Disclaimer: Tolkien-all, sheraiah-zip. The only things of value I have are my kids. Suing me would be an exercise in futility.

                                                    Chapter 6

                                              Thranduil was aware of the men discussing him at the other end of the room, but he paid them no notice. His sole concern was the pale, motionless form lying on the table before him. The human healer had removed the arrows and was cleaning the wounds carefully, making certain to remove all traces of dirt, and as much of the poison as he could. He allowed the wounds to bleed freely for a short time to aid in cleaning them, then washed them and applied a thick paste before placing bandages on all three of Legolas’ wounds. While the healer was occupied washing and bandaging, the herb-woman mixed potions, one for application to the wounds and one to be forced down the wounded elf’s throat to counteract the poison in his system. After the last bandage was in place, the healer stepped to the end of the table by Legolas’ head and gently lifted his head and shoulders, supporting him with one arm, while the herb-woman held a spoonful of  the tea she had brewed to the elf’s lips. Legolas stirred, and began to struggle against the hands that held him. Although he was very weak, he was an elf and even in his current condition, he was too strong for them to handle without assistance.

                                               Thranduil stepped in immediately, before any other human could be called in to help. “Move aside,” he gruffly ordered the healer.  Weder was no fool, and gracefully conceded his position to the Eldar. Thranduil gently restrained his son, speaking softly to him in Sindarin. When Legolas had calmed, Thranduil nodded to the herb-woman to continue her ministrations. Letha again held the spoon to the younger elf’s lips, patiently allowing the tea to drip into his mouth. Legolas made as if to spit the mixture out, but his father stopped him with a word and when Thranduil bade him to swallow the unpleasantly tasting brew, he did so without protest. Between them, Thranduil and Letha got the entire cup of antidote into the gravely ill prince.

                                                Letha studied the Elven king a moment before addressing him, “ He should sleep for awhile, and he may become fevered. We will have to give him another dose in a few hours, but beyond that all we can do now is wait and see how he does. The women have made a pallet for him here by the fire, so let us get him settled and then we will see to your wounds, my lord.”  Letha motioned for Weder and a young man who bore a strong resemblance to her to move Legolas, but Thranduil was having none of it.

                                               “ No, I will see to him.” With that he lifted his son carefully from the table and moved to the pallet, shifting Legolas onto the makeshift bed much more gently than any human could have managed. He arranged the younger elf carefully, having removed Legolas’ ever present bow and quiver from his back earlier while they were still on the horse. These he laid beside his son’s resting place where Legolas could see them when he woke. Thranduil then turned back to the healer and herb-woman to allow them to treat the cuts and bruises he’d suffered in the fighting, keeping his attention focused on the pallet should Legolas need him. He was pleasantly surprised by how gently they tended him. He had not thought humans capable of such. Even the herb paste they spread on his wounds did not sting very much, and almost immediately took the pain away. When they had finished, they began to tidy up the mess thay had creating in performing their duties.

                                              Thranduil stared into the fire for a moment deep in thought before addressing the two humans. “ My thanks for your help.” He spoke in an almost brusque fashion, not used to feeling gratitude to those whom he considered at best a potential threat, at worst an enemy.  The beings addressed looked startled for a moment, then merely nodded and continued their tasks sensing that to be the best way to respond to the grim-faced elf. He stood and moved next to his son. The Elven king sat down next to his son’s head, his back against the stone wall. Gently, he eased Legolas’ head up until it was pillowed on his thigh. Thranduil leaned back against the wall settling himself to wait, one had resting on his son’s chest the other absently stroking the tangled strands of blonde hair adorning his head. He watched the humans warily with half lidded eyes. Letha settled herself in a chair at the table measuring out herbs for the next batch of tea, while Weder left to report to his lord.

                                               Several minutes had passed in silence when a door on the far end of the Hall opened. Lord Feren emerged from the doorway and approached the pallet beside the hearth. Bowing, Feren placed his hand over his heart, then swept it outward in the traditional Elven gesture of respect, “ My lord, you are most welcome in my home, but I wish your arrival had been under far better circumstances. I am Feren, Lord of Greenglade. Please be assured that you are my most welcome guests and that we will do everything in our power to assist you. We are sending a messenger to Rivendell at first light to request Lord Elrond’s assistance in healing your son. In the mean time, if there is anything you need do not hesitate to tell us.”

                                               Thranduil was nonplussed to say the least by the gesture and Feren’s words. He recovered quickly, however. “It seems that I am in your debt,  Lord Feren. You have my thanks,” he replied gruffly. This closer look at Feren was yielding unexpected results for it seemed to Thranduil that there was something about this human that struck a familiar cord. He could not have said who, but this man looked like someone he had seen before. A moment later he had his answer.

                                             “ My lord, I am aware that you are not accustomed to pleasant dealings with my kind. I was born and spent most of my childhood on the edge of Mirkwood and I have met your folk before. The people of my village were respectful of your boundaries, and never caused any trouble to you. In fact, I have fond memories of some of the border guards. They were very kind to the children, you see. I still have a carved toy horse that one of them gave me. My father was headman of the village and so my family had more to do with your folk than most,” Feren explained mildly.

                                             “ You are Theren’s son,” Thranduil stated matter of factly. “ I knew I had seen you before. We were disappointed to see your village deserted, although we well understood the reasons why you had to leave. The warrior who gave you that toy was a friend of my son’s. My son told me of it when he returned from that patrol.”

                                              
                                            “ Was, my lord? Is he gone then?” Feren queried.

                                            “ Yes, he was one of the warriors who fell  tonight.” Thranduil confirmed Feren’s guess.

                                             “ I am saddened to hear that. He was very kind to me.” Thranduil nodded absently in response. “ My lord, I will leave you to whatever rest you can find tonight. Please, send for me should you need anything.” Feren politely took his leave and Thranduil returned to his brooding.

                                             Weder and Letha stayed in the Hall so that they would be close by if there was any change in Legolas’ condition. Weder appropriated one of the comfortable looking chairs in front of the hearth slumping into it and staring into the fire, and Letha settled herself by Legolas’ feet, patiently making bandages. Thranduil ignored them both, lost in his own thoughts.

                                             He had made a grave error in loosing the horses. His mistake had cost the lives of eighteen of his finest warriors, and might well cost him his son. That was something Thranduil knew that he could not bear. If he were to lose Legolas, he knew that he would fade and die of grief, as his mother had after the death of his father, Oropher, in the Great Battle. Legolas had been the anchor that had kept him alive after his wife died when his son was little more than an infant.  His son was the driving reason behind most of what Thranduil did. He fought to turn back the Shadow that was slowly consuming Mirkwood, in part because it was his son’s home and in part because he wished to have a kingdom for his son to inherit when he was ready to leave and go to Valinor. 

                                             He shook himself out of that line of thought. Legolas was not going to die. He had to believe that Legolas was going to recover. Thranduil allowed himself to drift through memories of his son’s life, preferring to dwell on happy times rather than the present. A faint smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he remembered Legolas’ habit of teething on his formal robes during his infancy. On one occasion, Legolas had mistakenly gotten his father’s skin intead of the fabric causing Thranduil to yelp in surprise and pain. His wife had come rushing into the room, concerned that something had happened to her son only to find him chuckling at the pained expression on Thranduil’s face as he rubbed his abused flesh.

                                              “What happened?” His queen had asked. Instead of answering her, Thranduil had a question of his own.

                                             “ My heart, precisely how long does the ’ I now have teeth, therefore I must bite everything I can get into my mouth’ stage last?” His only answer was peals of laughter at his expense from his lovely queen as she left him to his son’s less than tender mercies. It was a good memory, and one of his last of his wife and son together. She had died only months later.
                  

                                             Legolas had inherited his mother's eyes and her demeanor. He was quiet and reserved until he became comfortable with a new acquaintance, but once that happened he was the merriest of companions and an invenerate prankster. Thranduil himself had been on the receiving end of a few of his son's more minor pranks. He also was the most loyal of friends, especially to the human that Elrond was fostering, much to his father's dismay. In his more honest moments, Thranduil had to admit that he did rather like Estel, in an almost grudging fashion. The boy, for he was not much more than that even in human terms, was every bit as loyal to Legolas as Legolas was to him. He was also respectful, honest, and a skilled fighter. Thranduil's main objection to him was his mortality, and that only because he knew that the friendship would inevitably end with Estel's death and he did not wish to see Legolas hurt.
                  

             
                                              Once the messenger reached Imladris, he fully expected to see Estel, if not Elladan and Elrohir as well. The four ran as a pack when they were able, and the very trees quaked from the mischief the three elves and one human stirred up. Legolas kept few secrets from his father, so Thranduil was aware that their escapades usually ended in healing sessions with Elrond. He knew his son well enough to guess that Legolas frequently downplayed the seriousness of the injuries he had taken, but he did not have the heart to forbid the friendship. So lost in his thoughts was he that he did not notice Letha's approach until she knelt next to them.

                                              " My lord, it is time for another dose of the tea," Letha stated with a slight smile for her charges. She held the mug and spoon ready while Thranduil lifted Legolas almost into a sitting position. Letha spooned the tea between the prince's lips, watching to make certain that he swallowed it all. After the last spoonful, Legolas' eyes fluttered open.
                   

                                               " Mistress Letha?" he ventured, seeing her face above him. " Only someone Lord Elrond taught could make something that foul-tasting," he said weakly, but with a slight smile. The smile widened a hair when he caught his father's expression of surprise, then he sighed deeply and his eyes closed once more.
                   

                                              " I was not aware that you knew my son, Mistress Letha," Thranduil intoned softly. " Why did you not mention this?" Thranduil, as always, was suspicious of the motives of mortals.
                   

                                              " I did not mention it, King Thranduil, because you have so carefully avoided giving your name. Do not worry, Weder sleeps as one dead. He will not hear us. You name will remain your secret until such time as you reveal it."
                   

                                              " My thanks then, Mistress. How did you come to meet Legolas? I know it must have been in Imladris. I know him well enough to know that he would not enter a human settlement unless he had no other choice."
                   

                                               Letha raised an eyebrow at that, but replied readily, " Yes, the last time I was there he and that young scamp Estel had had a run-in with some orcs. Lord Elrond bade me help with the healing, as he wished me to become familiar with the healing of an elf should I ever need the knowledge. The wounds were not serious, and Prince Legolas was very gracious in allowing me to learn which herbs to use on him. He is so much more polite than Elladan and Elrohir, if you ask me, and much better behaved." Letha smiled down at the prince fondly.
                   

                                                Thranduil allowed himself a small chuckle, " Having had those elflings inflicted upon my household on occasion over the course of many years, I can readily agree. However, it is mostly that they are still fairly young by our standards. I can also assure you, mistress, that Legolas is certainly not immune to high spirits and mischief."

                                                " Perhaps not, My Lord, but he seems to think things through more toroughly than the others do. I became quite fond of him. Now let me take a look at his wounds, and then yours." Letha became all business again. Thranduil allowed her to perform her duties and when she was satisfied that all was well, she left them to themselves once again. It was now well after midnight, yet she showed no signs of retiring to her bed. She sat by the fire, mending some article of clothing and singing softly to herself. Thranduil returned to his vigil over his son and his memories.