In Mirkwood- Chapter 5

Alrighty then! Next chapter in the series- featuring Thranduil's main reaction to it all. Thank you to those who have been reviewing. I try to answer every review, but my computer is giving up the ghost right now and is messing me around (don't worry! I am getting a new one for my birthday tomorrow, so I will still be able to publish).

To those who have reviewed as guests (Issy and Kayla Greenleaf, I think, I apologise if I have missed you)- thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I cannot answer them, much as I would like to, because you don't have accounts. But thanks a lot!

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Thranduil stood there for a moment, dazed and in shock. Gradually he pulled himself back together and turned to face Galion. He took a deep breath.

Galion tried a smile, but it seemed false, so he stopped and looked calmly at his King. Inside, he was anything but calm, but hundreds of years fighting the shadow in Mirkwood had taught him how to compose himself. He watched Thranduil. He knew the King was having a hard time controlling himself. Thranduil had been fighting the shadow for even longer than himself, and Galion knew how well the King could suppress his emotions, remaining calm in the face of the harshest tests.

Yet this test may prove to be too much for the King, thought Galion. Thranduil had been fighting the shadow for too long. It had first claimed his father at Dagorlad, leaving him a King in the midst of a war. That war had then gone on to claim two thirds of Mirkwood's warriors. When the shadow had returned had been one of the few times Galion had seen Thranduil truly lose his temper. As more and more warriors fell to its dark clutches, Galion watched Thranduil slowly lose hope. Legolas was one of the few people to put a real smile on his King's face anymore.

But now the shadow threatened to take the life of Thranduil's son, and the King was falling apart in front of Galion's eyes. As he watched Thranduil took a deep breath to try and calm himself. It did nothing. He watched as Thranduil's breathing became harsher and faster, his hands clenched by his sides as he fought for control.

With a sudden cry Thranduil turned and kicked out at a wooden bench against the wall. It tipped over as he kicked it and fell onto the floor with a loud bang. Thranduil picked up the log basket next to the bed and threw it across the corridor. The sound of the logs clattering around filled the silence.

Galion watched as Thranduil stopped, his breath coming short and sharp. For a second the King paused, before stooping, picking up a stray log and throwing it as hard as he could across the corridor in frustration. That done, he fell to his knees, a strangled scream tearing from him.

Galion carefully approached the King. "Sire?" he asked softly.

Thranduil looked up at Galion and clambered to his feet. His eyes were narrowed to chips of blue ice. "Was it orcs, Galion?"

"Aye, Sire."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed even more. "Are they dead?"

"Sire?"

"Are they dead?!" roared Thranduil. "Are all of those filthy orcs that dared harm my son dead?!"

"I believe so, my Lord." Galion began to gather up the scattered logs.

"I want them hunted down! I want all of them dead. They need to be found, Galion, and killed."

"The orcs that did this are dead, Sire. We found the corpses. They had all been killed."

Thranduil whirled around, eyes blazing. "It's not enough! I want them all dead! Every single one!" He took a step forwards, his fists clenched at his side. "I want them hunted down. I want them to pay."

Galion nodded. "And they will, Sire" he said calmly. He made no promise, for he knew that Thranduil was not able to think rationally right now, and later on would calm down. For now, he just nodded and agreed. No-one wanted to be on the receiving end of Thranduil's wrath.

Thranduil picked up a stray log and tossed it across the room again, crying out in anger and frustration. "Why, Galion?!" he cried. "In the name of the Valar, why?!" Thranduil sank down on the bench, now turned the right way up.

"Why Legolas?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What has my son ever done to deserve this?"

Galion cautiously sat down next to his King. "There is still hope for him, Sire. He yet lives."

"Hope?" asked Thranduil incredulously. He jumped to his feet. "There is no hope anymore! Nothing to soften the blackness of Mordor. No, Galion, hope forsook us long ago."

"It did not-" began Galion, but Thranduil cut him off.

"No, do not tell me that!" he shouted. "No not say that it is all going to be well. It is not! It is never going to be well again! I am told again and again of this time that is coming, where we will win. For the sake of the Valar, it is all Mithrandir tells me when he visits these halls! How can he be right? How can we win?"

"Thinking that is-"

"Is right!" shouted Thranduil. He gestured angrily at the closed doors beside them. "Legolas, my son, is lying in there. Again. He has come home injured many more times than I would like to remember. How can you tell me we will triumph, how can you tell me we will win, when my son might die?"

Galion stood up as Thranduil turned away in anger. "Sire…" he said hesitantly, but stopped when he saw the look in his King's eyes. Galion knew the King well, and he knew that soft words would not be heard by him. He sighed, checking first that Thranduil did not have a sword on his person, before speaking.

"Do not abandon your son, Thranduil. Do not do that to him."

Instantly Galion felt Thranduil's piercing gaze on him as the Elvenking stepped forwards, shaking with rage. He checked again that there was no sword.

"How dare you?" shouted Thranduil. "How dare you speak like that to me! I would never, in all my life, abandon Legolas. Never!"

Galion stood his ground. "You abandon him by giving into despair, Thranduil. Who will fight for him, if not his father? He needs you, Thranduil. All of the healers combined cannot give him what you can." He sighed. "He needs you if he is going to survive this."

At those words all of the fight seemed to leave Thranduil and he sank down onto the bench, his head now buried in his hands. Galion sat down next to him as he sobbed, his strong shoulders shaking.

"Why, Galion?" whispered Thranduil. "Why has this happened? Have we erred in some way? Have I led you wrong?" He gestured at the closed doors. "Why is my son lying in there?"

Galion sighed. "Thranduil, you know this better than anyone. Life isn't fair. That's just not the way it works. And we can rage about it, and we can…topple benches and throw things across the room, but none of that is going to change the fact that sometimes, bad things happen. We have to pick ourselves up and grit our teeth and carry on the best we can, in the hope of a better day."

"And what if… what if that hope is futile?" asked Thranduil. "What if that so called day never comes, Galion?"

"You never know" said Galion. "The future is not set in stone."

Thranduil sighed deeply. "Ai, I have lived too long in this world" he muttered. "I have seen too much." He glanced at the closed doors again. He had to believe it. He had to believe in something.

0-o-0-o-0

It was nearly morning before the door to the healing ward opened. Thranduil had long given up sitting on the floor, and had been pacing back and forth along the corridor as Galion watched. Both of them had been growing more and more anxious by the hour.

Finally the doors creaked open and a healer appeared in the corridor. Thranduil froze and turned slowly, afraid of seeing the healer's face, afraid of hearing her speak.

Thranduil watched the healer carefully as she turned and shut the door behind her. His heart hammered in his throat, and the questions he had were so jumbled in his mouth, that he could hardly speak. He opened his mouth as the healer turned back to them. "Is…Is he…?"

The healer sighed softly. "Lord Legolas is alive, my King." At those words Thranduil visibly relaxed, some colour coming back to his face. He glanced at the closed doors.

"May I go in?"

The healer nodded and opened the doors. Thranduil took a deep breath and walked in, Galion behind him.

Thranduil had been through a lot. He had fought at Dagorlad, had taken up the Kingship after that fateful first charge. He had been in danger many times and had faced many perils. But none of them now seemed as bad as walking through that door.

The silence was the first thing that hit him. Ai, he hated it when it was silent. On a battlefield there was so much noise it was so easy to drown yourself in it, but when it was silent…

It was always silent after a battle. Always silent when the dead lay there on the ground, when carrion birds hovered over the blood and the carnage. Then it was harder to hide, harder to ignore the pools of blood under your feet, or the staring eyes looking up to the skies, beseeching whoever was listening for peace, for silence.

For the dead, silence is a blessed thing. For the living, those who still remain, it is a nightmare.

Elves moved quietly to and fro in the room. A few congregated around the only used bed in the ward. The floor had been newly washed; it was still wet. The sheets of the bed had also been changed, and were now a pristine white. The used sheets, however, were still piled in a basket. They were stained a crimson red.

Thranduil took a step forwards into the room. Legolas lay in the bed, his eyes tightly shut. His face was deathly pale, almost the same colour as the pillow on which his head lay. He lay under many blankets to keep him warm, but they just seemed to make him even smaller. Thranduil moved forwards.

Silently, he dropped into a chair beside the bed, reaching out with one hand to stroke a loose strand of golden hair away from Legolas' face. He twitched the blankets back briefly to reveal swathes of white bandages covering his son, and then pulled them back up, tucking the blankets around Legolas gently. He looked up as one of the healers approached him.

"Tell me everything" he commanded.

The healer sank down to sit on another chair placed next to the bed. She sighed. "Aye, my Lord, though it may be hard to hear."

Thranduil nodded, absently stroking his son's hair as he watched the healer.

The healer shifted in her chair. "He is grievously wounded, Sire. Lord Legolas has sustained some serious wounds, and he lay in the mud for an entire day before the wounds were treated. Thankfully there is no infection yet, but he has lost a huge amount of blood, and is very weak."

"My Lord." The healer leant forwards, clasping her hands in front of her. "Sire" she said. "He may not make it." Thranduil flinched at the words.

"I have to tell you this, my Lord, though there is an equal chance that he will pull through. He is warming up now, but we cannot tell if that is an improvement or a fever." She sighed. "If it is a fever, then the best we can do is keep him cool and hope that it doesn't rise too high. If it gets too high…" She trailed off for a moment. "If it gets too high, then there will be little chance of his…survival."

Thranduil nodded bleakly. He reached out and gently smoothed back another limp lock of Legolas' hair. "I understand" he murmured. For a moment grief overwhelmed him, but he pushed it back. No, whilst his son still drew breath, whilst Legolas still lived, he would fight for him. He drew himself up and turned to the healer.

"What can I do to help?"

To Be Continued

It looks like there are going to be 4 or so more chapters remaining, and then I will publish the sequel :)

Next chapter will be up tomorrow!