~Thranduil is taken to a healer and works hard to maintain his self-control. Later he is surprised at what his friends and he discover in Ithilien.~

~♕~

"I guess even kings get scared, huh?"

– Simba, The Lion King

~♕~

33. Pain

"State your name and errand," the Rohan king ordered. He was still on his horse, as were his companions, surrounding the trio. The riders had not drawn weapons yet but from the way everyone had a hand hovering near their scabbard it was evident they would if the answer was unsatisfactory.

"I am Thurin, a peaceful traveler from Greenwood, my lord," said Thranduil smoothly. He had to use all his willpower to make his voice sound normal and not betray the pulsating agony radiating from his arm. "I am journeying to visit my son who works in the new Ithilien forest colony." He had often found lying worked best if he was as truthful as possible.

"I see." The king's sharp gaze fell on the silver-woven cloak that Nimrodel had swept over him after the accident, then moved to the lavish rings on his fingers and the ornamental headstall and jeweled saddle of his horse.

He turned to Glóin. "And you are?"

Thranduil tried to non-verbally convey to the dwarf the importance of subtlety, using a combination of head shakes and meaningful looks, but evidently Glóin was about as discreet as an oliphaunt in a pottery.

"I am Glóin, son of Gróin, from Erebor in the Lonely Mountain. I too am on my way to visit my son. He is a tall, strong lad with an ample beard and a very handsome ax. I think you know him? Gimli is his name."

King Éomer's broad face was cloven by a hearty grin. "Of course I do! I wouldn't call him tall, but I will never forget that ax."

"Please, my lord," said Nimrodel. "My friend had an unfortunate accident just now and needs a healer."

"Ah, your friend Thurin." Éomer waved to a couple of his men. "Make a stretcher."

"I can ride," hissed Thranduil through clenched teeth. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead but he hoped his hair covered it. Damn cow.

"You can not," said Nimrodel. She had become rather pale and was wringing her hands with obvious worry.

Thranduil wanted to give her a comforting hug and tell her this was nothing much, really, and he had been through worse, but was fairly certain he would faint if he did. He decided to let her have her way if that made her happier.

When the men lifted him onto the stretcher it was all he could do not to let out an undignified yelp, and then again when they began to walk. It felt like forever until they reached a rural village where he was put down outside one of the houses.

The healer cast a glance at his unfortunate limb, now twice as big as before. "Broken, and not a clean break. What happened?"

Nimrodel replied in his stead: "He was rammed by a cow."

"After unwisely bothering her when she just had a calf," King Éomer added.

The healer raised his eyebrows. "That's unusual. I thought elves had a special connection with animals."

Thranduil's face grew hot. "I am not very familiar with cows. The deer and elks in my wood are peaceful."

"I see. Well, enough talking; carry him into my office."

The healer's office turned out to be a low, oblong room with rough beam walls and an examination table in the center where the stretcher was put down. The anatomy paintings and tools hanging from hooks on the wall indicated that this man doctored both humans and animals, and possibly dabbled in midwifery as well.

"Have you set bone fractures before?" Thranduil asked suspiciously.

"We are horse people, of course I have," the healer huffed. "You should see the queue outside every spring when they break in the two-year-olds."

Slightly calmed, Thranduil leaned back on the table. It wasn't as if he had other healers to choose between anyway.

The healer meanwhile ordered everybody but his assistant out of the room, even Nimrodel despite her objections. Thranduil was hugely grateful; he preferred nobody he knew to witness this in case he did anything embarrassing.

Having fought many battles in the past, he had seen first hand what pain could do even to the most stoic person, and he knew from experience that the cure often was worse than getting the injury itself. In the heat of battle one had no time to think or feel, but afterwards... There was something oddly terrifying about being in the hands of a stranger, unable to control what would be done to his body. He hated the feeling of vulnerability and weakness, and even more so the anticipation of more pain to come.

For, one look at his twisted arm had assured him that setting it would not be pleasant.

"Drink this," said the healer, holding a bottle of clear liquid to his lips. It tasted strong and bitter. Some sort of distilled alcohol, Thranduil assumed, and took several deep draughts. Anything to dampen his senses was appreciated.

"I am afraid I need to cut open your tunic." Using a thin knife, the healer neatly sliced the seams of the sleeve and shoulders, and did the same with the undershirt until he could ease both garments off.

Thranduil appreciated that he had not cut into the fabric itself; he liked that tunic. Now it could be mended.

"Hold him, please."

The assistant took hold of Thranduil's other arm and firmly pressed him down. With his white apron and rolled up sleeves the young man looked like a slaughterer.

Suddenly feeling very cold, Thranduil drew a breath and held it, trying to check his racing heart. He could do this. He would not scream. Not cry. Not move.

He had been through worse and survived.

~♕~

Waiting outside was nerve-racking. Did the healer begin yet? Was it working? When Nimrodel strained her ears she heard prolonged, muffled groans through the door, but then it became alarmingly quiet. Had Thranduil passed out? The broken arm had looked so horrible she nearly did so herself, but she had managed to regain her composure for his sake.

"Poor him," she mumbled.

"The healer seems competent," said Glóin soothingly.

"He is," agreed the Rohan king. "Your friend is in good hands; he will be fine."

It felt like forever until they were at last let in to see him. By then, Thranduil was sitting up, cradling his now bandaged arm, but apart from his hair being in disarray he looked like his normal self.

"How did it go?" she asked breathlessly.

"All set and splinted, no worse for wear." His voice sounded thick and his lips were bloodstained where he must have accidentally bitten them.

"You can admit it hurts, you know," she said. Now that her worry was finally eased she started to become annoyed with his silent, strong warrior act. He didn't have to pretend he was made of wood.

"Oh, it does." As he spoke she caught the smell of alcohol in his breath. "Feels like Glóin chopped it to pieces with his ax and then sewed it up again. With a blunt needle."

"You are drunk."

He put his thumb and forefinger together. "A little, maybe. But let's get going; we've loitered long enough. Thank you for fixing my arm, Master Healer." He stood up unsteadily.

Nimrodel took a quick step forward so she could support him.

"You should rest for a while," said the healer.

"Nah, no need. Now, where did I put my tunic? Oh, damn, forgot you cut it apart. Glóin, dear friend, can you fetch a spare one from my pack?"

Nimrodel tried to push him down again. "I agree with the healer, my lord. You are not yet fit to travel."

"My lord, eh?" The King of Rohan was leaning against the door post, an amused smile on his lips. "Didn't know there were highborn elves in Greenwood – apart from the royal family, that is, and I happen to know a member of said family. Legolas looks uncannily like you, Thurin. A relative, perhaps?"

Even drunk and injured, Thranduil recognized a lost cause when he saw one. "He is my son. I am sorry for the secrecy, but I wanted to ascertain this little incident would not come to his attention and cause needless worry. I trust you will be discreet?"

The man looked like he struggled hard not to laugh. "Oh, certainly King Thranduil. Your secret is safe with me."

"Then I shall not bother you longer than necessary. Thank you for your hospitality and invaluable help, King Éomer." He took the spare clothes Glóin had brought, likely using every last ounce of willpower not to topple over in the process of putting them on.

"You are a hopelessly stubborn old elf," Nimrodel grumbled as she helped him walk out. "Completely hopeless."

Thranduil smirked. "Good for me, you seem to like hopeless elves," he whispered conspiratorially.

~♕~

It was a small blessing the journey was nearing its end. The alcohol had not done much to ease Thranduil's excruciating pain, and even with his arm splintered he couldn't keep it completely still on a trotting horse. Every bump in the road made him want to cry out, but of course he didn't do anything that embarrassing.

But no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was evident his friends noticed what a pitiful state he was in, and they kept finding excuses to take short breaks or slow down the tempo.

Nimrodel yawned theatrically. "I am really tired, and look – behind those clouds the sun appears to be setting. Let us stop for the night."

"Good idea!"

"It is just after noon and it is drizzling," said Thranduil drily. "Yet you want to camp earlier than necessary?"

"We have tents," she reminded him.

"And there is no hurry," added Glóin. "Our sons are not going anywhere."

Nimrodel and Glóin put up the tents. "I am afraid of the dark so I will be sharing your tent, Thranduil," she said.

"Or be my nurse?" he sneered. By the Valar, this was so humiliating. Damaged pride hurt even more than physical injuries, that was for sure.

In the tent, however, he found that the confinement had its perks. "Finally got you to myself," he murmured, pulling Nimrodel to him with his good arm.

After Glóin discovered their secret, it had felt awkward to sneak off to steal kisses like they used to, and hence it had been a while since the last time.

"We should probably not–" she began, but he effectively silenced her with his lips.

She allowed it only briefly. "Nay, you have to rest." Her tone was unusually stern.

"I am not tired."

"But you are in pain."

"I can handle pain."

"I know you can, but there is no need to," she said seriously. "It is alright to show your weakness; I would not think less of you if you did – rather the opposite. To me, being honest is the most brave thing of all. I am your friend, and so is Glóin, and we do not want you to pretend in front of us."

He stared at her as the words sank in. "You spoke about me?"

"We did not have to."

"Oh." He fell silent, thinking back at the day's events. "I have been a bit silly, haven't I..."

"A bit. But I will not tell your son." She winked.

At that moment she was so beautiful he felt like his heart was boiling over. "I love you so much. Thank you for putting up with this hopeless, silly old elf."

This time when he kissed her, she didn't pull back.

~♕~

They heard the colony from miles away; uptempo music drifted across the moor nearly all the way to Osgiliath.

"That is a dwarven melody," said Glóin. "How fortunate! My son and his people must be visiting there." Because he didn't know where Gimli's workforce was stationed, he had decided to first come with Thranduil and Nimrodel to the colony.

"Why is everything so muddy?" asked Thranduil, wrinkling his nose at the many channels and ditches they had to cross. "Legolas should build bridges."

"And these oak babies don't look very healthy." Nimrodel pointed at the saplings lining the road. Some appeared to be very recently planted, but none were thriving.

"It is too wet for them," Thranduil agreed.

"Maybe that's what the ditches are supposed to remedy?"

As they approached the colony they stopped talking; the sight was almost too much to take in. With increasing dismay Nimrodel regarded the low fence acting as a palisade, the shacks and stick huts among a few unpainted brick houses – most of them only half-finished – the chickens and goats roaming the mud paths, the reeking waste water trench...

It was awful. Was this how Lasriel was forced to live?

"Our children's home is a swine sty," said Thranduil with horror.

"And who is that dwarf my son is smooching?" gasped Glóin.

A/N:

Parents always complain about the state of one's room or home, don't they? ;)

About saddles, in before anyone go "umm ackschually" at me... yes, I am aware elves often ride without those, but not always. In the books, Legolas doesn't use one, but Glorfindel does – his saddle and headstall are described in the Fellowship of the Ring. And if there is any other elf that I am certain uses a saddle, it is 1000% Thranduil; he wouldn't want horse- or elk hair on his clothes. ;)