To Live Again: Waiting Between Worlds {Lord of the Rings Fanfiction}

6. Elastic Heart

"You did not Break Me, I am still Fighting for Peace." - Sia

Mordor 3441 S.A. - The Battle Encampment of the Alliance

"Okay...that's it...one step at a time."

Thranduil glowered viciously at the unintentionally patronizing youth in his presence. Galion was not to blame for his behaviour, it was what was expected - all these soft encouraging words to disguise the horrendous truth of his situation.

"Now, maybe we should put some slippers on?" Galion considered aloud, and Thranduil did not conceal his aggravated sigh. Slippers...he had never worn slippers in his life!

"No! No, Galion, just find my boots and for the love of Eru...arugh...find me something to lean on!"

Thranduil whined and staggered painfully forward to grip the back of the nearest chair. He had no idea how long he had been off his feet but he was sure it had run into weeks. His head throbbed and felt several times heavier now than it had when he was lying flat! Everything hurt to move, especially his abdomen, any slight twist or jolt felt like a hundred knives were cutting into him at once. Which was a shame...considering one required the use of one's body to remain standing upright!

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Galion mumbled, as he diligently retrieved Thranduil's boots and helped him ease into them. The young elf ducked his head when the Prince's eyes turned on him with icy determination, and instead of correcting himself the ellon silently went about lacing up the battle worn boots.

"I want to see him," Thranduil answered flatly, and pressed a quivering hand to his chest, the sting of grief still very much evident. "I want to say farewell...I want to be there when they bury him."

"Well, it may not be my place, but my lord you are very weak," Galion carefully pointed out the obvious as he stood to his feet and kept his gaze firmly diverted from Thranduil's thunderous glare; "I worry that this will take its toll on you."

"It already has," Thranduil breathed out steadily, his voice faltering slightly as he felt the icy thread of fear constrict around his heart. What little composure he had left seemed to threaten to fall away at the memory of his Adar's death, but he held it in place and vowed to do so by whatever means necessary.

"It is not my place," Galion reiterated again, as he slid warm robes over Thranduil's shoulders, and offered him the remains of an oak spear. "It's not much, but we do not have any proper staffs or canes. I believe this was one of the King's."

Thranduil gripped the wooden length of the glorified stick in his weak and trembling hands. The iron spear tip had been removed, and he easily spied the elvish runes carved onto the side. The words spoke of Doriath and the blessings of strength to its soldiers' - the script was so familiar to him, yet he had never truly known the place his parents had called home. His father had made it real, and Thranduil held a great deal of respect for the pieces of armoury and jewels his people had brought with them from the ruins of their ancestry home. This spear was certainly one of those pieces, and with a little attention and restoration it would make a suitable staff. Valar only knew he would need use of one with this cursed wound slowing him down!

"Are you ready my lord?" Galion queried worriedly, as he watched Thranduil's faraway expression. The Prince broke his gaze on his newly acquired staff, and blinked robotically at the young elf. He was not entirely sure how to answer that question - was he ready? No, no he was not prepared to take his father's place, to lead his people home, and rebuild such broken lives. He was not ready to part with his beloved Ada, he was not ready to receive his crown or his ring, and he certainly was not ready to bury him! But he was dressed, and he was able to move;