Chapter 7 - The Chambers of the King

The healers of Thranduil were silent at their work. Old elves were they. Those that remembered Oropher in his youth, and his son at his mother’s knee. And they remembered all the spilled blood of the Woodland Realm, every drop that had bled from the elves of their kingdom. The young elves who died and waited in Mandos and never knew why. The young elves struck down by the black wind of Sauron before ever they knew the true joys of Arda or heard its music. The young elves who never had the protection of Celebrimbor’s craft. Young elves who died without hope but bravely. Old elves were the healers, and they did bury the young. They closed also the eyes of the mothers who gave up their lives to grief when the last of their sons’ bodies lay bleeding in the Great Wood. Old elves. Those who knew too well the sorrows of this land. Old elves who had seen too much.

They questioned not these elves, for the Wood of Great Fear was ever their mother, and her arms sheltered many horrors, and yet did her elves survive.

"My son?" Thranduil had eaten nothing for five days and left not the bedside where lay his son. And all he did say to each leech who tended his child was the simple question, "my son?"

Will my son live they knew it to mean these old elves. Will his blood stain his father’s hands forever? Will his unborn children rise up and curse their grandfather? Will his brother ever look upon my face again? Thranduil was a captive of his terror, and the old elves could help him not. They offered not comfort even as they understood his terror and pitied him.

"You must eat this that I have brought you." Tingalen held out the bowl of broth to the terrible king of the woodland. "You must eat all of it."

"Why care you if I eat? It would be better if I died, for my life has caused my son’s peril."

"Perhaps. But if you die and he does not then will he sorrow. You must eat for him."

"I cannot. The food would stick in my throat."

"Then let it stick. You must eat and if it is not pleasant I care not." Tingalen looked into the eyes of the king and tried to feel pity. She knew Gilúviel loved this elf, but she understood it not. How could she care what became of the one who would have stolen her joy? "Eat the soup. I care not how you do it, King Thranduil, but you will not die before your son." And she watched him coldly as he drank the broth she had carried to him.

*****

"Tingalen?" The voice was choked and rough, but to her ears there had never been a more beautiful sound. Swiftly, she moved closer to Gilúviel’s bedside.

"Legolas? Does he live still?" His dark eyes looked up at her in fear.

"Yes, my love, he is unhurt. He took no wound. It has been five days though, and he has not slept with watching you. I made him go to his bed for he could scarce stand from exhaustion. Shall I send for him?"

"Not yet. Let him rest." Slowly Gilúviel tried to move in the bed. It hurt, but he could do it, and that small bit of control made him feel better. "They have drugged my sleep?"

"You lost much blood and needed to be kept still."

"I do not remember clearly yet. I do not like this drug, Tingalen. I need to remember. There is something. . ." He turned his head on the pillow and only then did he see his father sitting in the shadows watching him. And he remembered.

Thranduil was motionless beneath the gaze of his son’s dark eyes, and he was afraid as he never had been in his long life. All that he was or would ever be rested on what his son now did.

"Ada, forgive me. I love you so, and I have brought you such pain." Gilúviel held out his long arms, and the king somehow found his way into his son’s embrace and wept.

"Only you, my gentle one, could ask this of the one whose own hand all but ended your life." Softly, Thranduil stroked the black hair of his son and kissed it.

"You were not Ada then. There was some madness upon you that I saw." Gilúviel touched his father’s face with his fingers, feeling the tears upon the fine boning of the cheeks.

"My own pride and arrogance and wicked temper has brought me to this, my son. All that I have been in my life is but ashes."

"Nay, Ada, for you have kept us all safe all these long years. That is not ashes, nor is the love of your sons for you and your people’s. Hold me, Ada, for I need your strength as always. We all do."

And Thranduil gathered his son into his arms and held him close and remembered how he had done so when Gilúviel was but a child and nightmares had come that only his father’s presence could drive away. "I love you, my son, can you forgive me?"

"I did so even as you pushed the blade against my throat, Ada. It is not in me to hate you. You must know this. Legolas and I have ever loved you. We still do."

"I am not sure you can speak for your brother in this, my child, for you have not seen his face look upon me these long days that I have waited here by your side."

"He speaks for me still." Only Tingalen had seen Legolas come softly back into the chamber and stand looking at his father and brother.

The king looked up at Legolas and suddenly saw in him his wife’s face as never before. It had always been hard for Thranduil to look at Legolas after the death of his wife. There was too much pain for him in the remembrance of the planes and angles of her face seen in the sculpting of that same face in their son.

"I have thought I hated you, Ada, for five days now. I let the poison of that hatred seep into me, and I rejoiced in it, and that poison would have killed me but for one thing. This night did I dream that my mother came to me, and she said that Gilúviel woke and bid me come to his bedside. I followed this dream here and heard his gentleness to you who would have killed him, and the hatred died in me and the poison left me, and I was whole once more. I was again Legolas Thranduilion, and ever shall I be such. Ada, I do forgive you, and I love you as always I have done. I am your son, and I would have no other as my father." And Legolas bent to kiss his father’s cheek.

"What have I ever done to deserve such sons as these? Naught have I ever been given in life have I always thought. Everything I had was something I wrested from those who would keep it from me, something that my own strength had brought me. I needed no one but myself did I think. My pride and my arrogance at this strength was almost my undoing. For I see now that there is one thing that Ilúvatar did give to Thranduil freely and in his mercy. He gave me these sons of shadow and light. Almost did I throw this gift away, and yet was he merciful still and stayed my hand." The king kissed his sons and held them, and then he did what he knew he must do, and he turned to Tingalen.

"Lady, canst thou forgive one who has so wronged you? I would have thee as my daughter if it be not too late? Will Celeborn’s daughter forgive me?"

"Can I not love one whom my beloved and my brother embrace? I do forgive you, Thranduil, and say that Celeborn’s daughter would also be your own." And then did Thranduil weep and his sons and daughter with him.