Wrath and ruin

Since the arrival of the Lady Arwen and her companions three days past, Thranduil had noticed the spirits of Elrond and Legolas lift immensely. The King himself was yet to see the Lady of Rivendell, as he could not yet leave his chambers, nor would he let her come to him. He only allowed Lord Elrond, Legolas and a small handful of others see him. He would add no more to that number, not until his wounds were healed. Thranduil did not care if he was called vain or pretentious, he did not wish for anyone else to see him in this state, weak and vulnerable as he was. He would not have them stare, nor would he be pitied. His body was healing, of course, and Lord Elrond often remarked on how remarkable he was doing, especially considering how ill the King had been. There was little knowledge regarding the care of wounds caused by dragon fire as so few survived wounds as bad as the King's were, Lord Elrond had explained.

But Thranduil hardly thought that the healing process was 'remarkable'; he found it tiresome and slow. In his long life he had been injured on a couple of occasions, but the most serious had only seen him out of action for a couple of days. Never could Thranduil have dreamed that after almost a fortnight he would still have to hold onto the bed or walls or furniture when moving around his chambers, just to keep himself upright.

Lord Elrond was not wrong, of course. The burns on his leg and neck were almost healed, movement and feeling was returning to his left hand, despite the wound on his arm still being red, raw and deep beneath the silken bandages. With every hour, the King found himself able to take a deeper breath than the hour before, and his voice once again sounded his own, no longer rough and sore.

There was one thing that still concerned the king more than any other, and Lord Elrond seemed to be avoiding the topic. There had been no change to the blindness in the King's left eye, and little healing to the left side of his face. Thranduil had caught his reflection in the mirror on a couple of occasions and could not bear to see it. If it were just the unnatural paleness and the feverish glow, then perhaps it would not be so bad. But with the clouded eye and the exposed pink flesh of his left cheek there for all the world to see – it was too much.

The King heard Lord Elrond enter his chambers. "Good evening," Thranduil said.

Lord Elrond entered smiling. He was almost always smiling since Arwen had arrived. "I have brought you some supper."

"I am not hungry."

"You will be," Lord Elrond said, and placed the supper on the table. Thranduil sighed. To be honest, he was hungry, but Lord Elrond had forbid him from eating in bed as of yesterday morning. Getting out of bed meant walking, and his steps were awkward and shuffling, anything but the gracefulness that elves were renowned for. It was easier just to stay propped up in bed.

"I'm going to assume that your apparent happiness has nothing to do with the fact you're about to watch me stumble across the room and more to do with the fact that you've been spending time with your daughter."

"And your son," Lord Elrond smiled.

"Hmm," said Thranduil. The King had wondered if the Lady Arwen's presence would help lift his spirits too. It mattered not that she was the daughter of Lord Elrond and would not judge nor care about the wounds of the King, but the King was too proud. He would not allow the Lady of Rivendell, the Evenstar, to see him scarred and disfigured as he was. Legolas may be Regent, but Thranduil was still King and thus had the final say on who saw him. He pushed back the blankets and swung his legs out of the bed, resting his bare feet gently on the ground. The King slowly pulled himself to his feet, and closed his eyes for a moment as the blood rushed to his head. Whilst Thranduil held onto the bedpost with his right hand for support, Lord Elrond helped him into his dressing gown. "How fares Legolas?" Thranduil asked, feeling the need to continue the conversation.

"You see him daily," Lord Elrond replied.

"He keeps much from me."

"He did, but does no longer. He did not want you to worry about him, and about the kingdom."

"I am his father," Thranduil said, "I will always worry." Slowly, he shuffled across the room to the table, and eased himself into his chair. Lord Elrond sat opposite him. The King dipped the bread into the soup and ate. Even eating made him feel clumsy, and as he was still unable to hold cutlery in his left hand made the task that much harder. The King finished the bread and with some food and half a goblet of wine inside him, noting that Lord Elrond was still having the wine watered down, he felt a little more himself. "Does Legolas yet understand why I could not have him come with the host?" he asked, sitting back in the chair.

"As in you did not wish for him to see you in battle, in case you should perish."

"Yes," Thranduil said.

"I know not," Lord Elrond replied honestly, "He blames himself somewhat, for not being there to protect you."

"If he had been there, he would have got himself killed."

"Yes."

"You foresaw that?" Thranduil asked, furrowing his brow, not quite understanding Lord Elrond's tone.

"No, but I do believe you are right. If Legolas had of seen you on the field, he would have been unable to help you, and then, it is possible that…"

"What have you seen of my son?" Thranduil asked, concerned, his stomach tightening. Lord Elrond's gift of foresight was well known and seldom wrong.

"It would not be wise to say…"

"What have you seen?" Thranduil demanded, and coughed.

Lord Elrond sat back in his chair. He did not wish to enrage the King, or make him work himself into a state. "I have seen Legolas in battle, but it must be well into the future," he said cautiously. "He is a great warrior."

"But?"

Elrond sighed. "I have seen him lose. I think. I have not seen if the battle is lost, but that matters not. It is Legolas himself who – loses. I mean not that he is killed. He cannot reach – I know not who, but he cannot reach them as they fall."

Thranduil gave a dry laugh. "And you are sure that it is my son's future and not my past of which you see?"

"Yes," Lord Elrond said, "It is certainly Legolas. He is reaching, but he just cannot make it through."

Thranduil's mouth felt dry. "Can it not be changed?'

"The future?"

"Yes."

"I know not."

"Who does he see fall?"

"I know not. My foresight has shown me only your son, desperately fighting…"

Thranduil sighed and downed the remained of his wine. He could eat no more. "I've had enough," he said, "And stop watering down my wine." He pushed his chair out from the table and forced himself to stand upon his unsteady legs.

"I should not have told you what I have seen."

"You should not tamper with my wine," the King mumbled as he shuffled back to his bed. He wanted Lord Elrond to leave; he wished to be left alone. Thranduil felt so very tired, and he hated it. He was sick of feeling weak and tired and hopeless, with the added knowledge that the pain and hurt of his wounds was being masked by Lord Elrond's magic and potions. Thranduil climbed into bed without removing his dressing gown. He pulled the covers up over the head. He did not care if he was over 3000 years old and King of the realm; he wanted to sulk and indulge in self-pity like a small child.

"Forgive me, I should not have told you of this," Lord Elrond said. There was silence for a moment, and Thranduil hoped that the healer had departed, before Elrond spoke again. " I have an idea that may help you," the healer continued, "I shall leave you now, and return in the morning. We can start on it then."

Thranduil ignored the healer and listened to him leave. He then threw back the blankets and kicked the bed. He was angry and scared and found himself shaking. Thranduil rolled onto his right, and curled his long legs up to his chest. Now that he was alone, he did not wish to be. He wanted her beside him, to tell him everything was going to be alright. That he would get better, that Legolas would be safe. That the horrors were behind them, and the sun would rise at dawn. To wrap her arms around him and softly kiss his neck and his ear. Closing his eyes, Thranduil could almost feel her warmth beside him and hear her sweet words. But she was gone. She had been gone for years, and he would spend the rest of eternity alone now with a broken body to match his broken heart.

The knot in the King's stomach remained. He would protect Legolas forever if he could, keep him safe in the forests of the Greenwood. Thranduil knew he could not keep his son from the world forever, but neither could he watch Legolas lose those he loved in front of him, unable to help. To watch them get cut down, to die, while he was stuck in the lines, unable to break through, unable to help. To live with that thought forever, that you were so close, yet so impossibly far away. It was too hard to live with, and ended up causing you to do mad things like standing in front of a dragon to protect your army so that no one else would have to die. What was it all for, if he could not save his son?