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"Will he live?"

Gurithon watched Siroth as the Sindarin healer pinned the final wrap of gauze around his patient's head. Thranduil lay still on the camp bed, nearly unrecognizable beneath a thick mask of bandages. He had yet to awaken since Gurithon had knocked him out on the battlefield, and for that Gurithon was very thankful.

The battle against Herumor and his longworm pet dragon had turned shortly after Thranduil's ill-fated rescue. The arrow which had saved Thranduil's life had done more than anyone first guessed. Lodged in the dragon's nostril, it's bodkin tip had actually succeeded in piercing the creature's brain. When the dragon first began weaving like a raccoon drunk on elderberries, everyone had been bewildered. Realization and elation dawned though when the behemoth staggered to its knees. Gurithon had just barely had enough time to drag an unconscious Thranduil out of the way before the dying dragon crashed to the ground.

Siroth secured a loose end of bandaging under itself and straightened up. "I believe so. He survived the initial shock, and the burns did not reach the bone. He will never see out of that eye again though."

Grimly, Gurithon beheld the elf who had metamorphosized over the years from an erstwhile prince to his dear friend and King. Would Oropher even be able to recognize his own son if he were here now? He had seen the extent of the damage done to Thranduil's face by the dragon's fiery breath. It would be a sight that would haunt him the length of his everlasting life. When he closed his eyes, he still heard Oropher's final words to him before the Last Alliance.

"If the worst should happen, watch over him for me, Gurithon. He will need guidance ien the years ahead, and if I cannot be there for him then I entrust that role to you."

'I am sorry Oropher...I failed both you and him.' Gurithon thought miserably to himself.

Still, the day had not been entirely lost. Glorfindel had engaged Herumor in what would no doubt be lauded as a titanic duel by the bards of Imladris. The reborn lord of Gondolin and the Nazgúl had by all reports nearly cleared the battlefield in their struggle to overpower one another. In the end though, the death of the longworm had broken Herumor's assault. The lesser Nazgúl had retreated away into the Hills of Evendim, taking with him what remained of his orcs.

Now they waited by the shores of Lake Evendim for any word of the battle between Angmar and Prince Eänur. The sun would soon be setting; if there were any stragglers they would soon be coming this way. Outside the king's tent the army waited in tense silence. Word of Thranduil's injury had not yet spread, but most everyone knew that something was wrong.

When Glorfindel parted the entrance flap and stepped into the tent, silence greeted him. The elf lord was spattered with dark blood, his warrior braids undone. He looked exhausted, more so when he looked at the still figure on the bed.

"I am sorry to hear of your king's condition. Is there anything that myself or my people can down to be of assistance?" Glorfindel said, slowly peeling off his chain mail gloves.

"Unless you can restore his sight or heal his flesh?"Siroth shook his head.

"We should send word to the queen..." Thenniel spoke from where she had been standing silently in a corner of the tent. Long tendrils of scarlet hair still stuck to her neck from the heat of the dragon's breath as it had tried to dig her and her archers out of cover.

"Queen Anthelísse is a well regarded healer in her own right, perhaps she could do something for Thranduil?" added Siroth. He and Anthelísse had butted heads in the past over the jurisdiction of 'court healer', but the two still respected one another's skill.

Gurithon was just about to third the motion when Glorfindel interrupted.

"No! No you mustn't alert your queen to King Thranduil's condition if you think there is even the slightest chance she would try to come to his side!"

"Why ever not, Lord Glorfindel?" Gurithon asked. Frowning, he gestured to Thranduil's comatose form. "I dare say Thranduil could use the skilled care of his wife at a time like this..."

Glorfindel shook his head even more vehemently, his golden hair falling about his face. "If you summon your queen here, she will likely try to come by the most direct route; past Mount Gundabad. If Angmar and his retreating forces do not come directly into our blockade, they will most probably scatter south, toward the mountain. That entire area will not be anything even remotely approaching safe for years to come!"

"We could recommend Queen Anthelísse take the longer road by way of the Grey Mountains, as we did coming here?" suggested Thenniel.

Again Glorfindel was shaking his head. "No, do not underestimate the risks a person will take to reach a loved one in need. I beg you, Captain Gurithon, do not send word to your queen until we are more certain of Angmar and his minions' movements."

With a sigh, Gurithon looked to Siroth and then Thenniel. Beholding Thenniel's steady, doe-eyed gaze, his heart ached for Thranduil. If he were injured, he knew he would want Thenniel by his side above all others. But even more than that, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest easy if she were to put herself in harms way getting there.

"As you say, Lord Glorfindel. We shall hold off on alerting Queen Anthelísse for the time being. I just wish there were something we could do for Thranduil in her stead..."

"If I may, I have some skill at healing from my days spent in Gondolin's citadel. I am no Elrond, but with your leave Siroth I might be able to soothe your king's wounds somewhat."

Outside the tent, they did not see a lone figure step away from where they had stood listening to the conversation within. The sentry moved with purpose towards the station where the army kept their messenger pigeons. The gathering shadows of evening hid their face from passers by, but the torchlight reflected mismatched eyes of green and brown.

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Anthelísse was sitting in the moss gardens of the underground palace when Galion came to find her. She had Legolas settled on her lap, reading aloud from a book of Silvan poems. The young prince squinted at the Tëngwar character on the page, an expression of fierce concentration pursing his eyebrows. It was a look that brought to mind his father and father's mother with near alarming accuracy.

"A shifting face of Tilion's pale vess...vess..." Legolas glared at the troublesome word on the page as if he would very much like to take it out to the archery range and shoot it full of holes.

"Vessel, ion-nin." Anthelísse corrected Legolas, tapping the book lightly. "Remember how the 'e' and the 'l' after it just make the one sound."

"Vessel." Legolas repeated. "Naneth, what's a vessel?"

"Excuse me my lady..." Galion interrupted. Normally he was more reticent to disrupt the queen when she and her son were at their lessons. The missive in his hand had been carried by an army pigeon though, and it practically burned at his palm with its urgency. "...I have a message from the north, from the campaign against Angmar."

"From Thranduil?" Anthelísse asked, instantly on alert. Setting aside the book, she shifted Legolas off her lap to the stone bench beside her.

"I...I cannot say." Galion said reluctantly. "It does not bear the royal seal, but it came from one of our birds."

Anthelísse paled but held out her hand for the scroll. That could only be a bad sign if Thranduil was not able to seal and dispatch his own correspondences. Galion caught the slight shake to the queen's hands as she undid the tie and opened the paper.

Her eyes flashed down the lines as Anthelísse read in silence. Little Legolas watched his mother anxiously, seemingly aware that something was afoot. Finally the elfing could bear the waiting no longer and piped up.

"What is it Naneth, is Ada alright?"

Anthelísse let out a long, shaky breath and lowered the parchment. The sudden change in her demeanour alarmed Legolas, and his lower lip unconsciously quivered.

"Naneth?"

"O my little leaf.." Anthelísse said, sinking to a knee and holding out her arms. The prince rushed into her embrace and clutched at her dress. "Your Ada is alive...but he has been hurt, very badly hurt."

"Hurt?!" Legolas cried, his blue eyes wide with alarm. Galion felt a lump in his own throat at the elfing's distress. "Can we go see him Naneth?"

Anthelísse held Legolas to her heart, then at arm's length. "I am afraid, Legolas, that you must stay here. It is a long way to Lake Evendim and the road is not gentle. The message says that the pass by way of Gundabad is clear though, so I will take a guard of warriors and go to help Ada with all haste."

"I shall alert the guards and organize and escort for you, Lady Anthelísse." Galion said, bowing.

"What about me Naneth, I want to go help Ada too!" Legolas insisted, clinging to his mother's sleeve.

"Legolas..." Anthelísse said, trying to smile. "Ada and I need you to stay here and take care of the Woodland Realm for us. Do you think you can do that, with Galion's help?" When the elfling began to protest, she hugged him again. "We will be back as soon as soon can be, and you and I will help Ada to heal and get well. I need to go and bring him back safely though. Can you be brave for me, my little leaf?"

Legolas swallowed hard, trying very hard to be a brave, grown-up ellon. "I will Naneth."

"Thank you ion-nin." Anthelísse squeezed him one more time, then kissed his forehead. "Ada and I love you very much, and I promise that we will both be back very soon."

Rushing toward the barracks in the lower levels of the palace, Galion's mind was roiling with the gravity of the situation. If he had only the faintest glimmer of the impending tragedy he was unwittingly playing a part in, he would have run screaming back to the gardens and clutched at the hem of Anthelísse's gown right along with Legolas, begging her not to go...

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