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                                                            Chapter 19

                                                   Elrond froze mid-stride, all color draining from his features. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with strain, nails digging into his own flesh so hard that blood seeped from between his fingers.  He fell to his knees, fighting for control. Letha and Weder were at his side in an instant, lifting and guiding him to a bench. Weder held his shoulders, shaking him, while Letha grabbed a length of a braided herb, setting it afire on the flame of a nearby candle and blowing it out then held the smoking end under Elrond’s nose. The acrid stench penetrated the fog that had settled over his senses and he began coughing, his eyes watering from the smell, but aware of his surroundings again. He began, uncharacteristically,  to curse in Quenya and shook off the concerned humans next to him as he rose and headed for the door at a full run, Letha and Weder following in his wake.

                                                     At the first sound of the foul laughter, Thranduil’s head snapped up and he froze in shock. The foul being swept across the sky above the keep riding a winged nightmare of a creature. Shrouded in black, faceless, it bore down upon the King of Mirkwood as he stood in the courtyard.  The creature drew its sword as it bore down on Thranduil and swung at his unprotected neck. At the last second, Thranduil dropped to the ground, rolling under the creature’s mount and raising his sword as he rose behind the Ulairi. He struck the creature across the small of its back, the blade of his sword biting deeply into the foul beast. The Ulairi screamed and its mount flapped its leathery wings, taking to the sky above the keep once more.

                                                   Changing direction, the creature headed toward the wall. Haldir saw the creature turn and grabbed Legolas, thrusting the prince behind him. He notched an arrow and fired at the Ulairi, striking it in the chest. The creature laughed and turned again diving toward Thranduil. Thranduil faced his attacker, sword raised. The creature laughed, swinging its blade at the elf. Thranduil parried the blow with great effort and returned to blow in kind. The creature easily block the elf’s swing, and feinted, catching Thranduil off guard. The point of its blade slid into the elf’s shoulder, nearly slicing his collarbone in two. The elf went ashen, and eyes rolling up into his head, he dropped like a stone. Legolas’ agonized scream rent the air as the Ulairi laughed. It turned, and hovered, savoring the prince’s grief.

                                                      Elrond burst through the keep door just in time to see Thranduil fall. He raced across the courtyard to the Elven king’s side. Kneeling in the dust, he turned Thranduil on his back and bared his shoulder to assess the extent of his injury. The blackened edges of the wound told him all he needed to know.

                                                       “Sweet Eru!  Quickly, get him inside!” Weder and Elladan lifted Thranduil between them and hustled him into the keep. Elrond looked up in dread, knowing that the Ulairi still had one target left. The Ulairi once again headed for Legolas. The prince was kneeling on the wall, attention fixed on his father. Haldir was no longer beside him, having raced along the wall to one of the cauldrons. Legolas’ head snapped up as the Ulairi neared him and he drew his long knives. His shoulder was not nearly healed enough to withstand strain that wielding his knives would place upon it, but Legolas cared not. He was like a creature possessed, wishing to inflict as much damage on this creature as he was able before it slaughtered him. The Ulairi swung its sword at the elf. Legolas blocked the blow, but the force drove him back nearly over the wall.He slashed at the Ulairi’s mount, ripping a great gash in its side, blood fountaining out over his face and chest. The beast shrieked, but did not lose altitude sweeping over the keep and returning for another pass. The Ulairi’s sword flashed again, and Legolas barely managed to stay on his feet as he parried.

                                                 Haldir shouted for the human guard nearest Legolas to get the prince out of Haldir’s line of fire. The guard tackled the elf, knocking him off balance. Legolas tumbled down the staircase from the top of the wall to the courtyard and lay still. Haldir had grabbed a handful of arrows out of his quiver and dipped them in the cauldron of pitch next to him. Using the fire under the cauldron, he lit the arrows and rapidly fired them into the foul creature. The black robes shrouding the creature burst into flame, the wind rapidly spreading the fire.  Shrieking, the Wraith abandoned its target and disappeared into the night, trailing flames as it went.

                                                        The orcs again rushed the Keep yet again, taking advantage of the distraction to climb the walls. The defenders recovered, hacking at the orcs with their swords and shooting the few arrows they had left. A shout rose from the tree line and the orcs halted as arrows rained down on them from behind the trees. The orcs broke and ran, heading into the trees on the far side of the Keep as the large force of elves emerged from the cover of the forest and made for the Keep. A grin appeared on Haldir’s face as he recognized the elf in command.

                                                          “Open the gates! They are allies!” Haldir’s shout was repeated, and the gates opened admitting Glorfindel and the Imladris guard. Estel had rushed to Legolas’ side and was assessing his friend’s injuries. Legolas lay stunned for a moment, then rose taking no notice of his friend and raced into the Keep in search of his father. Estel followed after him, his concern etched on his face. Haldir fairly flew down the stairs to greet the newcomers. Reaching Glorfindel, Haldir clasped his forearm, warrior-fashion.

                                                “Mae Govannen, mellon! You have excellent timing!” Haldir grinned at Glorfindel, relief and fatigue evident in his face.

                                                 “Well, one must make the best entrance possible.” Glorfindel returned smoothly, and then sobered. “I saw the Ulairi. Did it claim its target?”

                                                  “King Thranduil was injured, gravely from the look of it. Legolas is uninjured, but we still know not which the beast intended to slay. It looked to be after both. “Haldir’s expression was grim.

                                                  “What of Lord Elrond?” Glorfindel’s concern for his friend was evident.

                                                   “He was not targeted. I saw him enter the courtyard as King Thranduil fell. He is likely in the Great Hall tending to the wounded.” The March Warden indicated the large double door in the center of the inner wall. Glorfindel nodded his thanks.

                                                    “My companions as far more rested than your warriors and the human guards, we will keep watch over the Keep the remainder of the night. Allow me enough time to speak with Lord Elrond and I will relieve you out here so you may take your rest.”  His tone forestalled any argument Haldir might have made and the March Warden indicated his assent. “Inspired action, shooting the Ulairi with fire-arrows. I shall have to remember that one. Well done. “Glorfindel clapped Haldir on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner and headed into the Keep, pausing momentarily to give instructions to the Imladris guard force he had arrived with. The guard took position on the wall, relieving the existing force and allowing the battle weary humans and elves to seek their rest.

                                                       Glorfindel entered the Great Hall, his eyes seeking the Lord of Imladris. For as fierce a battle as it had been, there were surprisingly few wounded. Most had already been tended and were either resting on pallets or were making their way to their own beds. Elrond was at the far end of the room, tending to King Thranduil, his face the inscrutable mask of a healer. Legolas stood nearby, far enough away to be out of the healers’ way, but as close to his father as possible. The prince was visibly shaken, his face ashen as he stood still as stone, eyes fixed on his father’s face his arms wrapped around his own torso tightly tremors shaking his slender frame at intervals. As Glorfindel neared, he could see that the young elf’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. His face was bruised and a cut over his left eye bled down his face. His clothing was torn and his hair disheveled from his tumble down the staircase and stained with the blood of the Ulairi‘s mount.

                                                  Thranduil lay on a long table. His tunic had been removed and the wound in his shoulder bared. The edges of the wound were black as night as Glorfindel had expected. Nazgul be thrice damned, he thought. Not wishing to disturb Elrond while he worked, Glorfindel moved to Legolas’ side. He touched the prince on his shoulder, speaking his name softly. Legolas made no move or sound, giving no indication that he heard. It was clear to the older elf that he was in a state of shock. Well, seeing a Ring Wraith for the first time was enough to put anyone in shock, Glorfindel thought grimly, much less seeing the creature try to kill your father then come after you. He simply wrapped an arm around the younger elf’s shoulders and held tight, joining the prince in his vigil.

                                                    Elrond worked feverishly, his outward manner giving no hint of the fear he felt for the King of Mirkwood. He cleaned the wound, packing it with athelas before stitching it closed and binding it. Elladan and Elrohir lifted Thranduil as their father wrapped the bandage around the wounded elf’s shoulder. Estel carried a pot of boiling water over to rest by the head of the table near Thranduil’s head. Grabbing a saddle bag, he rummaged though it until he found a small packet. As soon as Elrond finished tying off the bandage, Estel handed him the packet and moved to stand by Legolas’ side opposite Glorfindel. He noted the other’s presence with a start, but made no comment, merely nodding a greeting before wrapping an arm around Legolas’ waist, adding his own support to Glorfindel’s. Legolas noted him no more than he had Glorfindel. Elrond opened the package Estel had handed him and took out several dried leaves. Crumbling them in his hand, he breathed on them before dropping them into the pot of water.

                                                    The fragrance of athelas filled the air, and all in the room sighed as a feeling of relief and comfort washed over them. Legolas seemed to shake himself, some of the tension leaving his body. He looked from Glorfindel to Estel, startled to see both supporting him. They returned his look with reassuring smiles, and then all three turned their attention back to the table and Thranduil. Elrond waited a few moments, and then leaned over the wounded elf.

                                                      “Thranduil, mellon, come back to us.” He spoke softly, laying a hand along the Evlen king’s face. He let his healing energy flow into the wounded elf’s body, using that with the athelas to chase away the shadow left by the Ulairi. A few moments later, Thranduil’s breathing eased and a bit of his color returned but his eyes remained closed. Elrond sighed and turned wearily to face the group surrounding the table the Elven king rested on. His eyes registered shock at seeing Glorfindel, but he made no comment on it.

                                                “The shadow is gone, now we must wait for his healing ability to do the rest. Elladan and Elrohir, please settle him over by the hearth while I see to Legolas.” The twins did as their father bid, lifting Thranduil as gently as possible and carried him to an empty pallet near the hearth. Elrond stepped back motioning Legolas to the table that his father had laid on a moment before. Legolas’ knees gave on the first step and he would have fallen if not for the supporting arms that still held him. Legolas could not be persuaded to lie down, and not willing to make an issue of it, Elrond consented to treat the prince on his terms. A ghost of a smile graced his face as he got a good look at the younger elf. “You are a mess, elfling. Now be still or I shall have Elladan and Elrohir tie you down.”

                                               Elrond worked quickly, knowing that Legolas would only tolerate being separated from Thranduil for a finite period of time. The prince had a nasty gash on his forehead that was still bleeding, numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises, several cracked ribs, and had re-opened his shoulder wound. Elrond treated these, checked for any residual effects of Legolas’ proximity to the Nazgul and instructed the younger elf to allow Estel to help him clean the dirt and blood off himself and then to go lay on the pallet next to his father’s. With Estel supporting him, Legolas left to comply with the Lord of Imladris’ instructions without protest.

                                               Heaving a wearied sigh, Elrond cast his gaze around the Hall. All of the other wounded had been tended and were resting on pallets around the large room. Turning, Elrond caught sight of Glorfindel and made his way over to his friend.

                                                  “Mae Govannen, mellon-nin. I will admit that you are the last elf I thought to see tonight.” He smiled at the blond elf, his fatigue well hidden from any who did not know him as well as Glorfindel did. As perceptive as always, Glorfindel rose, offering Elrond the bench he had occupied until the Imladris Lord’s approach.

                                                  “Sit down before you fall down, mellon, and save the pretense for one who does not know how weary you truly are. I am glad to see you in one piece. When we received Lady Galadriel’s message that you needed the guard’s assistance here, we feared the worst.” Glorfindel smiled, his relief clearly written on his face.

                                                   “It very nearly was the worst and you have answered my question before I could ask it. So it was at Lady Galadriel’s bidding that you came. I had wondered. Have you a message for me from the Lady?” Elrond, exhausted as he was, had his curiosity firmly in place. Glorfindel chuckled.

                                                    “ Only that you had little to fear unless you did something very foolish and revealed yourself and that Legolas was to be protected at all costs. Haldir did a rather handy job of that, I saw. I would not be surprised if he had been instructed to do so.” He looked over at Thranduil’s pallet briefly. “She said nothing about Thranduil, however.”

                                                       “Powerful as she is, mellon, she cannot see everything. That she was specific about Legolas makes me worry what his future holds.” Elrond sighed deeply, rubbing his temples in a vane effort to stave off a headache. Glorfindel studied his friend a moment then replied.

                                                        “I would say that your future had better hold food, drink, and bed and the sooner the better. Will you seek it on your own, or shall I set your sons on you?” he asked archly. Elrond laughed a little, and nodded his assent. Glorfindel took his leave of his friend and made his way back to the wall to relieve Haldir. After getting Legolas settled, Elrond took some food and drink then settled himself in a quiet corner of the Hall to rest. He would not retire to his room as he wished to be close by
should any of the wounded need his talents during the night? He rested as best he could, checking frequently on the worst of the wounded, one of whom was Thranduil.

                                                           The breaking of the dawn found Elrond once again on the wall, surveying the damage caused by the battle the night before. In the light of day, the terror of the night before seemed far away. Elrond sighed, well aware of how very close he had come to losing himself as well as Thranduil and Legolas. Had that happened, all within the Keep would have perished. He wished, as he had frequently over the years, that he had never received the ring he held. Vilya made it possible for him to protect Imladris, but it also imperiled the refuge as well. If the Ulairi ever learned of its location, they would not rest until they had it in their possession as they had the rings given to men and dwarves. Few even among the elves knew the location of the three elven rings, by design, to keep the knowledge safe. Thranduil was one of those few and the thought of the King of Mirkwood being taken by shadow and made to reveal his knowledge made Elrond shudder. Shaking himself out of his dark thoughts, Elrond turned and descended the staircase, heading back to the Hall and his responsibilities.

                                                  As he entered the Hall, his eyes immediately found Thranduil and Legolas. The younger elf was awake, sitting at his father’s side. Elladan had pressed food and drink on the prince and was standing over him to make certain that the stubborn prince consumed it all. Thranduil had not stirred. Elrond’s repeated examinations had revealed no change in his condition. He was certain that no trace of the shadow remained, but Thranduil’s healing had not progressed. Until he himself was stronger and again able to give some of his strength to Thranduil, they had no other option but to wait and hope for the best. Elladan and Elrohir had already attempted to do so, but had not their father’s level of ability. They had, then taken solace in caring for Legolas and the other wounded.

                                                  Elrond approached the wood elves’ pallets, detouring long enough to gather water and bandages. He smiled down at Legolas as the young elf glanced up at him. As concerned as Elrond was over the father, he also harbored worries over the son. Legolas was still badly shaken from the events of the previous night, though he tried to mask it, and he had his share of injuries as well, albeit none serious. Always fair, Legolas looked as if he had been cast of porcellain so deathly pale was he. His silence concerned Elrond and his sons far more than his pallor, however. Legolas had not uttered a single word since the conclusion of the battle, but whether it was from shock or concern for his father they knew not.

                                                   “Elladan, would you be as kind as to change King Thranduil’s bandages? I wish to examine this pen neth in a more private setting.” Elrond’s eyes did not leave Legolas as he spoke. Legolas merely sighed, his shoulders slumping fractionally, but he did not protest. Elladan agreed readily, as worried as his father over the younger elf. Elrond extended a hand to his reluctant patient and aided the younger elf in rising from his seat on the pallet on which he had passed the night. Legolas winced visibly as he rose, his sore muscles and bruises protesting the exhertion. Elrond led him to the room he and Thranduil had been given. True to his word, he did examine the prince’s wounds carefully; allowing the younger elf to maintain his silence through the process, but afterwards Elrond sat on the bed opposite Legolas and favored him with a stern look.

                                              “Pen neth, it concerns all of us that you do not speak. Why do you not allow us to help?” Elrond tried to hold his gaze, but Legolas cast his eyes down, much as he had when his father had broken through his grief days earlier. Sighing, Elrond decided to employ some of Thranduil’s tactics in dealing with the stubborn elfling. He only hoped to have some of the King’s success. Moving too swiftly for Legolas to evade him, Elrond caught the younger elf’s chin in his hand and forced his gaze up. “Legolas, your father will be very upset with you when he wakes if you have managed to relapse into the sullen elf you were several days ago.  I know I am a poor substitute for Thranduil, but I do love you as I do my own children. Will you not let me help ease your heart’s burdens?” Legolas held his gaze, expressionless, holding his silence.

                                                  “So stubborn. Will you continue this foolishness until you fade? Ai Valar, Legolas, the merest sight of an Ulairi is enough to shake anyone, let alone being attacked by one! You and Thranduil are both fortunate to be alive and unshadowed. All of us were frightened, myself included. Even Thranduil froze for a moment.” Growling in frustration, Elrond pulled the prince into his arms and held him as tightly as he dared without aggravating his injuries. “What must I say or do to reach you, pen neth? You need your Adar, and I simply do not have his knack of disarming you.” Elrond released him and rose, moving to the other side of the small room. Turning his back on the stubborn young elf he spoke again, “Very well then, hold your emotions in and do more damage. I have not the strength to fight you anymore if I am to help your father. If I must choose between you I will choose the one who seems to want to recover.”  Elrond turned to face the source of his frustration again.  Legolas rose abruptly, and moved to the other end of the room, the tension in his shoulders visible even at a distance.

                                                       “I failed him. I could have taken a shot and I was too frightened to move.” Legolas’ voice was barely audible.

                                                      “That was the Ulairi’s doing, not yours. We all froze for a few moments. You, Haldir, Thranduil, my sons, all of us froze. I did as well. Place the blame where it belongs, on the Ulairi.  It was not your fault that your father was injured.” The irony of having almost identical conversations with both Thranduil and Legolas was not lost on Elrond. “Legolas look at me, pen neth.” Legolas hesitated for a moment, and then turned. He was not weeping this time, but Elrond would have preferred tears to the look of self-recrimination that the prince wore. Elrond crossed the room swiftly and gripped Legolas’ uninjured shoulder tightly. “Hear me, Legolas Thranduilion; this was no fault of yours. You are not to blame yourself in any fashion and your father will tell you the same when he wakes.” Elrond’s gaze bored into him and Legolas found he could not look away. He swallowed and nodded, willing himself to believe it. Elrond’s expression lightened and he chuckled. “That is a good beginning. I will not lie and say that this will be easy for you, and you are still treading the path of your grief from the first of these battles, but you are making some progress and that is all I can ask. You must learn not to shut yourself away like this, Legolas, it does neither you nor any of us who hold you dear anything but harm.  I wish you to make me a promise, pen neth. I would like you to give me your word of honor to come speak to someone whenever your heart is greatly troubled. Will you make this promise?” Legolas merely nodded, but Elrond knew he would honor the promise. He squeezed the younger elf’ shoulder once more and was rewarded with a faint smile.

                                                  “Lord Elrond, will Adar recover?” The simply phrased question tore at Elrond’s heart. Legolas was far too young to have endured so much, and Galadriel’s words made him fear what the prince would have to face in the future.

                                                   “He is not in as dire a state as you were. As soon as I am a bit stronger, I will be able to strengthen him some more. Right now my concern is that his self-healing is not progressing. He is not worsening, and so long as that is the case, yes I believe he will recover. Your presence will help him. Come, let us get back to him, shall we?” He ushered Legolas through the door and back to the Hall.