A/N: Warning for death in this chapter.
92 – Leave-Taking
Elluin slept as the sun rose further into the sky. Thranduil remained by her side the whole time, allowing messengers to interrupt to give their reports. Cembeleg came to confirm that the threat had been entirely eliminated and that scouts reported no more enemies for many miles around. The general removed himself only to the hallway, standing guard at the door as he had not done since he was a lowly foot soldier in Doriath under King Thingol.
Intermittently, Gwedhil and Orthoril came in to check the Elvenqueen's wounds. The holes in Elluin's flesh where the spider's fangs had punctured her skin were beginning to take on a black hue. The bleeding from the wound on her thigh was finally beginning to slow, but Elluin was paler than ever. Thranduil watched her breathing, willing her breaths to remain slow but steady and strong as she rested, as familiar a rhythm as his own heartbeat after sharing her slumber for seven centuries.
Maethon came in at one point, his face carefully neutral as he took in the scene. Gently, he encouraged Thranduil to eat, but made no attempt to coax him away from Elluin's side. The body servant remained standing by the bedside until the king had eaten a bit of bread and cheese. Thranduil forgave him the impropriety of bending to kiss Elluin on the cheek before he left.
Elluin awoke shortly after midday. Gwedhil brought in another broth, but her stomach rejected it.
"My heart, you must eat something if you are to heal," Thranduil urged uselessly.
"I know," Elluin said. She turned her gaze away from a grim-faced Gwedhil to her husband. "I know," she repeated. Her eyes were apologetic.
Thranduil's body tensed in automatic rejection of the implication of her words.
"I have pain," she murmured to Gwedhil. The healer rushed away immediately to work on another brew.
Into the silence, Elluin spoke again. "Prepare yourself, my love. And forgive me if my body wins against my will."
Thranduil could not yet accept the fate they were discussing. But his wife needed him in this moment—needed him to think realistically, and not indulge in childish obstinance.
"There is nothing to forgive, Elluin." He pretended his voice had not become hoarse with emotion. "You have only ever brought me joy."
"It has been my dearest wish," she replied. "And despite your words, I know…that I have sometimes failed."
"Long-forgotten trivialities," he assured her quickly. "These years at your side have been the best of my life. I hope you have found me worthy of them."
He cursed the weakness that had slowly been permeating her muscles, preventing her from giving him the bright, broad smile he treasured. She managed only a slight quirk of her lips. "I adore you more every day," she said.
He nearly chuckled. "One may adore a person and still find fault with them."
She gave a small shake of her head, her eyes earnest. "You are perfect to me, Thranduil." She took a deep, unsteady breath. "I know my youth and inexperience were not…what was best for the kingdom, but…I am forever grateful to be your wife."
"No, my heart. You are just what I needed, and it was you who taught me that this was what was right for the kingdom. Where I had only seen obstacles or enemies, you were the one to teach me to find goodness and love. And you have shown me that such treasure is worth the seeking. I found you, after all—my greatest treasure."
She managed another weak smile at the words — too brief, for suddenly a shudder overtook her and she grimaced in pain. Her blue eyes were glassy and her skin was dewy with perspiration.
"What is wrong, my heart?" Thranduil asked, quelling the panic rising within him.
Her only reply was a shaky exhalation as Elluin relaxed again into his arms. She blinked against new tears. "Forgive me," she whispered.
"Gwedhil!" Thranduil called.
The healer ran in and assessed, running hands and eyes over Elluin's body. Her face became increasingly pale. "From what reports we have received of other spider attacks, the beasts' venom will keep their prey alive but unable to move while eaten," Gwedhil said. "But we also know that spiders can control the amount of venom they release. It may be that, had the queen not lost so much blood, and had the dose of venom been less, she would have been able to sleep off the worst of it. But, sire, her heart and lungs are weakening to a concerning degree."
Thranduil stared at her.
"I am sorry, my king," Gwedhil murmured, the mask of her profession unsteady on her features. "We will do what we can to help with the pain, but…" The healer's eyes met the queen's. "It appears we will be parted for a while, my queen."
Elluin was silent for a long moment before nodding wearily. She dutifully sipped at the pain remedy Orthoril brought in while Thranduil struggled again to process what was happening. The healers retreated with deep bows as another shudder ran through the queen.
Into the tense silence, Elluin suddenly reached out a hand to clasp her husband's with a surprising strength.
"Listen to me," she rasped between gasps. "I love you, Thranduil. But stay …on these shores a while yet. Promise me you will help our…child see the Darkness overcome. Promise me …you will see Greenwood …freed before you come to me."
Her pleading eyes bored into his with all the wavering energy she had left. Her unsteady breaths took on a sibilant quality.
"Forgive me, my love. I may not have the strength," he said around the boulder in his throat.
"You must try," she insisted.
The desperation in her eyes forced him to consider. His heart was already breaking, sensing the inevitability of the sundering of his wife's spirit from his side. He would need to mend somehow, enduring the deepest wound he had yet known, to comply with her request. Legolas was en Elf grown—a worthy prince. If Thranduil were to follow his wife to Valinor, he would still have the strength to stand up to the Dark Lord. But he knew from long experience that to face such dangers and such an onslaught against the spirit was much easier with a family to stand in support.
Endure. How he doubted… but he could not give in, could not stand to disappoint his beloved now. He managed to grind out the words, "I will try."
Elluin heard him, and her brows smoothed in relief before another bolt of pain coursed through her. She suddenly looked around, panicked. "Legolas?" she gasped.
Thranduil bellowed a call for his son down the hallway, knowing a messenger would hear and run to fetch him. But the prince was apparently already on his way, based on the speed at which he appeared. They soon heard his boots hammer through the receiving room. He skidded to a stop in front of the door, but only stopped long enough to see the anguished look on his father's face before entering.
Sorrow and love mingled in Elluin's eyes as she looked him over again. Legolas was dusted with dirt and ashes, but she still welcomed his embrace.
"Legolas," she said, but her voice broke.
"Do not speak anymore, Mother," he said, his smile reaching his tear-filled eyes. His intuition had not allowed him to deny the truth of the situation. "I know what you would say. That I should continue to make you proud, and to care for the trees. And that you are a very patient elleth, and will wait long for me in Valinor. Am I right?"
Her quivering lips spread into a smile. "Yes, my son."
"And I will. I swear, Mother: I will see the forest renewed before I meet you again."
She squeezed his hand lightly and gave him a slight nod of her head.
"Benavorn has already passed into the Halls of Waiting," he announced solemnly. "All your guards will be with you there. But it is my hope that no more of our people will join you, Mother. Father and I will protect the northern fortress, in memory of the Elvenqueen who inspired all of us to sing."
Thranduil felt the oath within his bones, and knew that his son would not waver in his commitment. And he knew the forest, and the kingdom, would be better for it. Elluin's legacy of a joyful kingdom, open to trade and generous with its neighbors, would live on with Legolas to protect it.
"I love you," she whispered.
He rose and kissed her brow, his tears falling into her hair. He smiled at her one last time. "Farewell, Elvenqueen."
She turned again to Thranduil. "I love you," she whispered to him, as well. He murmured his answer into her hair as he pulled her closer, cradling her gently but firmly in his arms. He did not notice Legolas retreating, too focused on the waning body he held.
He did not know how long he held her, but it was long after she fell into an uneasy slumber, occasionally shivering as if in revulsion against the poison coursing through her veins. Gwedhil came in eventually and mentioned that the queen would breathe more easily if she were lying flat. Thranduil extricated himself gently and Naudeth, silently weeping, came in to arrange the queen's blankets comfortably. She poured more boiling water over the herbs in the bowl by the bedside and lit lanterns against the falling dusk.
Long moments passed, and they were undisturbed. Thranduil held Elluin's hand and stroked her forehead, whispering promises and endearments as he watched the shaky rise and fall of her chest slowly diminish. The sun sank below the horizon and the world fell silent.
At last, he sensed that he looked no longer on his wife, but merely an empty body. He felt the world tear away from beneath his feet, and he must have screamed, because the body servants and healers suddenly came rushing in.
He could no longer see, the wetness he distantly felt coursing down his cheeks indicating that tears were the cause. He could not hear, deafened by a roaring sound that coincided with the vibrations in his own chest.
He felt a strong pair of arms encircle him from behind. He was vaguely aware of the smell of polished metal and leather as he was lifted bodily and drawn away, he knew not where.
Cembeleg dragged a howling Elvenking out of the room, down pathway after suddenly deserted pathway. His wails of agony echoed against each of the scorched palace walls still standing, just as the pain at their source reverberated through the breaking hearts of all his people.
Thranduil strained weakly against the general's grip. His chest and throat burned. His ears began to register that the roaring had turned to sobs and moans. Suddenly, the echoes dropped away and he felt cold air surrounding him. The scent of the forest made its way to his senses. He was dragged a while further before he noticed that the scrape of paving stones between his feebly kicking feet had transformed into the swish of grass.
Still another while later, he was set swiftly down in a glade on his back, utterly drained of the strength of will and of body to resist. As his tears slowly subsided, he saw the glimmer of the stars above him become steadily clearer. The ache in his chest remained nearly unbearable, and he was unable to move. Staring at the pinpoints of light above him, he gradually became conscious of the silence stealing through the faint chirping of crickets and the breeze rustling through the leaves.
Then, he heard the sound of someone breathing softly beside him. He spent a long moment simply regaining all of his awareness. It took him even longer to feel power enough in his body to move his head slightly toward the sound.
Cembeleg sat there beside him, elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped lightly together, eyes lazily surveying the surrounding forest. Hearing the motion, however, he cast his gaze to his king.
They simply stared at each other, Cembeleg taking a small amount of comfort from seeing the somewhat turbulent rise and fall of Thranduil's chest for several breaths.
A desperate question appeared in Thranduil's watery eyes, and the ancient general had to swallow hard around the lump in his throat.
"She is gone, my king," he said softly.
Eventually, Thranduil realized again the truth of the statement. His face crumpled and he rolled to his side, curling into a ball. He was weeping anew, this time with breathy sobs partly muffled by the grassy ground into which he pressed his face, clutching handfuls of it in his fists as a despairing child would cling to his mother.
Cembeleg did nothing to keep his own silent tears from falling. Across countless battles during his long years, he had lost countless dear friends — Elves he had fought beside, with whom he had shared his life and his heart. He had felt the crushing sorrow when they left him after trying all he could to save them. And yet he knew that however close he had been to those Elves, it did not compare to losing a bond-mate. If his beloved Lairien were to fall…the mere thought was unbearable.
And here beside him was an Elf he had known since childhood, had watched as he was battered by the trials of his life, and forced into solitude. Cembeleg had felt such joy for the young king when he finally found peace for his darkened spirit through Elluin. The years of their reign together had steadily chipped away at the shadows of Thranduil's spirit, so that Cembeleg had been confident there enough bliss would eventually blossom in the realm to overcome the whole world.
Cembeleg mourned not only for the loss of his queen, and not only for the broken heart of his king, but for the happiness of the kingdom.
He allowed these thoughts to slip through his mind as the stars slid along their paths across the sky, occasionally glancing down at his charge. Eventually, the sobs had ceased. Sleep had forcefully overtaken Thranduil in his exhaustion.
Dawn began to paint the eastern sky before the king even began to stir. Cembeleg steeled himself. Once again, he would lead the Elvenking as he fought his battles — this time, not against murderous Orcs or spiders, but against his own despair, in order to regain some of the ground that had been ripped away from him.
