See Ch. 1 for disclaimer

Ch. 13 Home

Again Kala calmly regarded his liege, seemingly undisturbed in the least by the other's brusqueness of voice and manner. He has been a healer for more years than he cared to count, and knew that family members of the seriously injured or ill often forego niceties of manners when the well-being of their loved one was at stake. Thranduil, never known for his patience, could be particularly grating when one of his sons was injured, which unfortunately seemed to take place with disconcerting regularity.

And Legolas was near to having his own private supply of healing herbs marked and set aside, as well as a permanent bed in the healing room. Considering how protective the Royal Family was of this youngest son, it was rather astounding how the youngling had become quite the constant in Kala's healing practice over the years. It was not surprising then that the healer had always been able to handle the King with serene patience, something that he had gleaned from the countless years of dealing with Thranduil, the concerned father. He respected Thranduil the King, of course, and his ability to rule Mirkwood in such troubled times, but he respected Thranduil even more as a father. There was no doubt in Kala's mind that it required the skills and qualities of divine beings to survive the worries and heartaches so unwittingly caused by this one son. And thus far, Thranduil seemed to be surviving quite admirably, albeit the worry lines on the regal face seemed more prominent during particularly trying times.

"We should let him sleep now," Kala said, as he pulled a light blanket over his patient whose eyes had already closed.

"I am not leaving him," Thranduil said, setting himself firmly down onto the chair by the bed.

The healer arched a brow. "I do not expect you to, my lords." His gaze not only encompassed the King, but also the three brothers who hovered so protectively over the now still bed. "But I suggest that we refrain from further discussions until the sleeping draught has taken full effect."

Thranduil clamped his mouth shut, though the look that he gave the healer was not one of benevolence. He turned back to the bed, his expression softening instantly as his eyes swept over the still figure of his sleeping son, whose too pale features were tinged as yet with the flush of fever and whose body was swathed in bandages that cover its many hurts. His regal brows tightening into a frown, the King thought back to the events of the past two days, from the time that he was reunited with the son that he had feared to be lost to him forever.

Their slow journey back to the palace had been increasingly arduous on Legolas in his weakened condition. The fever had showed no signs of abatement and the pain from his injuries had tried Legolas almost beyond the young elf's endurance. It had tore Thranduil's heart to see his child to suffer so, and more than once, the temptation to expend his wrath on the captive elders had been so great that it took all of his stubborn will-power to refrain from carrying out what his heart so manically desired.

They had encountered Kala and his escorts soon upon their return journey. After a brief examination, it had been the healer's suggestion to return to the palace as quickly as possible where he would have his considerable supply of healing herbs at his disposal to deal with the young elf's many injuries. Legolas had stubbornly refused to be transferred to the litter, choosing instead to remain in his father's arms, despite the pain such a position no doubt inflicted. Though he had loathed the thought of Legolas having to endure any additional discomfort, Thranduil had also been reluctant to relinquish the physical hold on his son, the fear of nearly losing this child being too fresh still in the paternal mind. In the end, Kala had administered a brew to ease the young elf's pain so that both father and son could continue the journey in greater ease. They had quickened their pace. Though Kala had not opined on any dire prognosis, the concern in the knowledgeable eyes had not been lost on the King and his other sons.

They had reached the palace in the early hours of the day and Kala had been working on his young patient since, cleaning and bandaging the many hurts with poultices of his own creation while Thranduil and Legolas' brothers watched in close scrutiny. Finally, the healer had completed his ministrations with a tea that would ease the fever as well as put the patient into a deep healing sleep.

Thranduil pursed his lips tightly as he once again saw in his mind the welts that so viciously marked his son's back. Those despicable creatures had taken a whip to his son who, in his relatively short life, had rarely heard a voice raised in anger at him, let alone suffered any such form of brutal punishment. He could not even begin to imagine the fear and pain that Legolas must have endured, first being a captive of his own kind, and then as a hostage of Men. With an effort, Thranduil unclenched his hands, which he had unconsciously balled into white-knuckled fists, even as he mentally visited horrific torment upon those responsible for his son's current state, even though they were no longer in the world of living. The quick death that they had received was far too merciful for them, mercy that they had not shown to his child.

A part of him seethed with rage against the elves who had betrayed Mirkwood and the humans who had abused his child with such cold-bloodedness. But there was also anger directed at himself. Twice now, in so short a span of time, he had failed to protect this son whom he had sworn to safeguard against all harms that may befall him. Thranduil was thankful that Legolas had managed to cheat death on both occasions, but the King knew only too well what had been lost by his youngest child in these brushes with fate. Gone now was that sweet innocence that had instilled such joy in his father, and Thranduil now feared the events of the past days would also rob his child of the trust that Legolas had so endearingly bestowed in the past on all those around him. He gazed down at the still form and felt the guilt wash over him in icy waves.

"My lord, you need not to worry so," Kala said gently. "His injuries are not life-threatening."

Thranduil looked up, startled out of his dark brooding. "There are injuries that the eye cannot see and those are the ones that are most worrisome."

Kala inclined his head slightly. "Yes, the young prince has gone through much in recent weeks. But I also believe that his youthfulness will serve him well in the coming days. Young saplings bend with the rage of the storm, but they invariably strengthen and mature with the weathering of such tempests. Younglings have more resilience than we often give them credit for."

Thranduil regarded the healer with a half-smile. "Your words are soothing indeed, and not to the ears of your patients only."

"Often it is not the patient who needs tending," Kala returned the King's smile.

Thranduil took in a deep breath. "You have declared his injuries not to be life-threatening. You know I will hold you to that promise."

Kala dipped his head slightly. "The young prince will heal, fear not. The fever that plagues him now results partly from the infection of the reopened wound, but probably due more to the harsh treatment that he has suffered in the past days. His body had not fully recovered from the previous injuries and is therefore susceptible to ailments to which elves are normally immune. Now that his injuries have been treated and he is no longer being jostled about on horseback, I suspect he will heal quickly."

"His back --" Thranduil began, frowning.

"The welts are painful and no doubt will cause him discomfort in the days to come, but they too will heal. He will not wake soon as the draught that I have administered to him is a potent one. The deep sleep is what his body requires to heal. Do not be concerned with his prolonged unconsciousness. I will check on him later today, but if I may take my leave now, my lord."

"Thank you, Kala for all that you have done for him," Thranduil said. "You may leave."

The healer bowed once to his liege and nodded to the three princes before making his way from the chamber.

Once left alone, Thranduil regarded his sons. "You have all heard Kala. Your brother will recover. I suggest that you all go and rest now, especially you, Aldeon and Feren. Your efforts of the past days show clearly on your faces."

"I will stay with you, Adar. I am not tired," Tavaro spoke up quickly.

The King shook his head. "Please allow me some time alone with Legolas."

Aldeon pressed a gentle hand to his father's shoulder. "Of course, Adar. Come, Feren, Tavaro. Let us leave them."

Alone with his youngest son, Thranduil reached out and took hold of the unresponsive hand, cradling it within his own gentle grasp. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over the hot brows, savouring with all his heart and soul the returned presence of this one child.

xxxx

"My lord, it has been three days. Have you decided on the fate of the elders?" Yaavie asked, watching the King anxiously before exchanging uncertain looks with his fellow advisers.

Thranduil tapped the arm of his chair in thoughtful silence as he regarded the elves before him. Aldeon sat by his side, and watched the King with controlled expectancy.

"For what they have done, they deserve no less than death, " Thranduil at last spoke, his voice quiet and cold.

At the sound of the King's words, the advisers looked at each other in nervous uncertainty.

"But condemning another elf to death is not our way," Yaavie at last ventured.

"Have they not condemned many of their own to death by their treacherous acts? You will not have forgotten the blood that was spilled when the orcs attempted to raze our stronghold. Who among you can say that you, or someone that you know, remains untouched by death in that last battle?" Thranduil looked at them through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps we should let the loved ones of those killed in battle decide on their fate."

"There is no precedence for such a procedure," Yaavie pointed out.

"There is no precedence for such treachery either among our own kind," Thranduil countered. "I am determined to make an example of these traitors."

"My lord," Aldeon at last spoke up, addressing his father the King. "Death is quick, and in my opinion, too kind for what they have done."

Thranduil turned to his oldest with a raised brow. "And what would you suggest?"

"They should live out immortality in total shame and shunned forever by their own kind. They should be marked permanently as traitors to their own kind and banished forever from the woodland realm."

Thranduil pondered over his son's suggestion. After several moments of silence, he spoke. "They would live when so many have perished because of their treacherous collusion with Men."

"Death to Yulion would be a release. He has lost all his loved ones and probably would fade away in grief in any eventuality. He has already been condemned with the harshest punishment," Aldeon said.

The King was not inclined to feel sympathy for one who had nearly brought down Mirkwood in his misguided beliefs. "He suffers the tragedy of his own creation. He can blame no one but himself."

"My lord, I believe Lord Aldeon's suggestion is a wise one," Yaavie said, as others nodded in concurrence. "For what life is left to an elf if he cannot live among his own kind?"

"They were ready enough to live side by side with those vile Easterlings," Thranduil reminded coldly. "They were convinced that those humans would help them rebuild a Mirkwood that would be free of the Shadow."

The room fell into silence. In the end, Thranduil drew in a deep breath and declared, "The traitors will be dealt with as Lord Aldeon has suggested. They will be marked and banished from Mirkwood. Missives will be sent to all elven realms advising of their treachery and punishment so that none will afford them sympathy or residency."

"And the settlement elves?" Aldeon asked.

Thranduil frowned. "They will not be banished, but neither can they be allowed to stay in that settlement. I want all of Mirkwood to know of their association with the traitors so that they too will be marked by shame and be scorned by their own kind. I want them brought back and installed among the outermost cottagers. They have wished for greater protection from me. I will provide such protection," the King said with grim satisfaction. "I will ensure that I have my eyes on them at all times, as will all others."

"To have them so near. Will that not be courting danger should they take to rebellion?" one of the advisers asked in concern.

"They will be guarded closely. They will have as much freedom as if they are locked in the dungeon. I am being merciful in not throwing them all into the dungeons to live out their miserable days in perpetual gloom. This way, they will be living among the trees and able to see the sky," Thranduil said, and then added, "As well as the disdain and wrath of their fellow elves." He gazed steadily at the elves before him. "Are you then all agreeable to these forms of punishments?"

Yaavie bowed deeply, followed by the others. "Yes, my lord. You have acted with wisdom."

"If not with my heart," Thranduil said dryly. "Tomorrow the traitors will be brought before me and I will pronounce to them their punishment. I want missives prepared and sent to all elven realms. I will instruct Lord Feren to make the necessary arrangements to have the settlement elves brought back. That is all. You may leave us."

The elves bowed again and retreated from the throne room. Left in privacy, Thranduil let out a long breath and rubbed his aching head.

"Adar, are you all right?" Aldeon asked with concern, one hand on his father's shoulder.

"Aye, I am weary of all this, that is all. The past days have been all too trying."

"Forgive me, Adar, "Aldeon said quietly.

"Forgive you for what, my son?"

"I know you wanted nothing but death to the traitors. Perhaps I should not have suggested banishment as punishment."

Thranduil gazed at his son with steely eyes. "Yes, I did want an end to their miserable lives, for all the pain and death that they have caused Mirkwood, whether intentionally or not. As a father, I want nothing more than to obliterate all those who had a hand in harming your brother. But death, as you have pointed out, is quick and even merciful. What you have proposed will punish them for an eternity. Each day they will be reminded of their treachery and treated with scorn by all those they encounter. Even when they pass from this world, their punishment will not cease." The King's eyes glittered coldly. "It is unfortunate that those who had directly inflicted pain on Legolas would not suffer the same fate."

"And the Easterlings? Do we seek further revenge?" Aldeon asked.

The King's voice was bitter when he spoke. "If it was possible, I would declare war on them tomorrow and turn their strongholds into complete wastelands. But Mirkwood suffers still from the last battle with the orcs. We are woefully short on warriors. I cannot risk further lives, no matter how strong my sentiments are for revenge. We will have to wait until such time that our forces are rebuilt to their former strength."

Aldeon nodded. "Let us hope that those few spared by Feren will return to their leaders to recount to them the ferocity of our warriors. Let them live with the uncertainty as to when we will actually attack to take our revenge."

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, Feren did well. Uncertainty breeds fear. Those vile creatures deserve every bit of misery that we can cause them. We will, however, need to strengthen the patrol to the east to ensure that the Easterlings attempt no further transgressions. I will have to discuss this further with Feren to see how we can best allocate our troops."

Thranduil rose to his feet and his son quickly followed suit. "I must go and look in on Legolas. I have left his bedside for long enough."

"Let us both go see him. What says Kala of his injuries?"

Thranduil let out a long breath. "Kala assures me that Legolas is healing well. The fever, thank the Valar, is at least gone. I am concerned though by your brother's silence. He has yet to recount the events of his captivity. I see the fear that haunts his eyes and it breaks my heart to be ignorant of what he has suffered other than what is obvious. He cannot maintain such silence if his fears are to be exorcised, and yet I do not wish to force him." The King stopped and looked at his oldest. "Why is it that I always feel so helpless when it comes to Legolas?"

Aldeon could not refrain from smiling. "Adar, you really do not expect me to have an answer to that, do you?"

His father regarded him thoughtfully before slowly joining in with the smile. "No, I suppose not."

Aldeon put a hand around his father's shoulder as they continued down the hall to the Royal Family's private quarters in companionable silence. Aldeon smiled wryly to himself as he thought again of his father's question. Thranduil loved all his sons dearly, but Legolas, being the last born, would always hold a special and untouchable spot in their father's heart. It was a fact known and acknowledged by all, except perhaps by Thranduil himself. Aldeon's smile deepened as he tightened his hold around his father.

TBC

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