down is pretty damn low.

My best advice to you is if you don't like it and cannot think of anything constructive to add in your review, stop reading and don't review. And if you do decide to give criticism, don't be a coward about it and allow the author a chance to open a dialogue with you. To throw shit on a person and run away is pretty childish.

I'll happily take guest reviews, but if you're logging out to say something nasty just to be an asshole, I won't stand for it.

Anyways, thank you for reading, I would love more feedback, and I ought to post again sometime around Sunday!