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Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
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Chapter 28: Bless Your Sylvan Blood

Elladan would not allow himself to feel now, for he had work to do, a family to speak to and prepare, should the worst scenario become a reality, and so he left the room, his friend still lost to them, only to come face to face with a frantic Thranduil, Galdithion and Lainion just behind.

“Come,” invited Elladan gently, ushering them back into the king’s room and getting straight to the point.

“Legolas has entered a point where his condition is – critical. He came close to the surface just a moment ago, but his breathing was extremely labored, and – there is internal bleeding.”

Thranduil could not speak, and so Lainion asked the questions he knew his friend would want to ask.

“What are his chances, healer?”

“Truthfully? They are… they are slim, Lainion, I will not lie to you. You should be prepared for any outcome - within the next 24 hours.

“I will not be left here to spend what may well be the last hours of my son’s life upon Arda, Elladan,” said Thranduil softly, serenely almost. “I will not be excluded from that room, for if he passes, I wish to hold his hand, stroke his forehead, tell him I…” he could not finish. Elladan would not be the one to tell him he could not enter, and so he simply nodded to Lainion – he would speak to Balentar, make it alright.

Turning away, Galdithion approached him, pulling at his sleeve.

“I will not be excluded either, Elladan. I will make sure the healers are not disturbed, but I will be by his side, as I have been since we were but children – he and I have always…” his lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears, and Elladan’s own heart was breaking. He lifted his hand and caressed the face he had come to love so much, offering his own, watery smile before leaning his forehead against that of his lover’s.

“With that condition, you three must stay away from the bed, in the corner, only then can I obtain Balentar’s approval.”

With one final nod at the king, Elladan allowed himself to be steered away by Galdithion.

“’Tis enough for us, Elladan, yet save him you must - do not let him go, for he will take many with him, more than you know.”

“I do know, Galdithion, I do, for there are those in Imladris - and then what of his destiny, Gal? For if Lady Yavanna speaks true, the very future of Middle Earth could be at stake here – yet more than this he is my sworn friend, and as Kelementari is my witness, I will do all in my power, and hers if she so wishes it – to make him hail once more, however long it takes.”

And so, as Legolas lay unmoving in his narrow bed, the vigil began with Antien, Balentar, Elladan and Thandion rotating every two hours. In the corner sat the King, his faithful guard, together with Galdithion, Legolas’ life-long friend and protector. And outside – outside the Greenwood had gathered, silent and sorrowful - yet one little boy had scurried through the crowds and made it to the door where the Lord of the Forest lay. They had not let him enter, but they did promise to place the little plant he had brought with him on his bedside table, and so the child looked up hopefully and reverently at the imposing guard, before smiling and handing up the green bush with both hands, before scurrying off with a skip and a jump, a childish giggle echoing through the crowd-filled silence.

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Elladan had penned a hasty letter to his father, telling him only of the injury that Legolas had sustained and warning him that he may not survive. However, he was quick to add that no one should set out to the Greenwood, for his condition was unstable, promising to send another letter within the first crucial 48 hours. No sooner had he finished it, he sent it by carrier falcon. It would take at least four days to arrive, but at least, if Legolas did pass, it would not be such a surprise.

And then Elladan, for the first time, actually thought of the situation in which he found himself immersed. Legolas could die, his friend – the best friend, strangely, that he had ever had. He would probably perish this night, his life ended by the stupidity of one, misguided elf, destined though he was for great things – how frivolous life could be, how curiously absurd, to be chosen by a Vala, only for your life to be snuffed out as easily as any other. It suddenly seemed impossible to Elladan, as he sat there, the only one awake inside the room. Would Yavanna truly leave him to die? After all she had done to show all of Elvendom that this one was her protégé? Surely she had the power to help him, even if that help was in the shape of a nudge, something to help him back…

He sighed deeply, his heart heavy, for Legolas deserved to live in joy, for the service he had already given, for that he would yet give, if only the blood loss had not been so great, his respiratory capacity not so severely impaired – just a nudge, a kiss from Esté, the smallest of caresses from the Valar that claimed to command him, if his sword was anything to go by.

He lay back on the small bed and rested his eyes, yet no sooner had he closed them, an image formed behind his eyelids. A pale, lax hand, beautiful yet strong, and then the brownish green tendrils of swirling tree roots entwining around digits, around the cold flesh they seemed to caress, up the strong forearms …

His eyes flew open then, for the image had been completely unrelated to his thought patterns, it had been an incipient vision, he was sure of it. His eyes strayed to the little plant on the bedside, and his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he leaned forward to peer closely at it, for the plant seemed bigger, its verdant stalks reaching out to the golden head at its side, the leaves a startling bright green, just like Legolas’ eyes.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sometime later, a mighty cough had Elladan running back to Legolas’ bed, waking up the three slumbering in the corner, and even brought Antien into the room. The warrior coughed painfully once more, only to wheeze in his breath, and then cough again. It was painful just to hear it, thought Elladan as he watched Antien closely.

“Elladan, get behind him, elevate his chest.”

“Yes, yes..,” he said, as a junior healer rushed in to help him, yet the coughing continued and Galdithion was now holding back the frantic king.

The wheezing stopped, and so did his breathing. Antien’s eyes bulged as he threw his fist in the air and brought it down with a mighty thud over the elf’s chest, before looking to Elladan in helpless dismay

Agonizing seconds passed before his whole body convulsed and blood spilled from his mouth, yet his breathing resumed immediately in a frenzy of gasps and gulps, the wheezing and rattling, surprisingly, much improved.

“By all the Valar,” whispered Antien slowly, watching as Legolas’ body calmed and began to relax, the breathing continuing to improve.

Elladan could do nothing but giggle stupidly, for he thought he had been witnessing the agonizing passing of his friend, and yet it had been the opposite, for Elladan thought then, that his chances of survival had just improved greatly.

“For the love of Yavanna, boy, bless your Sylvan blood lad!!” shouted the healer, his spittle flying wildly and his eyes alight with fire and hope.

“And bless you, Antien,” said the king shakily, “for you have brought him back, haven’t you?” he asked hopefully yet somewhat tentatively.

“I hope so, my Lord, I hope so, for now, we have a chance,” he said, his eyes settling on the monarch, “we have a chance…”

……………………………………………………………………………………

When next Elladan emerged into the waiting area, he found Ram en’ now sitting with the rest of The Company, subdued and still accompanied closely.

“What news?” asked Pengon cautiously.

“Hwindo has taken a turn – for the better…”

The shouts of joy heralded the press of overjoyed warriors who embraced him fiercely, squeezing the air from his lungs and yet he welcomed it, for it shook him back to reality, as if only now believing it himself. They tousled his long hair and clapped his shoulders as they congratulated him, praised him, called him friend, healer, brother…Rafno.

It was mere seconds before a mighty roar went up outside, for every single elf had expressed their joy and relief in that one, single yet collective interjection, and it set Elladan’s skin to tingling, marking a moment in his life that he would, years later, remember just as vividly as he had lived it.

……………………………………………………………………..

With Lindohtar still on the brink of death, Thranduil knew he should not be elated, ecstatic, thoroughly overjoyed with life and the Valar for sending his son back from the edge, but there was no helping it, Legolas would live – probably, and he could cry for the joy of it. He wanted to kiss Antien – really kiss him, on the lips, and he wanted to hoist the Peredhel healer into the air and whirl him around until he giggled like a young child, until he kicked and wiggled his legs in the air and threw his head back, just as Legolas used to do.

Lainion watched as his king’s face lit up and smiled at some internal musing. He himself let out a long drawn-out breath, as if it had been pent up inside him those last 24 hours of desperate anxiety.

Galdithion, however, sat quietly in the corner of Legolas’ room, his face devoid of all emotion. He realized then that he had prepared himself for the worst, that he had convinced himself that his friend would die, and now, he sat in quiet shock at the prospect of continuing by the side of this, extra-ordinary being. He knew then, that whatever happened, Galdithion would swear never to leave him, to serve him always, even unto the Black Gates, and death.

…………………………………………………………………………..

After the initial jubilation, things slowly began to revert to normalcy, in the Greenwood sense at least.

The courtesans had drifted back to Finlond, for now there would be a sudden influx of business. As for the King, he allowed himself a quick visit to his private chambers to refresh himself, eat and then return to the halls of healing, this time leaving Aradan at the fortress.

However, The Company would not leave now, for Lindo was still lost to them, and although their hearts were just a little lighter, they slowly began to realize that time was running out for their brother. The healers had said 24 hours, and that had already passed, and still, there had been no change. Hope was turning to dread once more, and so again, they sat, and they waited.

…………………………………………………………………….

When Thranduil returned to his son’s side, leaving Lainion at the door, he found Galdithion and Elladan still there, standing on each side of the bed. They had bathed him, washed his inordinately long hair which now hung wet and loose over the end of the narrow bed.

The king smiled as he watched them from the doorway. ‘Such devotion’, he thought, such love these two shared for his son, a love he knew would last an eternity, unless Elladan decided to become mortal he realized, the notion somehow seeming absurd.

He drifted in, smiling beautifully down at his now clean son. He looked dreadful, but he was breathing, and the rattling was gone, the blue tinge to his lips had turned to pale white – ‘better’, he thought.

Elladan turned his face to the king and smiled at him indulgently, speaking as he continued to work.

“You know, my Lord. I had a strange imagining in his darkest hours,” he began softly, Galdithion listening attentively as he smoothed the cloth over his friend’s shoulder. “I saw a pale hand and tree roots wrapped around it, twisting up the equally pale forearm, possessively, almost, as if he were being claimed. I did not understand it at the time, but now, now I think I know what that meant…”

“It was a vision?” asked Thranduil avidly.

“Perhaps, my Lord. You see, I believe I was realizing, or being shown, that the forests will have a hand in bringing him back to us, that a part of their energy will, or perhaps already has, given him the strength he needed to purge the blood from the lung and trigger his healing. I know it sounds strange, I sound strange to myself with the telling, yet when Thandion brought that plant into the room, something shifted, and later that same evening, it seemed to me that the little bush was leaning closer to our friend…”

“’Tis a beautiful idea, one I am not sure I believe,” said Galdithion, “yet tell it to Nanern though, and it will be the birth of a legend – oh, something along the lines of ‘the legend of the healing pot plant, or some such absurdity he is wont to create,” he finished with a flourish of his free hand.

Elladan giggled then. “Not so hard to believe, Galdithion, for were you yourself not witness to the creation of Lady Celebrian’s gardens?” he smiled, watching as his lover’s face suddenly colored, for Elladan was right, he had seen a miracle one year ago in Imladris, and now, he doubted that a plant would cleave to his friend, reach out to him. He suddenly felt stupid, and it showed, as Elladan glanced longingly at his lover now, his answering smile promising comfort and pleasure, very soon.

“Now, why don’t you two go, and find some rest and comfort, hum? I will stay here with Lainion – do not rush,” he said, a saucy smile upon his regal lips.

At any other time, they would have been out of the door like a shot, and yet the situation did not lend itself to tender loving, not yet.

“Come, said Elladan to his lover. Now it is my turn to care for you, Gal, just a short while and then we will return. What say you?”

“Alright,” he sighed, loathe to leaving his friend now, but Elladan was right, he was tired, and hungry, and so very relieved he felt truly fatigued.

Thranduil smiled as they left, moving to sit at his son’s bedside. He did believe it, he knew the latent magic of the forests, the parts that were still bathed in the light of the Valar, and it occurred to him then, that when Legolas had been proclaimed Lord of the Forests, that he had, in some way, become a part of them, sharing in their life energy – perhaps this is what that little plant did – simply supply the physical link. It was a fascinating idea he would ask Aiwendil about when next they met, but the implications were intriguing.

He turned his head to the door, watching as Antien entered the room with two others.

“My Lord,” he acknowledged, walking straight to his patient and examining him. “Have you rested, my Lord King?”

“I have, thank you, Antien. Well? Is there any improvement?”

“Perhaps,” he replied cautiously. He was not sure if Thranduil realized how serious Legolas’ injury was, how incapacitating it would prove after the initial danger passed.

The King, ever insightful, had watched Antien closely, and his heart sunk for a moment.

“You can tell me, Antien. Do not think to spare me for I will know soon enough – better you enlighten me.”

Antien was rather taken aback at how shrewd his king was, and he supposed he was right, yet he had wanted to give his sire a few hours of joy after all the suffering he had gone through.

A deep sigh marked his onslaught as he began his prognosis.

“My Lord, there is still a chance he will not heal, albeit now we have a fighting chance. But let us assume that he heals enough to awake. Our first worry is the fact that the Red Fang destroyed much tissue…

Antien paused here, not wanting to spill the entire truth in one go. And indeed, the king simply stared at him, willing him to continue.

“This means, that his breathing will be sorely impaired, leading to dizziness, anxiety, absent-mindedness; he will not be able to perform any strenuous exercise at all for a long while…”

Again he stopped, watching his king closely.

“How long?”

“Well, that is difficult to say my Lord. Under normal circumstances, perhaps six months, perhaps more. And yet Lord Legolas has surprised us already by getting this far back to us, perhaps he will be back to his normal standards much sooner.”

“Six months! That will be very hard on him, Antien,” said the king, raking his hand through his long locks. He is a warrior, used to life in the wilds, yes he adapts well to court life, for a while, but this – this will wear him down…”

“Yes, I fear it will, yet there is another way, my Lord, you see it is possible we may be able to perform surgery again, when he has regained some strength – there may be a way to accelerate the lung regeneration.”

“But that is wonderful, it gives us hope, surely.”

“Aye, and yet if anyone can truly do that, it is not me, my Lord. I know my limits, and that is beyond me at this point, the Master Healer, however…”

“Imladris? Send him to Imladris?”

“Yes, just that, my Lord. I mention this as one possibility, for your consideration, my Lord.”

“Aye, aye, thank you, Antien. You have done well, my friend,” he said, smiling sincerely at this healer he had never really gotten to know, for it was Maeron who usually saw to the health of the royal family.

“I am so sorry this has happened, my Lord. I, we all love your son, Sire. You are our rock and he is our hope for the future, and then how could we not love one whose spirit shines so very brightly? One who serves us all in humility? He could do anything he wishes, go anywhere, be everything anyone could ever wish, and yet he chooses to ride into the very Mirkwood, into the heart of darkness and evil – for us,” he finished with a whisper, as Thranduil’s fiercely proud eyes looked to the floor before returning to Antien’s face once more, embracing the one who had so adeptly summarized the hearts of all that dwelled in this, crucible of cultures, under the sheltering arms of Yavanna’s forest.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Melven sat in the same chair he had occupied for the last 36 hours, rising only to relieve himself, stretch his muscles, before sitting once more, stroking his lover’s cold hand, staring at his eyelids, and willing him to open them, watching for the slightest movement. Yet there was none; he lay as one already dead, and Melven, for the first time, began to realize that he may lose his friend, his lover, the first person who had ever, really shown him love, that had respected him, that had given back to him his self-esteem. He also realized that he loved this elf, now of all times, for he had never understood the nature of their relationship, and yet now, he was sure of it, had already been at that moment just before they had engaged the spiders, when their eyes had casually met over the battle field. And then he felt the overwhelming necessity to tell him, to watch the light of joyful understanding ignite in his lovely blue eyes, know that he was reciprocated.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his sorry thoughts, turning his head round to meet the worried eyes of Pengon.

“Glammo, you must rest, eat; if you wish to care for him, care for yourself first – please, brother.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, “I cannot bear the thought of him passing without me, Pengon.”

“Then let me bring you food and sit with you for a while…”

He simply looked back at Pengon, and nodded, before turning his head back to Lindo and resuming his hopeful vigil.

Sighing deeply, Pengon rose and spoke to Rhrawthir on the other side of the door, before drawing up a chair on the other side of Lindo, facing Glammo, he too beginning to scrutinize his comrade’s face.

‘How had it come to this?’ He wondered. Their lovely Bard Warrior, who had been with The Company for so long, his presence ever felt, his voice lifted in heart-felt cheer, or grief, for whatever of the many situations they had all been through together – Lindo had always been there – and yet here he lay, all but gone from the world, his shell still living, albeit paralyzed beyond repair – how long before his heart and lungs ceased to function?

“Has he not moved at all, Glammo?” he asked softly.

“Nay,” he whispered. “Nothing. I keep watching him and nothing has changed, his hands are a little colder though, perhaps another blanket…” he asked himself aloud.

Koron en’ entered the room then, placing the heavily laden tray on the table by the wall, before approaching slowly and placing his own, strong hand on Glammo, who once again jumped. Koron glanced at Pengon, their eyes sorry, for their comrade in arms and for their Noldorin warrior who had come to mean much to them. It was strange to have established relationships amongst the members of The Company, not that it was prohibited, and yet they all knew the risks they took, more than any other warrior of the Greenwood, for they patrolled the Mirkwood. There had always been casual dalliances, true, but Koron had seen the love these two shared, and his heart sank at the thought of what was surly coming, yet before he could speak, both Antien and Balentar entered the room, their faces bleak, their eyes set on the body inside the bed.

Glammo looked hopefully at Balentar, yet his heart sank once more at the expression the Noldorin healer wore.

“You have developed a potion for Red Fang poisoning,” began Glammo, trying desperately to rein in his nerves. “Why does it not work?”

“Melven, my potion is not finished, and has never been tested, it has done some good for he is still alive after 48 hours, yet we are at a stalemate, my friend…”

“You have missed something then, surely you could…”

“Warrior,” interjected Pengon, rising to stand behind Melven who was slowly losing his tenuous clutch on his emotions.

Glammo stopped abruptly and bowed his head, breathing deeply to steady himself as Antien watched on with grief-filled eyes.

The two healers examined Lindo, before sharing a knowing glance at each other and leaving the room, not before beckoning to Koron to follow them.

Outside, Antien placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder before speaking softly

“Koron en’, he is near death now, and nothing we can do will bring him back. You must prepare your brothers, warrior, for it is, inevitable.”
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Arcane Land