48 - Poison

Aurados galloped with haste to meet the king's company. He drew to a halt before Thranduil and dismounted. He saluted, then suddenly seemed uncharacteristically reluctant to give his report. In fact, his expression seemed so strained that Thranduil thought for a moment that the soldier would be sick.

Thranduil froze — something terrible must have happened. He had been so optimistic that the entirety of his four weeks on patrol would run smoothly, as it had up to this point. And now, two and a half days' leisurely ride from the palace on their way home, it appeared that disaster had finally struck.

"Aurados." It was a command.

The soldier took a quick, fortifying breath. "Sire, the guards posted by the western edge of the Old Forest Road sent a messenger bird. The party of Elves returning from Rivendell was attacked by Orcs on the Low Pass."

It must have occurred early the day before, given the time it would take Aurados to reach him at a gallop. "And?" Thranduil snapped, bracing himself for the news.

"The soldier Rosganar gave his life ensuring the retreat. Soronume was struck by an arrow that appears to have been poisoned, as his condition deteriorated significantly between that outpost and the next. There were a few other minor injuries. They should be back at the palace this afternoon."

"Has word been sent ahead for the healers to receive them?"

"Yes, sire."

Thranduil's heart clenched, though his expression betrayed nothing but grim determination. He turned to the others. He quickly gave the command for two guards to accompany him and Sulros back to the palace at speed with spare horses while the others followed at a more reasonable pace.

As he rode through the trees, he hoped frantically that the poison would not be lethal, and that Soronume would make a quick and complete recovery. It was, in part, a selfish desire — he would not venture to ask Elluin to wed him while her spirit grieved over her father's death. It was not a fit state in which to form a bond.

Another source of unease prodded him: he had no idea how to comfort Elluin. What was his place during her family's distress? He obstinately refused to consider that Soronume would give in to the poison before arriving at the palace. But while the carpenter fought off its effects, what could the Elvenking do to help Elluin through this difficult time? He wished he knew her better, to know what she would most need or appreciate from him.

He huffed in resignation, mounting and whispering a word to spur his horse to move quickly. There would be no answers until he was at her side.

~.~.~

"Where is Lady Anarrima?" Thranduil demanded of the first of the palace soldiers he spotted through the late evening's darkness on the path as he drew near.

"She sent word for the king to seek her in the library," came the quick reply. The ellyn made way quickly as the incoming party passed, hardly slowing.

Why was she not in the healing rooms? Thranduil tried to breathe through his impatience. Dismissing an exhausted Sulros and his guards outright, he left his tired mount, steaming in the air of the winter night, with a stable hand and his long strides bore him swiftly toward the palace entrance. Galion was awaiting him there. The steward bowed as the king approached, but wasted no time, turning to walk onward beside the king.

"Galion, what news?"

"Master Soronume is stable for now, sire, but severely ill. He cannot be roused. Lady Anarrima is reviewing our books on healing, hoping to find another remedy to try."

Thranduil gave a brisk nod of understanding. "And his family?"

"With him, sire. They have not left his side since he arrived yesterday." Galion had sent several messages to the king during his absence to inform him of the most notable events, but diplomatically avoided specific commentary on the doings of any one Elf. Now, as he strode beside the king, he did not wait for the question. "Sire, Lady Elluin has been invaluable to the court during your absence. Up until yesterday, she has continued her duties as housekeeper, but was also the primary executor of the trade agreement with the delegation of Men under Chieftan Borgel. She has risen in the esteem of your court."

"Good," was all the king said, but Galion noted that his expression softened. The steward decided not to mention that the contract was awaiting the royal seal on Thranduil's desk. He ventured, instead, to another suggestion that he was almost certain would not be accepted, but one he felt was his duty to make. "Will you not take a moment to rest, sire? Change, eat? You have been riding hard since before sunrise, I am sure."

"No — I will see my aunt and Soronume first," came the king's predictable response. Anguish colored his features for a moment.

Galion understood. "What are your orders, my king?"

~.~.~

Anarrima looked up when she heard her nephew enter the library. She had just finished writing down a recipe for a potential antidote, copied from a book. The messenger waiting at her post spared the king a bow before following the lady's gesture to take the parchment and run to the healing rooms with it.

"Aunt, tell me," Thranduil said without preamble, walking forward to grasp Anarrima's arm affectionately in greeting. The Elf knew that he could always count on his aunt to describe matters realistically.

"Soronume is trapped in a poisoned sleep," she said, picking up the book again even as she spoke, but still holding her nephew's eyes. He saw her worry and determination. "The wound has long since been cleaned and stitched, but the evil now courses through his veins. It prevents him from accepting water, and his heart hammers erratically. If we do not draw him from this malady soon, he will succumb."

"How long?"

"A few days, at best."

He swallowed a curse, closing his eyes and willing himself to set aside his despair.

"Thranduil, Captain Telior sent one of the soldiers back to Rivendell after the attack, on the swiftest horse," Anarrima said cautiously. "Maluven, I believe. He bore one of the Orc arrows with him. They were hoping Lord Elrond would have some notion of what the poison is and what method or ingredients we could use, but…"

"He may not return in time," Thranduil finished. He knew Maluven to be an excellent rider from a family that had always excelled in games testing physical endurance. He trusted the soldier's ability to avoid the Orcs on his return safely with his keen eyes and ears, and return as quickly as possible. But time was not on their side. He forced his thoughts to other matters. "Have Linalda and Elluin had any rest since Soronume was brought in?"

"No," Anarrima said simply, turning back to the book.

"And neither have you," the Elvenking concluded, looking now with concern at his aunt.

She waved a hand dismissively. "I will stop when I need to."

He grasped her shoulder in gratitude, and Anarrima spared him a glance as he strode out. She would have preferred to be closer to her nephew when he finally reunited with Elluin, to offer guidance from her many years of dealing with the concerned families of her ailing patients. But the books in front of her possibly held the key to reviving Soronume, and the situation did not allow them the luxury of waiting on a chance that the Half-Elven lord could provide a cure. She would remain. Besides, she thought, his heart would guide him well. She turned another page.

~.~.~

The healing rooms were quiet close to midnight. In one corner of a room, Elluin and Linalda sat hunched over Soronume's unconscious form. His breathing was labored and erratic, and his skin was clammy and unnaturally cold. His dreams were uneasy, as his eyes darted around beneath his closed lids, and it seemed that he wished to speak, sometimes mumbling or groaning as his fingers twitched. His occasional dry retching usually dislodged the blankets that the ellith had draped over him in an attempt to keep him warm.

Linalda's eyes were swollen and red from crying, and she looked just as pale and thin as her husband. A bowl of broth lay forgotten on a table beside her. Despite urging from Elluin and the healers, she had stubbornly refused to eat until there was some sign that her beloved was improving. No such sign had yet appeared. Determination was a weak light in Elluin's eyes, her brow puckered with worry and her lips a tight line to prevent her fear for her parents from spilling forth in sobs.

Elluin had made it her mission to keep her father's bed warm, tucking in the blankets and regularly swapping the heated cloth-wrapped stones surrounding him with replacements from the hearth in the main hall of the healing rooms. Linalda rubbed her husband's hand and spoke or sang to him, encouraging and coaxing him to fight against the poison. So engrossed were the ellith in their tasks that they took no notice of the new figure that entered the room until he stopped by the bedside.

"How does he fare?" Thranduil's softly spoken question wafted over them, startling them into looking up. He held up a hand to keep them from rising to curtsy.

Linalda's face was grim. "We do not know, sire," she admitted, unsuccessfully disguising her agony in her voice.

Thranduil nodded his understanding and came to stand beside Elluin, who studied him with wide, desperate eyes. She noticed that he must have just returned, as he still wore dusty travel clothes and muddy boots beneath his worn cloak, a satchel with less wear hanging over one shoulder. He bent to take her father's other hand. "Soronume," the king called softly. "Your king commands you to heal and return to us. I have not released you from my service."

Soronume continued muttering, a grimace flashing sporadically across his features.

Thranduil stepped even closer, dropping his voice to an urgent whisper. "Soronume, your family needs you. Heed the plea of your daughter's suitor and fight." The Elvenking shut his eyes tightly, listening to the threads of song that emanated from the ellon's spirit, seeking within it the source of its weakness and probing to determine whether magic could see it removed. But the poison had become integrated into the very same notes of his song, dimming and slowing it. He sensed Linalda's spirit there also, entirely intertwined with Soronume's. But now the elleth was like a tree that had burrowed its roots into a cliff face. Now that the rock that was her husband's essence quaked and crumbled, it would not take much for her to plummet into the abyss along with him once his spirit broke free from his polluted flesh…

Time passed with no discernible change. Thranduil sighed and stepped back, resting his hand on Elluin's shoulder. They kept vigil in silence.

After a while, Gwedhil came into the room, accompanied by another healer and a broad Silvan Elf they instantly recognized. "Master Filechon," Elluin greeted half-heartedly. He was a family friend, a wood cutter who frequently collaborated with Soronume, and had traveled with him to Rivendell.

"Sire. Ladies," the ellon greeted somberly with a bow toward the king and a nod toward the ellith. Thranduil motioned for Elluin to stand up from her chair, and she obeyed with some reluctance. He swiftly gestured for Filechon to take the vacated seat. The Silvan did not hesitate to sit and take his friend's hand, and started speaking quietly to him.

Gwedhil made her way to Linalda, setting gentle hands on her shoulders. "My dear, let Hadis and Filechon care for Soronume for a short while. You must eat and rest for a little while, lest you lose the strength to help him return."

She hesitated.

"Linalda," Thranduil murmured, his gaze authoritative but gentle. "Please."

The elleth blinked her eyes several times but did as she was bid, reluctantly allowing Gwedhil to lead her into another room while Hadis, another healer, took the other seat. This elleth set to work preparing other fragrant herbs to attempt speeding his recovery.

Thranduil wordlessly held out his hand to Elluin, and she took it. She walked with him a short way into the forest, still well within sight of the healing room doors. Distantly, she realized that he wished to remain within shouting distance of the place in case they needed to be called back.

"This is not how I wished to return," Thranduil said sorrowfully, sliding the satchel carefully off his shoulder and turning toward her to take her other hand as well.

"I am so glad you have come home safely," Elluin said honestly, looking up at him with watery eyes. They were the first words she had spoken to him, and they carried such an undercurrent of pain that Thranduil's heart broke to hear them.

Suddenly, Elluin dropped his hands to fling her arms around his torso, burying her head on his shoulder. In his shock, it took Thranduil a moment before he responded by wrapping Elluin in his embrace, somewhat surprised by her strength—the effect of all her heavy lifting as a palace servant. He distantly lamented that he did not follow Galion's advice to change out of his travel-stained clothes, but he held her fast, hoping she could sense all his love for her through it. If this was what she needed, he would gladly give it.

"Do not give in to despair," he murmured into her hair. "There is still time. But I would welcome it if you would express your pain, to share it with me."

As if she had only been waiting for this consent, Elluin began to weep earnestly. He felt each of her tears soaking into his heart just as much as his tunic. He felt, strangely, that they were washing away the scars of his own past trials—not completely, by any stretch; but sharing the griefs of another spirit somehow diminished the severity of his own. Berenil's words that Elluin had spoken to him so long ago rang through his memory again: "Sorrow shared is half the sorrow, and joy shared is twice the joy." He did not expect it to be true of both the experiencer and the sympathizer.

Thranduil had been stroking Elluin's back soothingly as she wept, but now felt her stuttering breaths slowly become steadier. When she eventually became silent, he gently pushed her away so he could pull the cleanest edge of his cloak to her face, drying the wet streaks away from her cheeks. Her eyes remained downcast and she swept a hand across the wetness that had spread across Thranduil's chest and shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"This was my request," he answered swiftly, drawing her chin up with a gentle finger to draw her gaze. "My wish is to help you. If there is anything you would have me do, name it."

Her eyes glittered with tears, but also appreciation, and it seemed that the adoration she always held for him was deepening. Thranduil recognized, however, that she was currently too spent to think of her preferences and what requests she could make. Instead of expecting a response, he swiftly removed his cloak and spread it on the ground beside them, gesturing for her to sit beside him on it.

"To start, we should keep up your strength." He pulled over the satchel from where it was resting on the ground and unpacked a simple dinner. Elluin stared, absently taking what Thranduil handed her, noting that the fare had obviously been very recently obtained from the kitchens, as the meat and vegetables were still warm in their lidded crocks, as well as the bread in its cloth. There were also grapes and skins of wine and water.

Thranduil began to eat immediately, inviting her to do the same. Elluin simply continued to stare, realizing that the king was actually hungry, and then why.

"My heart, must I feed you?" Thranduil asked. It would have seemed like teasing but for the genuine concern in his tone. Elluin's heart warmed.

"You came home early," she concluded.

"Yes. I had word of what happened to your father and felt I needed to be with you more than I needed to visit the last village," he confirmed in an easy tone.

"The last village…" She ran some calculations in her head, having been informed of the royal party's route. "You must have ridden for over a day, at a hard pace. And you sent for Master Filechon, too, didn't you? And the healer, Hadis, to watch over my father so mother and I would rest? And this dinner..."

"Yes. Elluin, please eat."

She obeyed slowly, though gratitude now combated with worry within her throat to constrict and her tired eyes to sting.

"Thank you," she rasped.

Thranduil paused his meal to touch her cheek tenderly. "You know I cannot always do as I wish. Allow me to indulge my desires now, to see you and your family restored to strength and health."

She smiled warmly at him.

"But you must also tell me if you ever wish for solitude," he continued. "That is usually what I crave, after my duties are done, in times of trial."

"Please do not leave me," Elluin said, reaching for his hand in a sudden wave of panic, raw nerves flaring.

Thranduil grasped her hand in his without hesitation, and brought it to his lips to press a kiss on it. "Never," he said.

A/N: I have tried in this fic to avoid the stereotypical events that one sees in love stories, such as one of the protagonists getting near-fatally injured and the other realizing just how much they love that person while they care for them. This plot point is often effective but, in my opinion, overused, and develops affection but does not strengthen the relationship.

I also try to fit events of this story into the scheme of Middle Earth's history. I had always wondered why Tolkien had his characters take the (presumably more difficult) High Pass through the Misty Mountains, and imagined that maybe an event like a rock slide would reveal a cave system where a remnant of not-quite-masterless Orcs/goblins might hide and settle, right by the Low Pass, making it unsafe for travelers like Soronume's group. This system would eventually develop to the point that there is an established Goblin King and a "front porch" along the High Pass by the time Bilbo & Co find their way there a few thousand years later.

So Thranduil, traveling through the yet-untainted Greenwood, met no Orcs and suffered no life-threatening injury… So, any predictions about Soronume? Also, can anyone guess the poison? (It actually exists and I've tried to depict the symptoms accurately.)