Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

They were looking for survivors, barah-dûr was still a chaos on the aftermath of the batle when spotted him.

Kneeled between the deceased like he was in praying, his open hands rested over his knees, palms up, the handle of his twin sword over the left one, face slightly upwards, closed eyes.

Parts of his armour and helmet were missing and his silvery hair flowed with the wind, one of his swords stuck into the ground by his side, a indescribable mixture of awe and fear surrounded him.

As they approached they understood what happened and elves behind Elrond were hindered by sorrow and averted their eyes.

The damage was beyond cruel, fire consumed everything on his left side left him disfigured, blackened, bleeding, oozing, parts of his skin open to the bone.

Elrond closed the distance and was shaken to find the elven prince still breathing, heart beating weakly. He needed to act quickly and so he looked around to get his bearings just to find out the ominous black form in the distance with a shiver running deep through his body. Once again he felt the terror of this war soaked into his very bones as his eye contemplated the destruction all around them.

At last he noticed the figure where the prince knelt in front of, his throat closed with the pain, he turned back to the prince.

A mix of sadness and anger and frustration took him at once and he saw white as his feelings burned into him, in seconds he made his decision.

- You will not die here Thranduil! You will NOT!

He said to the unconscious elf and screamed to his companions to help move him as he wrapped in his cloak.

They runned back into the camp in Dagorlad and Elrond’s mind was a blur, receiving and giving orders as they came and went without feeling.

One part of his mind noticed the hollowness inside, the strangeness of it made him sick, but the other side understood that as a necessity as he could not afford to fail, not anymore, and therefore he could not afford to falling into his feelings now.

And so he went nonstop through that night, through warriors, and running and healers entering and living the tent blindly.

And so he went through that whole week, between screams, and tents, and wounded, and deaths, and dead, and fire, and ashes, and then through their march back to Rivendell, sour and somber and scared by grief.

He utterly believed that, was it not from Vilya's powers, many elves would have died, he believed the prince would on their first day of march, it made him thought on how somethings were meant to be and his heart ached, thinking on Gil-Galad and all their loss.

Even then he particularly he couldn’t quite understand how the prince was enduring. Sure Vilya was a invaluable resource, and he was absolutely glad for that, but he couldn’t quite understand, when he saw man and elves alike, die from less grave injuries than his own.

He feared nevertheless of have made a terrible decision, visions of a terrible future haunted him should the prince die on his arms. But he could not think on how he would care for the prince otherwise, he needed his tools, his place, his healers and his resources.

He could help him! He must help him! But his hands where hindered in there.

So as soon as they crossed Isen, not more than a day after, Glorfindel came to him offering his horse and the promise to guide their people back to Rivendell unharmed, for what Elrond felt deeply grateful for, but the warrior also warned him.

- You should make haste, my friend, for I fear there is not much fight left in this prince body.

And so he runned as he never had before, over the back of Glorfindel’s horse and Thranduil’s body pressed against his.

The first days were terrifying, and made Elrond feel like he was back to the battlefields again, fighting desperately for the life of his comrades.

It drained him and at the same time made him feel like it was a personal affair.
He could not, for the life of him, loose this elf too.

The army arrived some days later, thankfully, when Thranduil had enough stable condition to be left alone for a couple hours for there were lots of wounded. Soon there was no time to anything else than work and rest.

He was not quite back yet, his eyes were open but empty, staring at the nothingness, what was not ideal but was a relief after almost three weeks unconscious.

Elrond came to learn that dragon fire was, as every wound made by morgoth’s weapons and devils, very difficult to heal even from a elven body.

Thranduil’s was still very far from recovery, left side completely scorched by the fire, the wet wounds still bleed and suppurated, he trembled constantly, the waves of pain running through his body constantly, he could not move, he breathed laboriously, wheezing, he was blinded on his left eye where the fire licked his face, sapphire blue turned white, skin torn, lips wounded.

The burns had swelled in some parts and dried in others, difficulty his breath, some parts his skin were completely dead and Elrond was particularly glad that Thranduil was not conscientious to feel the long hours surgery they had to perform on him.

His fever was yet to break, but comparing to what is was for the first several days, when it was so intense that one could feel it radiating from his body, it was a great improvement, even though he shivered constantly from cold, since his body could not retain warmth with his skin burned as it was.

As each day passed he saw, with no small relief, the life coming back to them and the usual sharpness return to his blue eye, now the only left.

But as well as his relief grow, so did the realization that some battles ended for others to begin in their place.
And as his conscience recovered, Elrond came to find that the elf could be infuriating, what was profoundly impressive considering that a completely still and pliant and defenseless patient, on the brink of death, could be so defiant.

The healer was trying to feed him, but the prince refused.

At first he thought it could be grief.

The knowledge of all their lost in that battle, so many of his people, his father... and a great part of his own body and self.

But though his eyes were filled with sadness he wasn’t unresponsive, as some patients would be under the shock of loss.

Then it could be something personal, some kind of resentment or anger for the last terrible events that befall them all. He could remember clearly the heated arguments Oropher and Gil-Galad had concerning the battles to come, and how the forest king thought his people were being used as shield for the noldor to survive, as if they were expendable lives.

Of course the half-elf knew his king enough to know that was not the case, that Gil-Galad would never think of lives as expandable things, but on the other hand that was war and sacrifices must to be done.

During all the exchanges the prince was absolutely silent, his face covered with a impenetrable cold mask, his eyes watched intently around the barracks, the heaviness in them felt as cold waves running over the spine of every and each one they focused.

The only times the prince would talk were only when asked for tactical advice to his father, Amdír and the other commanders.

No one knew about the feelings of the prince about the proceedings, although his father was open to let his feeling and opinions be known, even if in harsh manners sometimes, his son was not as open, guarding carefully his opinions and feelings to himself and dealing objectively with the facts at hand.

It was easy to understand why the prince had become the king advisor, he earn the position not by inheritance, but for being the reason for Oropher’s passions.

The prince could have silently followed his father’s ideals and begrudge him and all the noldor, despite their previous long friendship.

But if that was the reason, somehow the displeasure would show, on his eye, on his face, on his body or in the minimal movements he was able to. Elrond could find nothing of this in Thranduil, however, and found himself at loss of what was happening and that worried him.

Thranduil condition was still risky, true, himself deemed it as stable, but in a way that meant he was not in the terrible state he was when they first arrived Rivendell, he not getting worse, but that also meant that he was not recovering yet.

So Elrond fret every time Thranduil would refuse to eat.

Of course he could keep the prince on lembas, give him potions that would nourish him as well as help with the healing instead of trying to feed him. But he thought of it as risky. The way he evaluated the prince’s condition, burned and weakened as he was, the more normally his body could work, the better would be for his recovery.

Also, he had passed too much time on this kind of diet, when the prince was not conscientious enough or too feverish to protest, and even if it could nourish him, the effects was visible as he lost weight rapidly while his body worked incessantly to try recover from the wounds.

But as soon as his eyes cleared from the worst of the fever, he start refusing, looking at Elrond’s eyes, staring with his blue unblinking eye, heavy as always, seeming to reach the ends of one’s soul, and calmly, defiantly, he refused.

Elrond at this point was reaching the peak of his stress, watching the prince wither each day that passed. It was not common for the lord of Rivendell to lose his calm, but this nonsensical challenge was absurd, it had no explanation, no motifs, an more than anything, was extremely dangerous, and the healer was having none of it anymore.

- What is happening to you, Thranduil?

If the prince was acting like a spoiled elfling, than that was how he would be treated.

- Why you do this? Why you make this situation more difficult than it is already?

Uninterested the prince looked to the sky outside, way past the windows of his room at the clearing firmament, as if not hearing the elf fussing beside him.

The healer took a deep calming breath. Thranduil was avoiding him, and surprisingly he found himself very frustrated at this, in a way he didn’t since his childhood.

That was the fourth day he was trying. At this point the beginnings of a new self knowledge dawned of him, frustration was always one of the hardest feelings for him to deal with, and what a well timed moment to rediscover such a thing, when he was far, far too raw and tired to deal with it, as the end of the war was finally taking its tolls over the healer.

Anger was slowly building in him, coiling at his stomach, but then he forced himself out of it, remembering not for the first time Thranduil was injured, a patient, and should be treated carefully, so he swallowed a couple of times, breathing slowly, unclenching his jaw, and controlling his tone he continued.

- Thranduil, please, you must listen to me. There is much at stake now, your people can not sustain losing you too.

Elrond plead with a calm, sweet tone, and Thranduil turned his attention to him for the first time in days, with a faint expression of one who can not comprehend what was being said, disbelief in his expression.

For just a couple of seconds Elrond thought the prince’s mind could be damaged too.

- Do you hear what you say to me?

He said however, voice hoarse and low, but audible. The first full sentence he had said after the war.

The healer felt that as a conquest, as if finally he had got to reach the blond elf through that cockoon he had immersed himself in, he tried not to show him that, but his eyes betrayed the releaf he felt over finally connecting with a long lost friend.

- Yes, Thranduil. But do you understand? They need you, so please, let me help

Elrond pressed gently with a smile, and then the woodland prince’s expression morph from disbelief into hurt, upset, a so deeply-rooted emotion that it startle the peredhel who just looked back at him completely lost.

- You don’t understand, do you?

His blue eye kept holding him, growing sadder each second until he sighed and with a painful expression turned away looking back at the sky.

- Your words serves you as well

The healer was left gaping, freezed on the spot, and as the words dawned on him he felt like he had been slapped on the face, it would have been easier if he had been slapped cause the emotional sting of his words caused a breathlessness he never experienced before.

As he recovered from the blow, cold shock turned into hot anger quickly and he took several deep breaths trying to remember his position as a healer and Thranduil’s as a patient he pushed it down with little success

- But I am not gravely injured, as you are, Thranduil

He offered softly, but his voice sounded sour and maybe a little condescending, as he felt he was dealing with a little child being difficult. Thranduil huffed humorless.

- But you are fading.

The prince stated calmly, cold blue eye turning back to stare at Elrond, a part of his mind noticing how interesting it was that even hurt as he was, he had such presence and power.

- You foolish old fellow...

Reaction took over Elrond’s face before he could notice, and that gained a soft smiled from the blond, the healer was losing his temper fast, Thranduil knew, he was doing it on purpose, guiding him to do what he wanted to.

- And they say I'm absent minded

He pressed again contemplating Elrond's already angry face with a restrained but satisfied smirk.

- I should warn you, Thranduil Oropherion, that vulgarity is not well received in my lands as it is in yours. I advise you to hold your tongue for I’m still your healer and the lord of this place.

Again the blond elf seemed to find the other elf very funny.

- Are you, sir? So enlighten me of what do you intend to do? Leave me without dinner?

Cold anger took Elrond at once and he saw white. Thranduil’s expression did nothing to help for the elf, even with half of his face burnt he could muster enough presence to watch him with a mixture of calm appreciation, satisfaction and mischief.

He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the prince anymore and so he got up hastily knocking the chair as he stormed out of the room.

- Impossible elf!

He exclaimed already outside, but he could hear his “Thank you” in response through the closed door.

Elrond was fuming for the rest of that day, and the other healers who worked with him could easily see it in his manner throughout the day, though he was never lashing out at anyone, careful and gentle natured as he was, he sometimes closed his eyes taking several deep breaths, abandoning whatever he was doing when that happened and excusing himself profusely.

Even his expression was not under his usual demeanor, every elf that daily worked beside him in Rivendell could see that clear as day, no one said nothing though, just smiling at him gently and taking over whatever the lord was working on.

It was late afternoon when a servant entered the study leaving a tray with food and tea for them to snack on should the work last long into the night.

Glorfindel was the first to disperse, getting up and meeting the servants halfway to help them and bringing the tray to the side table where he was already setting the teacups.

Erestor worked synchronized with the blond elf, nimbly sorting through the papers and separating them into piles for them to work later leaving Elrond to just stare at them.

- You could use some respite, mellon nin

Said Glorfindel pouring some tea into a cup and placing into a vacate spot over the table, the peredhel just sighed and sat taking the teacup that was offered to him.

- If you allow me… - Began Erestor placing the papers away and coming back to sit with them. - You are looking quite sour, all day long

When Elrond didn’t denied the noldo continued.

- Has something happened?

The healer sighed again

- A patient is being very difficult and giving me a hard time

Both elves looked silently at each other.

- Thranduil…

Said Glorfindel tentatively as Erestor sipped his tea, Elrond looked at them questioning and the blond elf smiled at him.

- Is not that difficult to guess. No other healer has reported such occurrence and Thranduil is the only patient that you attend on your own

- Also his difficult personality is known as well

Erestor had no intention, but the comment left Elrond with a sentiment of confusion inside him.
That is true Thranduil had always had a eccentric nature, but this ‘saying’ was coined a long time ago, when they were much younger, and Thranduil way of thinking and fast wits made him stand out from the others, making it difficult for them to follow a conversation with him.

But contrary to what was said about him, Thranduil was a very gentle and cheerful elf, and he felt that was unfair that the stubborn and headstrong personality of his father overshadowed the greatness of his own character.

- Have he lashed out on you?

- What? No! Of course not

Elrond snapped back to reality correcting his steward. The mere thought of having even just a more heated argument with Thranduil, made him feel wrong and strange. No. It was not a fight. Thranduil was not attacking him, he would made it very clear if that was the case. But then…

- I… do not know what is happening with him, never mind what could be going through his mind right now

- Well you wouldn’t be the first. Try not unman yourself over this, my friend

Offered Glorfindel and swiftly changed the topic, what Elrond was grateful for.

That night, when Elrond went to check on the prince he noted immediately how the abstinence was beginning to affect his body. He seemed more aloof, his eyes less focused, slower responses to any stimulus.

Fever was slowly taking over him again.

- You can not keep doing this, Thranduil

Elrond said but he just snorted.

- Can’t I?

- You are so stubborn

- I see we can agree on something

He said and that was enough to send the healer back at the same state of anger he had earlier.

Elrond couldn't get sleep that night.

He found himself turning over and over in his bed, and gave up trying after a time. Now he stood in bed clothes, wrapped with his hobe watching the stars from his balcony., his eyes, as always found its way through the sky until they met Gil-Estel, the warm longing filled his chest… but nothing more.

Just sadness, and loss, and the aching wish for everything to be over.

Part of his mind, the part that was always rational screamed at him, and he felt immediately guilty, hundreds and hundreds of reasons for why he was being unfair, egoistic, weak, reasons for why he should not, must not give in, and still the desire was there… or should be, except it was empty but for the aching sadness, and the longing for an ending. Uncaring for reason, solid as a rock inside of his chest slowly dragging him under.

It felt like a war inside, and it felt like it would stay like this forever. The urge to cry washed over him, and almost choke him, but nothing came, no relief, nothing.

He pressed his eyes closed and tried to breath away the tightness on his chest to no avail.

Thranduil was right, he was fading, and to acknowledge it made him feel angry. Angry at the prince for being so stubborn, for making everything even more difficult than it was already. For picking on him exactly when he felt most vulnerable and weak. When he felt he could explode at any moment. For pressing, for being childish, for putting himself at harms way just to defy.

But mostly he felt angry at himself, because somehow he failed to hide the turmoil inside of him.

“But you are fading”

His words repeated in Elrond’s mind and he flinched gripping the stone railing tightly. The prince didn’t told anything that he didn’t knew already, but he still felt the sting of it.

In middle of so much sorrow, fear and torment, the healer had hopes that by burrow himself in work, patient, after patient, after patient, burrow himself in paperwork and the chaos that was administer the after war as one of the last elven realms still standing, filling every part of his time until there was no space left in his mind and heart for nothing but exhaustion.

Avoidance...

Just not to acknowledge this, this empty, shadowy thing that nestled inside his chest. To look inside and behold the disfigured monster he had become.

At this thought he remembered Thranduil, his face… his body, and he felt the horror fill his chest at what he had done. He didn’t noticed when he started screaming or when he collapsed over his knees and still no tears came to his eyes.

He sobbed nonetheless, pressing his hands over his mouth and trembled curling into himself.
Thranduil was right… He was fading, slowly slipping away, morphing into shadowy reminiscent of himself while trying to convince he was still in control of his own mind.

He was fading, and he felt weak, feeble, guilty, scared, deformed, coward, unfair, egoistic, miserable, broken and empty, a failure, and that he, that elf… that beyond broken elf, alive for the will of the valar alone, from all people should be the one who could see that so clearly, should be the one to tell him so… it hurted deeply.