Mordor 3441 S.A. - Field Infirmary, Battle Encampment
of the Alliance 

Get out of the way!" Elrond's rough voice urgently ordered the startled youth, as Galion crawled swiftly out of his path and took up residence beside his shocked captain. Elrond swiftly placed a hand over the Prince's chest, and momentarily his eyes unfocused and his brows pulled together in a deep frown. Angrily he turned on a healer that stood over them; "How was he missed...such scarring is distinctive...I should have been notified?"

"I-I-I do not know...those scars...we just assumed..." The elleth spluttered and caught her chest in a show of great anxiety; "He was badly wounded when he arrived...we did not expect him to survive long...I...well I just assumed he would die swiftly and peacefully. I did not realize who he was...there were so many...I am s-sorry."

"The scars - they only appear if he willingly shows them, or if he is in a weakened state and cannot expend the energy to contain the concealment," Aradan piped up suddenly, his voice sounding extremely weary, as he rested his weight against Galion. His initial rage was ebbing away, and now he was beginning to feel the extent of his own injuries.

"His spirit is waning," Elrond muttered, as he expertly examined the recent wounds and shook his head regretfully; "I do not know how he has held on this long, but there is still brightness in his fea. If I can sustain him long enough, then just maybe the strength of the Eldar flame will heal his physical wounds."

"What must we do?" Galion asked hopefully as he assisted in lifting Thranduil from the hard ground.

"Take Aradan to the next available healer, and have him tended to," Elrond spoke gruffly, as Celeborn's hands found and took the weight of the Greenwood prince, allowing Galion to step away. Elrond gave the other Sinda elf a devastated look before turning back to the two Silvan elves and muttering; "And after that pray...pray incessantly...for he will need it."

"Of course," Galion replied with a resolute bob of his head, and watched as the elf lord's exited with their King.

Yes the young squire knew that legalities still meant Thranduil was a Prince, but to the hearts and minds of the Silvan who survived...he was their King now.

xXx

Young Galion lingered at the threshold of the tent that he was told Elrond had taken his King. He watched anxiously as elves scurried to and fro, bringing all sorts of bottles and dressings to the renowned healer. From the cracks in the fabric, the wide eyed and relatively innocent youth, looked on in awe as the elves worked relentlessly with the unresponsive body.

But Thranduil was anything but unresponsive! His spirit fought bravely to cling to its corporeal form, even if his mind was not fully aware of it yet, his body was mending. Whatever healing prayers had been said on his behalf...well...Elrond believed them to be powerful ones indeed.

"Is there a chance he will regain consciousness?" Celeborn's asked sullenly. The tone made Galion's nose scrunch up in irritation, the negativity was unnecessary to his hopeful mind.

"He has overcome much worse...physically," Elrond nodded wearily, as he pressed his forearm to his brow and exhaled slowly. "But, part of his fea is broken...grief weakens it...yet still he shows great promise considering the damage done."

"Why?" Celeborn pushed, his cool eyes shrewdly examined the elf before him. Thranduil was nothing special; he had been raised mostly by the wild and unrefined customs of the Silvan people. The only tuition he would have received in the gifts and spiritual arts of his people would have been through his mother, but Curuni was no healer.

Elrond merely smiled and shrugged tiredly at the bemused looking elder elf - if the elf did not know then he had never been subjected to the struggle before. It was not the first time Elrond had seen first-hand the depths of power and devotion shared in a bonded pair. The healer was almost certain that the young and headstrong Clara was involved on some level. He was in no doubt that the bright little fighter was giving up much of her energy to her husband. The exchange was a dangerous one, but he understood the necessity. The separate spirits of an entwined pair made up a whole being, one does not often exist without the other, it is only instinctual for the other to compensate for their weakened half. It was often why he had seen many a united pair fade together...their life force unable to burn on without the other. It was something Elrond hoped he would never have to face; he would not wish to put his beloved Celebrian through such agony;

"He is of strong stock," was all Elrond would say on the matter, and this seemed to pacify Celeborn, who simply nodded once at the comment. "We just wait now. Tend to his injuries, keep him comfortable, and contain his fever. If the great Illuvatar sees fit to sustain him, then he will awaken and Greenwood will have their King."

"He will need constant care," Celeborn tutted, his mind tallying up the amount of healers they would need to release for such a task. "There are barely enough hands' as it is."

"And what else would you have me do?" Elrond's harsh retort brought Celeborn up short, and he dropped his gaze guiltily at the callous use of his words. "We will find a way; I refuse to lose any more lives over the head of this war!"

"Excuse me sir?" Galion queried timidly from his position at the entrance of the tent. Both elf lords glanced up at the youth with matching impatient expressions. The hard looks made the youth wobble a little, but he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat anyway; "I...well I d-d-do not believe f-finding hands to care for our Prince will be difficult."

"Oh; how so?" Elrond queried his eyebrow quirking upwards as he tried to stifle a knowing smile.

"I will care for him!" Galion valiantly declared, and then gestured behind him; "His own people will care for him. I-I have notified our own healers, and they are ready and willing to serve our King."

"Oh do not be ridiculous," Celeborn chortled, as he paced up to the scrawny little elf and shook his head in disbelief; "The Silvan healers are not capable of the level of expertise required here. As much as your offer is greatly appreciated, and a testament to your loyalty, the Prince will be much better tended under Noldor healers."

"The same Noldor healers who left him for dead?" Galion cheeped shrilly in his temper, and Elrond barely contained his giggle at the abashed look on Celeborn's face. "They may be more skilled, but they are not his people. We know our Prince; we have cared for him for many years. If these are to be his final hours, he would not have them spent under the care of strangers...he would want his own healers."

"The squire speaks the truth," Elrond interjected quickly, and placed a comforting hand on the elder elf's shoulder. "Thranduil would never allow a Noldo elf to tend to him...it is only by necessity that he allowed me to aid him. The Silvan healers are no more skilled than the Noldor in this cause; he may even thrive better with the spirits of his own kin close by."

"Well if you are certain," Celeborn muttered, as he bobbed his head and brushed passed the impertinent young elf in his presence. "I shall take my leave now, please keep me notified of the Prince's condition - he is after all kin."

"Barely," Galion mumbled under his breath and crossed his arms defiantly about his chest, eyeing the other elf lord warily.

"Come young sir," Elrond gestured to the youth with a smile; "I will show you how to tend to him in the absence of healers." Galion relaxed immediately in the more welcoming presence of the fabled healer, and he trotted up to his side to take the cold cloth from his hand. Elrond pointed to the overheated skin of the Prince's bare chest and arms; "Keep him cool with the damp cloth, and keep an eye on his temperature. He is usually a little warmer than your kin, so do not be alarmed if he never feels cool, but if his temperature spikes abnormally high or he becomes cold - alert me immediately."

Galion nodded once in understanding, and tentatively dabbed the cold rag over the Prince's face and neck. He noted how the old scars from before were now hidden, and curiously he rubbed the skin of Thranduil's cheek a little harder than was necessary. To the youth it did not feel any different, but it was a mystery to him how the Eldar could weave such enchantments. He would never have known that the handsome and perfect form of his Prince was only pretence; he absently wondered did his wife know of his secret.

"I would not speak of what you have seen young sir," Elrond spoke quietly, as if answering Galion's unspoken questions. "Those scars make him feel weak; he does not wish to be reminded of their existence. Only those close to him truly know his face...and his insecurities. If you wish to be of service to him Galion, I would suggest you refrain from appearing overly curious in his presence."

Galion retracted his hand, and he blushed a deep damson in response to the comment. He had not intended on causing offense, and to know his Prince would be displeased with him was a horrifying thought. But, as an afterthought, the youth turned his perplexed gaze on the elder elf and asked in a quiet voice; "How did you know my name...how did you know my profession?"

"Such things are not hidden from those who can see," Elrond answered cryptically and smirked at the scowl the young Nandor elf gave him. With a shrug, he proceeded to peel back the sheets to explain the various wounds and bandages to the youngling;

"The wound in the abdomen will cause the most problems; it will need to be dressed regularly. If I cannot do that myself I will ensure one of your skilled healers will be on hand to do so. There are multiple fractures here, but there is nothing left to do but maintain his position so the bones set properly." Elrond continued, whilst Galion swallowed a hard lump in his throat and attempted to divert his gaze.

There was little modesty involved in these healing arts, or at least this is the conclusion Galion came to. The severely battered and bloodied body of their prince, and likely King, was without proper coverings. The youth recognized that was necessary in the pursuit of his healing, all wounds had to be tended, and his body stripped of clothing so as to bring down his fever, but it still felt intrusive. As Elrond prattled on about all the lotions and potions required, Galion found his gaze drift to Thranduil's face. His eyes were hidden behind deep purple lids; his eyelashes fanned out and stuck to the fragile skin around his eyes because of a gloopy mess of blood and mucus. Galion decided that he would tend to that immediately, for there was nothing worse than sore eyes. The prince's hair was matted and tangled, dirt and blood caked into his roots and again the squire decided that next, he would comb it out as best he could. He would also put some salve on the Prince's cracked and peeling lips - that would at least bring him a little comfort. Yes, a little comfort could maybe go a long way in soothing their wounded Prince, and in his own little way, Galion at least knew he was contributing in the only manner he knew how.

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