Chapter 16

Hello! I've not run off, I've just had a busy holiday season and a terminally ill relative that have prevented me from wanting to write. Apologies. Hopefully this chapter makes up for the lack of updates. Our final chapter will be out within the next few weeks.

...

Light came and went. It was mostly flickers, occasionally accompanied by vague sounds. She heard her name a few times, but it sounded distorted and distant.

She was reminded of the time she was swept under the current while playing in the sea as a child. Her mother had cried her name over and over. Submerged in the salty waters, "Miriel, Miriel, Miriel" paired with her naneth's panicked tone, the name had nearly lost meaning.

When her naneth managed to wrench the sopping elfling from the sea, they both collapsed on the sand crying. Her mother had pushed shaking fingers through Miri's wet and tangled hair repeatedly. Neither spoke for nearly an hour, the shock taking it to leave their systems.

There's a certain weightlessness that would trouble her if she could focus on it. But all thoughts slip through like sand through open fingers.

…

Dappled light flickered across her eyelids. When she opened them, blinking back the morning shine, Miriel became aware of a presence beside her. Turning her head — her skull felt so heavy, why was it so heavy? — Miri saw a familiar profile, face also titled up towards the warm sun.

Cala's long platinum hair was spread across the grass like an ethereal halo. Her blue eyes reflected the color of the summer sky. Miri recognized the small, contented smile gracing her best friend's lips. It was a smile that spoke of a secret. She looked just as she did on their last afternoon together in Lothlorien, only a few weeks before her wedding to the King of the Great Greenwood.

"You've finally made your way back to me," Cala said, tone teasing. "Took you long enough."

"Cala?" Miri managed. Her throat felt utterly grated, as though she'd swallowed handfuls of river rock.

Her friend's smile broadened. The brightness pulled at Miri's heartstrings, reminding her of Legolas.

Legolas.

"You've done so well with him," Cala said gently, as though reading Miri's mind. Her hand stretched out, clasping Miriel's. Miri realized even that small gesture hurt and looked down. Her hands were bloodied, schemers of dirt mingling with the brownish-dried blood. There were a few nails missing, the empty beds pink and raw.

"How —"

Caladhiel continued. "I never thought you'd give it all up for me — for us. But you always were surprising me. Hundreds of years between us, Miri, and you still surprise me. And nearly always for the better."

"It wasn't without heavy doubt," she admitted lamely, the state of her hands forgotten. "I still wonder sometimes if it was a foolish decision, to insert myself into their lives."

Cala squeezed their joined hands. "You've made a family," she said. "And I could have hoped for nothing more."

A gentle breeze fluttered past. The air smelled of peonies and fresh spring earth.

"You don't resent me?" Wincing, Miri turned onto her side so she faced Cala fully. Cala followed suit, though with much less effort and grimacing.

The other elleth smiled sadly. "Do I wish it was I in your stead? Spending dinners with them, reading stories? Sharing the hardships and the joy that comes with each season? Of course. But it was not the will of the Valar, Miri. I begrudge you nothing. Nothing."

Miri added another hand to their clasp. She stared into Cala's crystalline gaze, letting all of her feelings of sorrow and regret and relief and elation flood her senses. But most of all she had missed Cala. Missed their companionable silence, the sporadic letters, their shared history, giggling over the ridiculousness of the stuffy elves surrounding them. Sighing over handsome ellon, sharing secrets beneath the starlight, the familial warmth they shared through all things, thick and thin.

No one would or could ever share that kind of love with her again.

"I don't know if the gap you've left in our hearts will ever close," Miri confessed. The sting of salty tears was difficult to dismiss, but she carried on. "But I'm not sure it is meant to."

Leaning forward, Cala pressed her forehead against Miri's. "Thank you," she whispered. "For it all."

Without another word, she pressed a kiss into Miriel's brow, and the light swelled until there was nothingness.

…

The first face she discerned was the healer's. Ceven's warm brown eyes hovered mere inches above her own, scanning with the scientific detachment she'd grown used to when the king had spent nearly a week in the infirmary following his campaign against the orcs. The detachment shifted into something like pleasure as Miri blinked back glare from the overhead lantern, her pupils focusing for the first time in days.

"That's more like it," he said with satisfaction.

"What?" someone asked wearily, an edge of hope to their voice.

She felt stuck, mouth heavy and dry, unable to move or speak. Her body felt like it was cast in lead. At most, she could labor shift her gaze towards the voice. But even that was a trial.

Galion shifted into view, only a few feet away. He appeared worn, like he hadn't slept or eaten a solid meal in days.

"She's awake," the healer said simply, hands opening wide. "My lady, welcome back to the land of the living."

Galion let out a sigh. Part relief, part exhaustion. "I'll fetch his majesty."

…

"You both have a tendency of waiting until the other is out of the room before you'll return to us," Ceven observed dryly as he assisted her in taking a few sips of water. "Much to the disappointment of the other."

Once satisfied she was mostly conscious, the healer provide Miri with an inventory of her various injuries, even going so far as to produce a hand mirror to show her the black eye, scratches, and lacerations patterning her face like the latest dwarves plaid. By far the most painful-looking wound was the warg bite to her neck — which she couldn't even see due to the layers of bandages, but plenty felt.

Unlike when the king was under Ceven's care, Miri had the benefit of recovering in her own chambers. As her needs were less severe, it was determined she would be more comfortable in her own bed. Thranduil, too, was more comfortable according to Ceven, oftentimes reclining beside her or sitting in an armchair at her bedside. Miri indeed felt more at ease amongst her own belongings, laying on familiar sheets.

She was in and out of a doze between the time Galion left and Thranduil swept in. The healer had administered a pain draught after giving her water, and now she felt pleasantly warm and sleepy. The aches and burns were only just under the surface, subtle reminders for now. Her doze was interrupted by the sound of the door being flung open, hinges creaking in protest.

Thranduil only had eyes for her from the moment he crossed the threshold. Breathless, he stood at the foot of her bed, silver eyes wide. He'd apparently been in down at the archery range with Legolas, sent at the urging of Carwegeth to get both of their minds off of Miriel's just for a few moments. He wore one of his simpler tunics with leggings and scuffed boots, hair loose with a single braid at the back. She was pleased to see he appeared unscathed.

From her pillows, Miri managed to lift the fingers of her least-injured hand. The king strode across the room in long steps to sink forward to capture them. Careful to avoid jostling her, Thranduil tentatively sat on the edge of the mattress, holding her hand like it was a delicate piece of bone china, liable to crack at the slightest mishandling.

"You've come back to me," he breathed.

"You've finally made your way back to me."

Cala's words echoed in her head. Miri struggled to reply for a moment.

"I didn't mean to leave," she said. Her voice was still painfully hoarse, even after the water.

He lightly increased his pressure on her hand.

Ceven took the opportunity to excuse himself. "Strong black tea and a hearty broth," he said hastily as he turned away from the pair. "No doubt Tuigalen has just the thing. Perhaps some bread, something mild to build your strength…."

Once he'd closed the door, the elfking gently shifted closer. His free hand hovered over her face, hesitating, before resting lightly on her least-swollen cheek. Swiftly, as though fearful of jostling her, Thranduil pressed a kiss to her brow.

"When I saw you at the bottom of that ravine," he said softly. "My fëa fled my body. You were so still. I was so certain I was too late and you were gone, forever."

Miriel let out a breath. "I'm not ashamed to admit I believed the same," she confessed. "All I could think was how I hoped Legolas was safe."

"He and Galion are both fine. He is very distressed at not being allowed to see you, but I thought it was not wise."

She could all-too-easily picture the elfling's tears and uncapped relief. With what little strength she could muster, Miri squeezed his hand. "I should like to see him later."

"As soon as you wish," he promised. After a pause, he ventured. "Every second of our search for you, I was cursing myself for how we last parted."

She knew he did not refer to those frantic moments during the ambush.

"Regardless of my frustration…." Thranduil's gaze slid away from her face for the first time since entering the room. "When I rejoined Legolas and Galion, only to find you absent, all I could think of were my final words to you."

The grip on her hand was too tight now, but she dare not speak.

"I could not have borne it had you befallen a deadlier fate," he finally said. "Even if you scorn my regard until the end of time itself. You must know, I hold you in my heart. Your soul is more precious than my own."

"Thranduil," she whispered.

His thumb stroked a patch of unscathed skin beneath her left eye. "It…I needed to let you know. I don't care if you never wish to wed. I will be your friend forever if that is how you'll allow me to share your days. Only, I cannot bear being torn from you again. Please."

She was the one who ought to be making grand, sweeping statements. Miri blinked back wetness, trying to gather her scrambled thoughts into a semi-coherent reply. She wasn't given the chance, however.

Leaning down, Thranduil softly brushed his lips to her brow. When he pulled back after a few moments, she caught his collar with her least-damaged hand. Thranduil froze, allowing Miri to tug him forward again so that she might press her mouth to his. The elfking responded with a sigh.

Despite the heat ignited between them, Thranduil was careful, wary of causing any discomfort. But Miri did not want a chaste press of lips. She shifted in want of more. The king obliged. Delicately cupping the base of her head, he coaxed her mouth to part. Miri shuddered into him, her good hand twisting itself into the front of his tunic.

At that point Thranduil was practically half on top of her, balancing his weight with one hand pressed into the mattress. As battered as her body was Miri still relished the feeling of his chest moving against hers. So, it seemed, did Thranduil. The hand that had directed her head now cupped the dip of her waist. Dull pain flared as she strained to press more of herself into him. She pushed it down as she gave the king a tender bite to his lower lip.

With a groan against her neck, he murmured, "You're unwell, Miri."

It was unclear if the reminder was for his benefit or hers. When he moved away again, the disappointed elleth sank back into the pillows, wincing slightly.

"Are you in pain?" he asked sharply.

"It's already gone" she reassured, barely suppressing another grimace.

Unconvinced, Thranduil glanced at her bedside table. Finding nothing but a carafe of water, he said, "When Ceven returns he shall administer another draught for pain.

Under normal circumstances, she might've argued. Today Miriel simply nodded, already too tired to even try bickering with his hardheadedness. Instead, she pulled the blankets up higher with a sigh. Being a patient was never enjoyable, but at least she was in her own space with relative privacy and being cared for by someone she trusted. In her journeys prior to taking up residence in the Greenwood, there had been plenty of uncomfortable nights spent in unfamiliar infirmaries as she sweated out a fever or awaited the completion of stitches at the hands of a stranger.

Ceven returned bearing a tray heavy with nourishment. Galion was behind him. He bore a card from Legolas, painted broad strokes with a sunset. Miri smiled at the offering, fingers tracing the words.

"Carwegeth assisted him," Galion said with a wink. "Clever bit of distraction, he was ready to storm in the second he heard you were awake."

The tray was placed upon her lap. Together Ceven and Thranduil cajoled her into half of a mug of tea and a few spoonfuls of broth. She could manage no more than a few bites of a dinner roll before they were convinced to relent in their bullying. By the time Ceven departed, she was on the very precipice of sleep once more.

Thranduil still sat on the mattress before her, his weight a soothing presence. He sang to her lowly, voice strong but melodious. As she melted into the pillows once more, Miri only just remember she'd meant to apologize and tell Thranduil her heart once and for all. Before she could voice her declaration, her tongue heavy with another pain infusion, sleep fell like a heavy woolen blanket.

…

At her own request, Legolas was not brought to her room for another two days. Miri's pride was not such that she feared showing herself as weak. But she feared frightening the elfling with her battered appearance. Thus, only Ceven, Galion, and the king were allowed in her chambers. Thranduil was almost always near when she awoke and Ceven was in and out every few hours to monitor her progress.

There were no more moments of physical affection between herself and the elfking. And she couldn't bring up the courage to go back to the topic of their mismatched hopes for a relationship. She hated knowing he resigned himself to always holding back, believing her to never wish to reach back. How could he not resent her?

However, Thranduil still showed his care in other ways — making sure her water carafe was always full, fretting over her blankets, assisting in washing her face, brushing and braiding her hair, among other things. She should not have been surprised. When Legolas was small, for all of his status, he'd not shied away from changing diapers or cleaning up the milky vomit. Thranduil had seen war and ruin. Dragonfire and death. Domesticity was hardly a feat following battle.

On the occasion, he read to her or sang. For someone as busy as he with the inner-going of running a kingdom, Thranduil had an impressive memory for song. She'd so rarely heard his voice, as there had not been many occasions to sing since Legolas had outgrown that particular need. His smooth baritone was comforting, adding a beautiful depth to familiar ballads.

"You should sing more," she suggested dreamily as he plucked absently at a lute, recalling some romantic canticle of Beren and Lúthien.

Thranduil's lips quirked at the idea. "A bard king would be an amusement indeed," he drawled. "The court could certainly benefit from my interpretation of Flight of the Noldoli."

If she could have hit him without straining her cracked ribs, she would have swatted his arm. Left with only her words, "I believe you'd get much further with something more lovesick," she countered.

The elfking's eyes glittered with mirth. "So kind of you to recall I have experience in that area."

Even given her recent blood loss, Miriel managed a rather admirable flush.

…

When Legolas was finally granted entry into her chamber, he was as eager as an autumn leaf. All trembling. Thranduil and Carwegeth and Tuigalen had to impress upon the prince the importance of being gentle with Miriel in her current physical state. Sitting in her chair beside the fire, Miri heard the last of Thranduil's lecture shortly before he opened the door to her room, his voice stern as he imparted, yet again, that Legolas needed to show restraint.

And yet when the door opened he was a ball of energy, launched from across the room onto her chest. Miri heaved a laugh as he landed atop her, knowing it was libel to turn into a sob. Legolas's arms wound around her neck, face burying itself in her neck. The familiar weight was comforting, far outweighing the slight ache in her still-mending arm.

"Legolas," Thranduil said dangerously from where he stood in the threshold. Before he could start scolding Miri cast him a withering glance. The king pursed his lips and said nothing more.

She turned to the elf in her arms.

"I was so worried," he said thickly.

"I'm sorry, Little Leaf," she murmured, a hand running up and down his back. "I know it was frightening. You were so brave and good."

Her neck was growing damp. Miri's heart clenched when the small elf hiccuped. A few more moments of stroking his head and the prince's sobbing subsided. He pulled back to look at her with watery eyes, gaze almost drawn as his father's.

"You nearly died," he accused.

"Truly his father's son," Miri thought wryly. Aloud, she said, "And I did not. Thank the Valar for that."

Legolas was still serious, giving her a further preview of the sober ellon he'd undoubtedly grow into. Miriel sighed, pulling him into a hug once more. To think she might have never snuggled this elfling again!

"I cannot promise I'll never face death again," she said seriously once he'd settled beside her on the mattress. "But maybe it need not be such uneven odds. Will you show me how to use a bow, Legolas?"

The elfling beamed.

Thranduil glided towards the bed, brows raised. "Perhaps Legolas and Rovain may teach you. It will be good training, ion nin, learning how to instruct others someday."

Legolas nodded eagerly, brow furrowing in a familiar way that tugged at her heart once more. Undoubtedly he was already considering the prospect of educating. He was quickly turning into a thoughtful young elf. Thranduil had casually mentioned the prospects of joining the wardens, once he was of age. At the time it had felt many years off. Now, she could envision Legolas, lanky yet sharp-edged as his father, wearing the thin leather armor and green tunics of a warden.

"When did you grow so?" she wondered desperately.

After an hour Carwegth arrived on schedule to take Legolas to his afternoon lessons. The prince was reluctant to leave, only brightening with the promise that he could take dinner with Miri in the evening.

"Ceven has generously allowed me to start getting out of bed and walking across the room a few times a day," she said wryly. "So we'll eat here. Perhaps by the start of next week, he might grant me leave to exit these rooms."

Over his son's head, Thranduil smirked. No doubt he was a little pleased to see her under the healer's tyranny for once.

"Now now, Miriel," he said gravely as he shepherded Legolas from the room. "We must listen to Healer Ceven's recommendations. He is, after all, the expert."

At the sight of her glower, the king offered Miriel a cheeky wink.

…

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