~Oropher must seek refuge and the roles are reversed; neither he, nor Fëanor's sons are met with friendliness. Thranduil is in dire need of a healer but hesitates to see her.~

oOo

Healing

"This way," Maedhros called, leading the way through the abandoned houses and stopping in front of the steep cliff wall sheltering the area. "They have delved tunnels." He must have spied on the colony with his seeing stones, the palantíri.

His words filled Thranduil with relief; if Aerneth was hiding in the mountain she could still be safe and unharmed. He longed to go inside as well and finally allow himself to breathe. And eat. And get his face seen too by a more competent healer than Amroth.

"I see no entrance," said Oropher. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"It is probably hidden. We must look for uneven parts, tool marks, unnaturally straight cracks... anything indicating a door." He walked along the wall with slow steps, stopping now and then to touch it with his single hand.

Thranduil was not too worried about the delay. The dragon they had heard down at the crossing must have turned somewhere else, for it had not followed the fleeing elves and ents up here.

From this altitude he could see it – and its fellows. Like he had suspected, there were many, and they had spread out, patrolling all the inhabited parts of Beleriand in lazy circles, spreading their huge wings and now and then sending a ray of fire to torch whatever was below: forests, settlements, meadows – even innocent flocks of animals. The continent had become a black and smoking wasteland.

He turned his gaze away, both furious and heartbroken at the sight.

While Maedhros searched for the entrance, the ents unloaded their burdens, setting each elf down carefully.

Galion thanked Fimbrethil profusely. "You have saved us a second time, dear Madam."

"It was but a small thing. Farewell now, little one; we are traveling to our kin in the great forest of Eriador. Perhaps we may meet again when times are safer and wars and fires no longer mar the soil of Arda."

"I hope so."

An oaken ent with rough bark and a long, green lichen-beard joined her. "Entwife."

"Husband."

"Hoom... we must continue. The fire-dragon is turning hither."

"Bark and crevice! I suppose we must, then." She turned back to Galion with an apologetic smile on her smooth birch face. "Fangorn here is always so hasty."

"Huumpf. Am not!"

Still bickering, the pair walked away with steps that made the rocky ground tremble, and disappeared down the eastern slopes.

Thranduil worriedly checked the sky again, and true enough, one of the dragons seemed to be flying towards the mountains. It was still far away but with those huge wings it would not take long until it was over them.

"I found it," called Maedhros, peeking out from a juniper thicket.

Hugely relieved, Thranduil hurried over, joining the dense crowd of people flocking to get there fast. All in all, they were at least two hundred, maybe more. He hoped Aerneth's people had plenty of space in the cave or the successful flight would turn into disaster after all. If they could not go into the mountain it would be impossible to hide up here.

There was a door behind the thicket, and at Maedhros' knock a small hatch opened to let someone inside see who they were. Only moments later the door was thrown open forcibly and an elleth sprang out, sword aimed at Maedhros' neck. "You," Galadriel growled, face pale with anger.

Celeborn hurried after her, gently taking her arm to hold her back.

Maedhros had not flinched, nor drawn his own weapon. Instead he held his hand palm up disarmingly. "I come in peace. A dragon approaches and many of us are gravely injured. Please, do not let us burn to death because of old grudges."

"Grudges. Grudges! How dare you show yourself here after all you did? Have you no shame?"

Before Maedhros could reply, Oropher stepped forward, putting on his most friendly, benevolent face. "Friend, let us go inside first and we shall settle this when we are safe. I am sure you do not want our lives on your conscience. And, if you still hesitate – may I remind you I took you in under similar circumstances? I housed you, fed you, clothed you. Will you pay me back so unfairly?"

She seemed about to answer with something rude, but now another ellon emerged: Gil-galad, the high king. "He is right; this is not the place to discuss. Put your sword down, Galadriel."

To Thranduil's surprise she obeyed, but the look on her face was murderous.

Gil-galad led the way down a narrow, uneven passage, supported by wooden beams at even intervals. It was dark and damp, with a ceiling so low Thranduil had to bend double.

"It gets better soon," said Celeborn behind him.

It did indeed. The tunnel ended abruptly at a platform with a grand view over a pillared cavern nearly as large as the central part of Menegroth in Doriath. Not only the size reminded Thranduil of his former home, the architecture too.

"Dwarven made?" he asked.

"Aye. We were digging tunnels for hiding when we accidentally came across an old, abandoned dwarf city. Saved us a lot of work."

As they descended from the platform, Thranduil curiously looked around the spacious cave hall. If dwarves had lived here, nothing remained of their homes; instead simple huts and tents were erected along the walls, surrounding a court lit by a circle of lamp posts. The area was crowded with an assembly of elves and men.

He surveyed the people eagerly until his good eye found what he sought. The relief made him stagger. Aerneth was alive and well.

Before she noticed him and his ruined features he pulled up his hood and positioned himself partly behind Oropher in a way that would hide half his face.

Aerneth was looking intently at the newcomers. When she discovered Thranduil she seemed relieved too at first, but then she frowned at the sight of his father and pointedly stepped closer to Galadriel.

Oh well. What had he expected – hugs and kisses?

"Thank you for saving us, friends," said Oropher cordially. "Now, let us discuss this in a calm manner, between kings. I have always firmly believed we are stronger when we work together, and now there is a chance for Sindar and Noldor to–"

"This is my verdict," Gil-galad interrupted, regarding him with a disgusted look. "Despite your treatment of the refugees from Haven, we will allow you to stay here – if you accept my sovereignty as high king."

The cordiality instantly disappeared from Oropher's features. "My treatment?" he sputtered. "I gave them everything they needed – and they repaid me by stealing from me! Aided by you to do so, as it were."

"You tell yourself that if it makes you sleep well at night," Celeborn piped in with unusual coldness.

Oropher opened his mouth but was again cut off by Gil-galad. "Do you recognize my sovereignty? Think carefully before you reply; I will not accept rudeness or insubordination in my realm."

Thranduil was both surprised and impressed with the high king's authority – he could not recall that he had been such a commanding person before – and was secretly rather smug that his father for once would be paid back in the same coin.

Oropher's cheeks colored furiously but he was no fool; he knew a lost case. "Fine. I will."

"Good." Gil-galad turned to Maedhros and Maglor. "That settled, you and your followers are an entirely different matter. The crimes you committed are so grave only Mandos can judge what your fate shall be. I will let you stay here until the immediate threat is gone and the dragon passed, but then you must leave."

"That is a death sentence," Maedhros objected. "If you would turn us out you may as well kill us here and now and at least save us the torture of burning alive."

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you ruined Doriath and Haven and spilled elvish blood," said Galadriel cooly. "Not to mention driving poor Elwing to nearly drown herself – and killing her babies."

"You know why we attacked Doriath and Haven; your leaders kept what was not theirs and refused to return it. As for your other accusation..." He beckoned to a pair in the back of the crowd. "It is false."

As they approached, Thranduil absently reflected that they were so similar they must be twins.

Then he understood.

"Elros and Elrond..." Galadriel's voice was strained.

oOo

The reunion was emotional, especially for Galdor, Elwing's neighbor who had been like family to her boys. To find them alive after so long, healthy and unharmed! They were half-elven and would have died a mortal death, hence nobody had expected to ever see them again.

Though Thranduil had not been as close to the twins as to their mother, he had often thought about them and grieved their unfair fate. It was bittersweet to see them alive now. He was happy, of course, but also aching for them and what they must have suffered in captivity.

In the many years since they disappeared, the twins had changed. They looked like adult men now, and they talked with a Quenya accent after speaking that language since childhood.

Gil-galad took them aside to question them without their captors overhearing, and to Thranduil's surprise it turned out they had been treated well. Like actual sons, they claimed.

Still, they had been exiles far away from home and lost everything: family, friends – a carefree childhood. Thranduil knew that could not have been easy, despite what they said.

"Our foster-adars were compelled to do what they did," Elrond explained. "I know they regretted the lives they had to take, Maglor in particular, but the oath they once swore is so deeply infused in them that they are no longer able to resist it."

"Oaths are dangerous," Elros added.

Thranduil shivered with a sudden cold. Oaths are dangerous.

"Your forbearance with your captors is admirable," said Gil-galad. "And your tale has moved me. They may stay but they must keep to themselves."

oOo

The new refugees were given sailcloth and planks to build shelters and huts in adjoining caverns. Thranduil worked as best he could but felt uncommonly faint; his injuries were tolling on his strength and the pain was nearly unbearable now. It had probably been equally painful during the days on the road but then he had been too afraid to feel much. Now, in safety, it was impossible to ignore.

He had covered his wound with a bandage and told everyone it was healing well, but it became increasingly harder to pretend that was true.

He ought to see a healer, and would have done so immediately if not for who that healer was. Why did this colony have only one? And why was it his wife? He could not let Aerneth see him like this, face half ruined, or hear him let out involuntary whimpers like an immature elfling. For if he allowed her to treat him he knew he would be unable to hold back, and the humiliation of such a situation was worse than the searing inferno his eye and cheek had become.

Instead he doggedly continued, taking brief breaks when nobody noticed, hiding his damp face with his hair.

Galion came to sit next to him during one such break. "Wine?" he asked, passing him a cup. "They have made it with wild berries that grow here in the mountains. Not too bad, if I may say so; better than nothing. Now that I lost my grape vines from home I suppose we must get used to it."

Thranduil gratefully took a deep draught, feeling warmth spread through his chest. He must find a flagon of his own; if he was drunk enough perhaps the pain would subside.

Galion peered at him. "You look pale. Are you alright?"

"I am fine."

"But why do you still have a bandage?"

"To... uh, hide the scab."

"It scabbed? Strange... Mine did not. It was healed completely; the new skin is just a bit raw and sensitive."

"Well I... did not see a healer yet."

He looked aghast. "Why? It is such a horrible injury! You must hurry there; I will cover for you."

"It is not up to you to dictate what I do or do not do," Thranduil snapped. "Leave me alone." He promptly returned to work.

It did not take long until he was interrupted again, this time by his father. "Take off the bandage," he commanded.

Thranduil frowned, looking around. Surely enough, Galion was lingering nearby, trying to seem innocent. Traitor!

"Well?"

He had to obey order, and did so.

Oropher recoiled. "Get that... mess seen to. At once. Why did you wait for so long?"

"I did not wish to burden... the healer."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You know them?"

"It is Aerneth," he admitted.

Oropher's flushed angrily. "She refuses to heal you? How dare she! I shall–"

"No! Of course not. She does not know I am injured."

"Oh, I understand now. You hesitate because of her unrighteous behavior before, and wish to keep a distance. Well, much as it pains me to send you near that vixen you have to. It will only be this once and then you can wash your hands off her for good."

Thranduil let his father believe that was true.

"Go now."

Again he had to obey.

oOo

The healing hut smelled strongly of herbs. It was a large tent, brightly lit by many lamps, and empty apart from Aerneth and an elderly human woman.

Aerneth froze when he entered.

"I am sorry to bother you but Adar insists I need healing," he said with forced calmness. "It is a mere flesh wound and probably not necessary."

"Oh. I will take a look, then." She indicated a chair. "Sit."

He braced himself when she began to remove the bandage, refusing to humiliate himself and show how much even her light touch hurt.

"A flesh wound? This? You should have come sooner."

"Considering the... circumstances, I preferred not to," he said stiffly. "You no longer have obligations towards me. It will be enough with a change of bandage and perhaps some poultice, then I shall be off and we can pretend this did not happen."

"Nonsense. I work as a healer, my job is to heal people." She fetched a potion and put it to his lips. "For the pain." 

He contemplated declining and not admitting how sorely he needed the relief but she must have read his thoughts.

"Now," she insisted sternly.

As the potion took effect, Aerneth prepared a salve. The old woman meanwhile poured boiling water into a bowl of powdered herbs, filling the air with the pungent aroma of Athelas.

He breathed it in, letting the herbs revive him.

"This will take a while and I am afraid it will hurt at first," said Aerneth calmly. "The wound is festering, so in order to treat it I must first clean it, but then I will spread a salve to take away the rest of the pain. I will also use a spell to encourage new skin and tissue to grow. I cannot promise you will get the function of your eye back, but we shall see. I have mostly treated humans lately and they are slow to heal – with you, it should be easier."

She sounded different; her voice was somehow devoid of emotions, and now that he looked at her, so was her face. Blank and closed off. He could not read it at all. What had she been through the many decades they were apart? He wished he could have protected her. Shielded her from whatever turned her numb.

Then she began to clean him and his thoughts were scattered by the flaring agony. He clutched the chair and clenched his jaw so hard he tasted blood. He would not scream.

When she was done at last his forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat. He felt nauseous and close to passing out. Only by sheer stubbornness and strength of will did he remain conscious. 

Aerneth smeared the pain relief onto his face and finally he breathed easier. It felt cool and soothing. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He had gripped the chair so hard he almost could not straighten his fingers.

Next she began to sing softly. It was beautiful; an ancient, intricate melody with words like a poem. His eye and cheek began to itch and again he must brace himself to remain still. At least the feeling of ants crawling under his skin was only a mild discomfort compared to the torments before.

He realized he recognized the spell; Beleg Strongbow had sung it long, long ago. Thranduil had not expected to hear it again from his wife's lips. Had she known such advanced healing all along? Or did she learn it recently?

He look up at her as she sang. She had become a stranger. A serene, competent healer with a face he could no longer read.

Then he noticed her eyes had dark circles and she was very pale. She looked exhaused. Being the only healer in the colony, she probably had a lot to do.

"Have you been working as a healer for a long time?" he asked. His voice was hoarse from the strain of holding back his screams.

"Since we came here, more or less. While some were having a good, easy time down in Ossiriand we were busy taking care of wounded refugees from all the orc raids."

He frowned but did not answer that. It was true, after all, not that he could have done anything about it.

She wiped his face with a cool cloth. "I have done what I can for now. Don't touch it until tomorrow and try to avoid bright light for a couple of days. Then come back here for a follow up."

He rose slowly, grasping the chair for support. He still felt lightheaded. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It is what I do."

Thranduil wanted to object that no, it was not, she was supposed to be lively and happy and bake lembas or catch fish with water magic. She should not have to be pent up in a small hut and weary herself out with too much work and becoming so used to gruesome injuries they no longer made her blink.

He suddenly longed to hug her. He wanted her to be like she used to; impulsive and open, with emotions playing over her features. Eyes sparkling with life.

At that moment he missed her so much his chest hurt almost as bad as his injury before.

"Was there anything else?" she asked dismissively.

He shook his head. And then he left.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

Whew, still not done with the war... I can't believe I thought I could fit everything from the arrival of the Host of the Valar to the end of the war into only one chapter haha. But the next will be the last war chapter. I think. (I hope)

A note about ents: Fimbrethil and Fangorn are canon; in the common language he's named Treebeard. :)

And about Thranduil's injury: there's a famous scene in the second Hobbit movie where Thranduil shows Thorin a hideous dragon-fire scar, and it's implied he uses some sort of glamour to hide it. Nothing of that is book canon, and no glamour magic is described in Tolkien's works, but I decided to add the injury anyway – however, since Aerneth healed it, what he later shows Thorin will in my version be just a vision of the memory.

Image Credits:

Screenshot from the Hobbit movies.