Healing Hope

Chapter 29

Of Kings and Elf Lords

“In the end, the shadow is only a small and passing thing; there is light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.” J.R.R. Tolkien

“Can we go home now?”

Legolas looked from Estel to his father, quite unsure of what to say to the child.  All around them was the stench of blood and death.  Outside the protected valley the air was decidedly cooler and the breeze singing through the trees brought a chill to the child.

“Give him to me, Greenleaf,” said Thranduil, holding out his arms. 

Legolas handed over the precious bundle to his Adar and then pulled off his cloak to wrap around Estel for added warmth.  Surely this was a time that a father’s wisdom was needed.  The prince felt decidedly out of his element.  He had, of course, spent a good deal of time with Estel, especially on this trip, but he was still woefully unprepared for all of the emotions of a four year old and the nurturing of such. 

“Do not look, Estel,” Thranduil cautioned the boy as he stepped around a particularly grisly carcass.  “We will be away from here soon.”

“Are we going home?”  The excitement in Estel’s voice was evident, even muffled as it was against the king’s shoulder, where the child had hidden his eyes.

“No, we are not.”  Thranduil felt the boy tighten up, and he automatically began to rub small, soothing circles on his back.   After a moment he stopped.  “Estel, look at me.”

Estel pulled away from the king’s shoulder where he had taken refuge from the scary sight of the dead things.  His eyes automatically drifted towards the carnage.

“No,” commanded the king softly.  “Look at me, not the wargs.”

Wargs…so that is what they were called.  His bottom lip quivered as he struggled not to cry, for he felt sure that his brothers would want him not to cry.  He concentrated on blinking his eyes to keep any of the tell tale moisture from escaping.

Thranduil wanted to hug Estel tight and cosset him until the fear left, but there was not time.  “You are being very brave, Estel…as brave as any of my warriors.  Do not falter now.”

“Do warriors ever get scared?” Estel murmured.

“Yes, child,” smiled the king.  “Even the bravest warrior can know fear.  Now, I must ask you to have courage a bit longer.  Can you do that for me?”  His compelling voice was melodious, even for an elf.

Estel nodded his head solemnly.  Legolas’ Adar was strong…almost as strong as his Ada, and the child instinctively knew he could trust him.  Estel wanted to make his Ada and brothers proud, but he sure wished Glorfy and Restor were here.  

“Good,” replied the king.  “Now put your head back down and close your eyes until we are away from this drear place.”  He pulled the cloak up to cover Estel’s face, lest temptation overtake him once again, and walked back over to where Legolas was talking with the others. 

Legolas led his father a few steps away from the four warriors and spoke softly, but urgently.  “Adar, how can we leave these wargs like this?”

Thranduil knew that stubborn look in his son’s eye.  Elves were loath to leave the dead – of any variety - unattended, Legolas especially so, but there were times it was just not feasible to do otherwise.   

“What do you suggest we do with them, Legolas?”  Thranduil kept his voice mild for Estel’s sake, but the monarch was beginning to become irritated.  The informality of Imladris had infiltrated his warriors and his son, and he was not pleased.  Elrond could run his realm in whatever manner seemed best to him, but Thranduil knew only one way to hold his people together, and that was by the force of his will.

“Can we not burn them?” asked Legolas.  “Foul beings will be attracted to this carrion.  Falathar, Túrelio and Alma will follow and be caught unawares.”

“That is a valid argument, but we cannot burn them here under the trees, and there are too few of us to drag them away.  Each of these wargs weighs as much as your stallion!”  Thranduil was as grieved as anyone to leave without cleaning up the foul, stinking bodies, but their options were few, and time was their enemy this night. A regal lift of the king’s chin cut off any argument Legolas might have considered making. 

“Forgive me, Adar,” Legolas immediately apologized, berating himself mentally.  They were in a dangerous position and in possession of a child to protect.

His son’s bowed head softened his heart.  “Greenleaf, think you that I desire to leave these ancients so defiled? Feel the wind; this scent will be carried far.  If we remain here we could find ourselves encompassed by a new enemy.”  Thranduil glanced up to the tree that had sheltered them and sighed deeply.  Looking past Legolas’ shoulder, he called to the nearest warrior.  “Táron, as soon as we have found a defensible place to camp, you will ride back to meet your brother and the warriors with him.  Lead them well around this place for it will be dangerous.”

Táron could not hide the relief reflected upon his face. “Aye, my king, it shall be as you say.”

The elven horses were hesitant to venture too close to the warg bodies, but a sharp whistle from Thranduil brought his steed to his side, and the others obediently, if reluctantly, followed.  The king waited for his son to mount, and then handed Estel up to him.

“We have tarried here too long,” announced Thranduil. “We ride now.”

O-o-O-o-O

It was barely two hours before the dawn, the time of night when the world seemed to still itself as though gathering strength to embark upon a new day.  The only sound was the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

Elrond and Mithrandir still sat in the gazebo, the empty decanter between them. For hours they had discussed and studied the situation from every conceivable angle, but were as yet unable to draw any conclusions.  Now they had grown quiet and contemplative, each lost in his own thoughts.

The clatter of horses crossing the bridge interrupted their reflection.

Elrond idly watched as the contingent rode into the yard, stopping not at the stables as expected, but coming straight towards the house led by Glorfindel.  That did not bode well.  The Elf Lord’s heart gave a lurch as he spied Erestor, who was supposed to be on his way to Mirkwood.  Quickly, he scanned the group…half relieved and half disappointed not to see Estel.

Glorfindel jumped from his horse as Elrond and the Maia were making their way to greet the warriors.  He reached Beling’s side, and the young guard handed down the healer to his commander.  Erestor had wanted to carry Sariboril himself so that he could monitor her condition, but Glorfindel insisted that Beling carry her.

“Beling, help Lord Erestor to the healing wing,” commanded Glorfindel, as he turned and started towards the front steps with Sariboril.

The seneschal’s arm was unbearably painful now…red, swollen, and throbbing beneath the wrapping Glorfindel had applied.  Though he had not said anything about it, Erestor’s vision was compromised as well.  He went from blurred to tunnel vision and back to almost normal again with alarming frequency.  A few times he swayed precariously on his mount, but Glorfindel had always been there to steady him.

Elrond, Mithrandir, and Glorfindel reached the front steps at the same time.

“Ambushed,” Glorfindel glowered. “Estel was riding with King Thranduil.  We held them off while the Mirkwood warriors surrounded the king and rode to safety.

“Are you sure they cleared the valley?”  Elrond pressed as they walked.

“Yes,” nodded Glorfindel.  “Thranduil sent back archers to relieve us.  Sariboril and Erestor were wounded early in the attack and unable to leave with the Mirkwood warriors.  Her injuries are bad, though the wound does not appear to have been made by a poisoned blade, unlike the one to Erestor.”

Elrond followed Glorfindel into the house, stopping only long enough to summon more healers.  “Take them both to the healing wing. I will attend them there.” 

Mithrandir intercepted Beling, who was assisting Erestor towards the house.  “I will take him.”

Beling hesitated only a moment before bowing to the Maia.

 Holding the seneschal’s arm to steady him as well as to keep the wound elevated, Mithrandir supported Erestor as they navigated the steps.  “I am very happy to see you again, old friend, but not under these circumstances.”

“Mithrandir…when, how?”  A fine sheen covered the seneschal’s waxy face and he stumbled slightly, leaning more heavily into the Maia’s side. 

“Steady,” soothed Mithrandir. “Just lean on me, Erestor, we are almost there.”

Glorfindel placed Sariboril face down on an examining bed while Elrond washed his hands and donned a healer’s smock.  The golden warrior began to cut the bandages from the healer, exposing the vicious cut running across her back.  While dirty and raw, it showed no signs of orc poisoning.

“What shall I do with this one?” asked Mithrandir, leading the increasingly wobbly Erestor into the room.

“Put him on the closest bed,” responded Elrond.  “He looks ready to drop.”

By this time the other healers were making their way into the room.  Merileth, Sariboril’s chief apprentice, assumed command with a coolness that would have pleased her mentor.  “If you please, Lord Elrond, see to the seneschal and I will attend Mistress Sariboril.  I will summon you when the surgery is prepared.”

His eyebrow twitched at the dismissal, but Elrond was relieved and grateful for such competent assistance, which would allow him the opportunity to more closely assess Erestor, whose condition appeared to be deteriorating.  He only hoped that the young healer could find what she needed in that pit of Udûn that Sariboril called an apothecary.  “Very well, Merileth, I will be ready.”

Turning back towards Erestor, Elrond frowned at the fevered look on the seneschal’s face.  “Glorfindel, take him upstairs to my rooms. I will need my own apothecary to deal with this.” 

As Mithrandir helped Erestor to stand, Glorfindel swooped the weakly protesting elf into his arms and strode from the room.

“I can walk,” Erestor insisted.

“Stubborn elf,” grumbled Glorfindel.

The Maia could not help but chuckle as he followed along in their wake shaking his head.  They were like an old married couple, these two.  Oh, but this was turning into an interesting visit.

Hot water was being carried into the healing room from the kitchens.  Elrond stopped one of the elves carrying out this duty and requested some for the family surgery.

“Cook has already orderedthe water delivered to your healing wing, my lord,” said the elf.  He could not help but smile.  “Any time there is an injury in Imladris she has water sent to the third floor.  Cooks says, ‘with the twins around it is always best to be prepared.’”

Elrond inclined his head in thanks.  “Give cook my compliments, please.”  He hurried to follow Glorfindel and Erestor; mentally estimating the time it would take to tend Erestor and return here for the surgery to Sariboril.  If need be, Glorfindel could tend Erestor once Elrond had prepared the proper herbal treatment to counteract the poison.  

Glorfindel ascended the steps in record time.  As he carried Erestor into the family healing wing, the activity roused the twins from their herb induced sleep.  Elrohir blinked his eyes several times as though trying to clear them.  Elladan, on the other hand, looked murderous when he beheld the wounded seneschal.

Glorfindel walked past the beds and into the smaller surgery.  Lord Elrond’s apothecary was in a smaller area accessible from either room.

Even as Elladan was swinging his legs from the bed, intent upon donning his clothes and going after Estel, Lord Elrond swept into the room.

“Elladan, back into bed!”

“I must go after Estel!” slurred the twin, still heavily drugged.

Elrond stepped over to the bed to reassure his sons.  “Estel is safe with King Thranduil and Legolas.”  He put one hand on Elladan’s shoulder and caressed his son’s cheek with the other.  Not above using a father’s tools at need, he surrounded his son’s feä with his own and gently urged him into sleep.  “Lie back now. Rest . All is well.”

As Elladan drifted into sleep, the Elf Lord turned to Elrohir, who was still furiously blinking his eyes in a futile attempt to clear both them and his thoughts.  Stroking the younger twin’s forehead he repeated the process, taking the time to gently probe and assess the swelling over Elrohir’s eye.  “Sleep, my son.”

Assured the twins were once more in a healing sleep, Elrond walked quickly into his apothecary. Though smaller, it was identical in shape to Sariboril’s on the first floor.  However, it was as neat and tidy as Sariboril’s was messy.  Elrond was nothing if not a creature of meticulous calculation and order.  Were he blindfolded; he could still place his hands unerringly on any herb or potion he needed.  Ironically, Sariboril would stubbornly claim the same.

As Elrond methodically mixed the poultice his mind was on the first floor with his healer.  She had been a resident of Imladris since the earliest days and had worked side by side with Elrond during the dark days of siege.  Her skill was without question, and his command had placed her in peril.

While Elrond mixed the herbs, Glorfindel bathed Erestor’s wounds.  A veteran of countless battles, the golden one was well versed in administering battlefield dressings.  He efficiently bandaged the cut above Erestor’s eye. Working on the more grievous wound to his arm would have to wait until after he had been eased into sleep by Elrond’s potion. 

Mithrandir did what he could to help Glorfindel, adding comments and calming Erestor.  The seneschal was beside himself with guilt over Estel now being well on his way to Mirkwood with no one from his home to accompany him. 

“If I know Thranduil,” soothed the Maia, “he will outdo himself in seeing that Estel is well cared for, if for no other reason than to out shine Elrond.”

Erestor, who was sitting on the surgery table clad only in his leggings, closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness overcame him.  He rested his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder in a futile attempt to restore his equilibrium. 

“Enough,” growled Glorfindel.  “You will lie back…now.”

Still fighting the dizziness, Erestor allowed himself to be lowered onto his back.

O-o-O-o-O

Illuin had ridden through the night to reach the furthest southern point of the valley.  This was the area he and his scouts were to monitor.  Illuin had been commander of the border defenses for many years, and he knew every step of it.  When the mystery of the “invisible” orcs had become evident, he remapped every single patrol utilizing the Mirkwood warriors to keep guard over the inner valley while his own were freed to branch out closer to the outer border.

When King Thranduil left so precipitously, Illuin sent runners to summon all the Mirkwood warriors toImladris.  They would be required to work through the night in order to prepare for departure at first light.  By riding hard they should be able to overtake the king’s contingent by afternoon.  The elf did not like to contemplate the hazards that would face too small a party attempting the mountain passage to the High Pass, and on to the Old Forest Road leading through Mirkwood.  He shivered at the thought of Estel being carried so far away and into such a dark land, but he had faith in Lord Elrond’s wisdom.

The commander knelt on the foamy ground checking for prints.  A soft whistle drew his attention, and he gave the answering call.  An elf dropped from a tree a good distance away and trotted over to where Illuin still knelt.

Illuin rose to greet the scout.  “Report.”

“A party of elves approaches from the south,” the elf said.

Illuin knew that Thranduil’s party left through the western pass, so it would be impossible for it to be the king’s warriors.  “Identity?” demanded Illuin.

“They bear the banners of Lórien,” answered the scout.

“Lórien!”exclaimed Illuin.  Now this was an interesting development.  Lord Celeborn normally sent messengers ahead when he and the Lady of Light were planning a visit.  The elf knew of no such correspondence reaching Imladris.  The commander hoped that no ill news concerning the Lord’s daughter was being born towards Imladris.  Lord Elrond did not need to hear any more bad news.

“Yes, commander,” affirmed the scout, interrupting Illuin’s contemplation.  “I judge them to be a good two hours from our borders.”

Illuin nodded thoughtfully.  “I will wait for them here and lead the escort.  Sound the alarms…summon our warriors. I want every step they take on our lands to be protected.  I will not allow any more grief to befall our lord.”

TBC