The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 30 - On the Wings of Doom

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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.