Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, hair black as ebony
-9-
The wind woke Thranduil that night. It blew with rage and it lifted the curtains framing the high windows that had remained open, like the storms that sometimes broke in the middle of autumn. Rousing from a dreamless rest, Thranduil lay in his bed for a long time, his eyes resting on the curtains blowing in the wind. Something had pulled him out of his slumber, despite the constant fatigue he had felt since only half of his heart was beating in his chest. An impression. A feeling. Something important had happened or was about to happen and it required his attention.
Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment and he just listened to the angry wind. It shook the trees in the forest and hissed in every corner of the darkened room.
He knew, without even having the slightest doubt but also without knowing why he was so certain, that the torment that had torn him from sleep had something to do with Bard. Therefore, he left the comfort of his bed, he dressed and he left his room. Guided by his instinct, as if an invisible thread linked the two pieces of his heart, he walked along the endless empty corridors, usually silent but for the moment filled with the storm plaintive groans and he went outside the palace.
At this time of year, the darkness was not complete, even this late in the night. This was something Thranduil did not like about spring: the nights were too short and too clear. That prevented him from fully enjoying the spectacle of the stars. Winter gave them back all the shine they deserved and they sparkled then, brilliant, distant and silvery, set in the perfect scenery of an inky sky.
His long hair and his loose cloak blowing in the wind, Thranduil strode through the gardens where shrubs, roses and other plants bowed to the wrath of nature. He took a winding path into the forest – vain hope of not drawing the guards' attention because none of his subjects would have had to criticise the comings and goings of the sovereign of Greenwood the Great.
His steps guided him instinctively to the edge of the forest and he plunged into its heart, where huge and wide trees, even older than he was, protected him from the tempest.
He found Bard nearly half a league to the southwest of the forest – long before the borders that separated the part of his realm that King Thranduil still managed to defend from the part infested with darkness.
He stopped at a respectable distance from Bard and he knew, even if he was the most discreet of creatures that the Man had understood that he was no longer alone because the features of his face darkened. His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched.
Unsurprisingly, because he had been anticipating such a moment since the day he had learned of the possible effects of the ritual intended to bring a deceased back to the world of the living, Thranduil noted the blood that stained the skin and that permeated the clothes of the Lord of Dale.
He was more surprised, however, by the deep cuts that marked Bard's body in places where fabric had been slashed and torn.
A great sadness, mixed with a hint of indignation (of which he was ashamed the moment the emotion seized him – he fought it off immediately, refusing to inflict it upon Bard's mind), took hold of him and half of his heart tightened inside his chest.
This sadness was meant for Bard, first of all, because he seemed in complete disarray, as if he did not know why he was here, in the middle of the night; as if driven by instinct rather than reason.
He also felt sad for the lifeless creature laying on the ground, a few meters from Bard. It had been a living being the Elvenking had protected, just like every animal and every plant that existed within Greenwood the Great.
Thranduil had no difficulty picturing the scene that had just taken place in the shelter of the trees between Bard and the animal. He wondered for a minute if it was the obvious brutality of this moment that had pulled him from his sleep, as he and Bard now seemed bound in many ways.
Without a word, Thranduil walked the last few yards between him and Bard and sat down next to him, settling unceremoniously on the floor.
Man and Elf remained silent, staring at the gigantic mass of the now bloodless bear.
Thranduil found himself imagining what the animal must have felt in front of a man like Bard. Had he been surprised when the creature in front of him had sunk its teeth into his veins? Did he feel fear? Had he had time to suffer or had Bard been quick?
The wounds that scarred Bard's arms and back made it clear that the fight had been fierce and painful and that his prey had not let it go.
Thranduil tried to chase away the images that formed into his mind; they were so violent and painful.
He had known this creature, as he knew all those of which he was the guardian. This bear had been a few years old solitary male who, like those of his kind, had been naturally shy towards strangers. Contrary to popular belief (due to their impressive size and sharp fangs and claws), bears were rather fearful. They had become accustomed to the presence of the Elves in the heart of Greenwood the Great because the latter were calm, patient and discreet. This was the problem when a man or a Dwarf came to cross the borders of his kingdom: the wild animals were not suspicious enough. This creature had paid the price of its existence because of that.
Despite the bitterness that the situation inspired in him, Thranduil was careful not to evoke his feelings aloud.
Bard had no idea how his kingdom functioned and he did not know the close relationship that bound him to the living beings of this forest. It would have been unfair to blame him, especially since Bard seemed sufficiently remorseful right now.
Thranduil then buried the pain he felt deep within him, away from the barriers he had erected in his mind to shield Bard from his emotions.
His eyes fixed on the dead animal, Thranduil decided that he would return to tend to him later that night. He would bury him according to the customs of his people, as they did for one of their own, Elf and animal alike.
Each life that ended had to return to the earth, this same nourishing earth that allowed all living organisms to awaken and flourish.
At this precise moment, his priority was Bard.
Without even looking at him, merely being inches away from him, Thranduil could feel the tension rocking his body. Bard was in shock.
His face closed, the Lord of Dale stared at the figure of the bear lying on the ground. He did not blink. He even seemed not to breathe, as his immobility was perfect. His jaws remained clenched. He seemed not to care about the wounds bleeding down his back.
Thranduil put a hand on Bard's arm, trying to touch his skin where it was not bruised. He noticed that his skin was warm, whereas it had been cold several days before, when he returned to the world of the living. He supposed that this was the price to pay to regain his lost humanity: Bard needed to feed on the lives of others to nourish his own, in order to regain the warmth he now lacked. Guilt was like a hole in Thranduil's innards: he had not realized that his decision would have such heavy consequences on Bard. By saving him – by bringing him back to his family and his people, he had imposed on Bard an existence that the man would never have accepted if given the choice.
Bard was unresponsive to Thranduil's skin touching his own.
"Bard… Come back to the palace with me. You are injured."
Thranduil saw Bard swallow his saliva, as if suddenly regaining consciousness of the world around him. Bard turned his head towards him, and the gaze he fixed on Thranduil was filled with such pain that the Elf seemed to feel it physically.
"I have elven blood, Thranduil. I will heal quickly, you know that."
Thranduil suppressed a frown. He went to great lengths to remain calm and patient: Bard did not realize the state he was in, and getting angry with him might provoke reactions that Thranduil did not feel able to handle that night.
"Certainly. However, elven blood will not prevent wounds from becoming infected if I do not take care of it. Come, Bard."
Bard sighed softly, almost inaudibly, and his attention returned to the animal.
Thranduil removed his hand from Bard's arm. He got up, stood in front of Bard purposefully, to hide the bear from Bard's view, and he held out a hand to the man. Bard's eyes fell on the offered hand and his brow furrowed.
"Come," Thranduil repeated in a slightly firmer tone. "I do not wish to compel you. Yet, if you do not move, I will, and even if elven blood runs through your veins, I am still the stronger one."
Bard looked up at him in disbelief. He seemed to doubt the Elf's words.
Yet he straightened up – without the help of Thranduil's hand – and at that moment, he seemed to be aware of the cuts that lacerated his body and his clothes. He looked at his own bloodstained hands.
"I do not want Sigrid to see me like that."
Thranduil then removed the cloak he was wearing and wrapped it around Bard's shoulders. He tied it around his neck, taking care to cover his body.
"Your daughter is sleeping, logically. However, let us be careful. It seems to be better that no one sees you in this condition."
Bard nodded, his gaze distant. Thranduil had time to think that his eyes were now free of dark circles and that his skin seemed to be coloured with a delicate rosy hue. This was inevitably a consequence of the diet his body pushed him to follow. Fortunately, the animal's claws and fangs had spared Bard's face. If it had been easy to conceal his body under clothes, it would have been difficult to hide his face.
"Follow me," Thranduil said.
He set off through the trees without waiting for a response from Bard and he did not turn to see if the man was following him or giving his unfortunate victim a last look. However, he heard Bard's footsteps a few meters behind him so he continued on his way, silent as a shadow in the heart of the starless night.
"Why your room and not mine?" Bard asked hesitantly as he stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, his gaze going back and forth over the furniture, books and rugs that decorated a place he had never been before.
Thranduil was busy in the bathroom adjoining the room, gathering what he needed to tend to Bard's wounds.
"Let us say your daughter suffer from sudden insomnia tonight. She would be curious – and no doubt horrified – to discover the Elvenking healing her father's lacerated back."
"I guess you are right."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow, away from Bard's eyes.
"Take your clothes off, Bard."
"All of them?"
Bard's surprised tone did not escape Thranduil, who smiled mirthlessly.
"It all depends on which parts of your body are injured."
"My legs are fine."
"Then your tunic will suffice."
Thranduil joined Bard in the bedroom and noted that the man had obeyed. He held his tattered tunic in his hands, seeming to hesitate over where to put it. Without a word, but carefully, Thranduil took the garment from Bard's hands and placed it in a metal dish, which ignited at a mere word from him. Bard's eyes widened, betraying his surprise.
Still silent, Bard followed Thranduil, who showed him a place in the room, near a table on which he had laid out everything he needed.
Thranduil worked quietly, cleaning the wounds with fresh, wet cloths, starting again as many times as necessary, as some of the lesions were sometimes deep. When he had finished, he prepared an ointment using specific herbs and applied it to each of the injuries, reciting words in Sindarin, which he knew Bard could not understand. The ointment and the spells would help the cuts to heal cleanly and without too much pain – for the rest, Thranduil knew that Bard healed faster than before now.
He took care of Bard's back, his arms and then his stomach and completed treatment by bandaging the wounds with a dry cloth. At this moment, he observed a glaring detail that had escaped him in the darkness of the forest. Bard's lips were red as blood – like his own blood? or like the blood of the animal on which he had feasted? They were dark, like the petals of a flower resting on his fair skin, the colour of snow. This image disturbed him deeply. Even more when Bard's gaze followed his and those lips parted to speak.
"I am sorry..." Bard muttered uncertainly.
Thranduil looked away from the red lips and sought Bard's gaze but Bard avoided it. He understood very well why Bard was apologizing to him even if that apology should have been addressed to the unfortunate creature laying on the forest floor. Besides, deep down, Thranduil knew that he, too, had to apologize to Bard. A lifetime was not enough to tell him how sorry he was for what he had done to him...
"Why did you not come to me when you started feeling those urges?" Thranduil questioned.
He moved away from Bard.
"I do not know."
Thranduil disappeared for a moment behind a door and returned with a clean tunic, which he handed to Bard. His gaze carefully detailed the few spots where Bard's skin was still visible as he dressed.
"I tried to control them for days," Bard explained with a sigh. "I really thought I would manage…"
Thranduil felt his guilt rise even further as he imagined Bard mentally torturing himself not to give in to instincts he did not understand.
"I do not even know how I ended up in the forest tonight or how I managed to…" Bard trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. He turned to the open windows, his gaze drawn to the dark outline of the windswept forest.
"You should have come to see me," Thranduil insisted. He took a few steps to join Bard and stood beside him, facing the windows.
"Why? How could you have helped me?"
"I seem to remember something you said some time ago. We are bound to each other. We share the same heart so from now on, I am concerned with your well-being as you are concerned with mine."
Thranduil knew he had quoted Bard's words without the slightest error. His memory never failed him in such a case.
"As for the rest," he resumed, "I am responsible for your condition, I have already told you that. If you must feed on blood in order to survive, it is my duty to find a way out to help you obtain it and this, I will add, in such a way as not to harm any creature as much as possible."
Thranduil could feel Bard stiffen beside him. He had tried to mention the delicate subject of the death of an innocent animal in the most detached way possible, but he knew his words affected Bard, no matter what form they took.
"Is it even possible?" Bard asked. Thranduil heard the note of desperation in his voice.
"I have thought about it and that is why I would have liked you to come and see me earlier."
Bard turned fully to Thranduil, taking his attention away from the trees and the sky. His gaze seemed to beg him.
"You could feed on me, Bard."
The words seemed to crack like a whiplash, like the dry hiss of the wind around them. Thranduil did not miss the way Bard scanned his neck even if it only lasted a fraction of a second. Bard frowned.
"I cannot."
"You will have to. I will not allow tonight incident to happen again. These creatures are under my protection. Besides, I am fully in charge of what befell you so it is up to me to try to fix the mistakes I have made."
"You cannot… give half of your heart to me, tie your existence with mine through marriage and now… this…"
Thranduil could see the green and brown gaze overflowing with confusion.
"Do we have a choice, My Lord?"
Bard just stared at Thranduil, a pained expression painted on his snow-pale face, framed by the curls of ebony-like hair. Thranduil could read various emotions in Bard's eyes – incomprehension, bewilderment, doubt... Bard's chest heaved a little faster than before, his breath reaching Thranduil's ears, reminding him how much the man was alive when he might not have been at that moment – and half of Thranduil's heart tightened at the mere thought; it was not the first time that imagining a world without Bard elicited this reaction from him.
Bard's brow furrowed and Thranduil saw him bite his lower lip. He noticed the sharp canine tooth absent-mindedly nibbling the dark red flesh. He found himself wondering what it would be like to feel Bard's teeth piercing his skin and his veins.
For one of the first times in his very long existence, Thranduil felt caught in the act when his gaze met Bard's and he understood that he had not hidden his emotions from him, failing to erect the barriers of his mind. He experienced an unpleasant heat in his face and realized that he had just blushed in spite of himself.
Surprisingly, Bard spoke first, darting a dark, mirthless gaze at the Elvenking.
"I think it is time for Sigrid and I to leave Greenwood the Great, Your Highness."
Without waiting for a response from Thranduil – who, in any case, felt so overwhelmed by the emotion he had just experienced that he would have been unable to formulate a coherent sentence – Bard tilted his head in the direction of his host and left the room with a determined step, his attitude having completely changed.
Thranduil watched his receding figure, feeling bewildered.
"Law den aníron," he simply whispered after a moment, his eyes resting on the doorframe.
Then, refusing to confront the contradictory emotions that seized him, and refusing just as much to think about Bard's last words, Thranduil left his room in turn to go back to the forest once again, lulled by the howling wind and comforted by the darkness which hid him from the rest of the world.
Law den aníron : I do not want it.