Set: several years into Tauriel's banishment
Genre: G, sickfic.
Disclaimers: I don't own anything, barely my knickers.

Chapter 1: Shelter

"Nestril! Nestril!"

Tauriel lifted her head at the young villager's voice calling her, leaving the concoction of cordial she was making for the benefit of the malnourished children in the community, a small settlement by the sea in the primitive and poor land of Anfalas where she has set up shop, or more like tent to attend to the medical needs of the nearby population mainly comprising of fishermen, farmer and shepherd families, often looted by the corsairs, as well as exploited for timber and minerals by kings from all sides.

Gerda's voice was insistent, but then again, it always was when someone arrived needing medical attention. The child of menfolk, or more like the stripling young woman was part of the reason Tauriel hadn't left these pastures for a few years now. Gerda had shown not just interest, but considerable skill in the arts of healing, and the elleth did not want to part with her if she could help it till she was certain the girl could take over and handle all medical emergencies successfully on her own. Tauriel washed her hands quickly, gathered her self-made emergency kit and stepped out in front, hoping whoever's life was at stake could be helped.

"He's taken down the whole crew of an entire corsair ship that's just arrived to the cove!" Gerda cheered excitedly, holding onto the reigns of a mumakil, "he just appeared, on this animal, riding on it!" The large creature seemed to excite the daughter of a shepherd. Of course it was usual for a mumakil to be seen at this side of the desert very often, never mind one that was broken in, enough for a person to sit on. For Tauriel, this specimen seemed on the smallish side, but she still smiled at the to-be-healer's enthusiasm.

"An elf! Can you believe it, Nestril," the child always called Tauriel 'Healer' out of respect, "another elf around here and saving the houses in the harbour from corsairs!"

"An elf?" She had to side-step to see up into the saddle.

"Mae govannen, Tauriel," said the newcomer. Greenish blue eyes, long blond hair with only a thin line plaited at the back, a simple green and brown leather traveller's tunic, cloak wrapped around under his plausibly injured arm, his front covered in blood from chin to thigh. Tauriel shook her head and looked back to her assistant, trying to convince herself she wasn't dreaming seeing Thranduil up there with absolutely no indication of status or belonging, barely able to hold himself upright, thousands of miles away from his kingdom, at the edge of a desert with not even one tree in sight!

"Do you know the elf?" Gerda paused, becoming somewhat apprehensive at her reaction where she stood motionless with her mouth hanging open, "he did say he was from Eryn Galen."

Tauriel got herself together to answer, but was stopped by the grunt the ellon made as a last effort to keep himself alert before his head lolled and he pitched off the fifteen feet tall saddle, landing forehead first in Alfalas' white dust before either of them could provide a softer landing. With the redhead still in shock, it was Gerda who crouched down first, looking for vital signs just like Tauriel had thought her. "His heart is beating a lot faster than yours at rest, and not even half as strong," the healer in training summarised her findings, "barely breathing."

That finally got Tauriel to move. "What injuries do you know of?" She joined the other healer to verify her assessments.

"A sword had gone through him, through the abdomen," Gerda prided herself using anatomical terms, "you told me an elf would most likely survive such a wound," she was somewhat perplexed by how desperate Tauriel looked.

"With good care and some athelas," the elleth bit the inside of her lips, not sure if she could provide sufficiently enough of either. "We will have to use the last of our supplies. Could you go prepare it?" She entrusted the young one with the task while she took to investigate the wound. The blade must have been a wide one, she determined despondently, though the location of it meant that no vital organs or arteries were damaged. Even so, the blood loss seemed heavy and intestines as well the stomach itself could be severed. Death would be almost a certainty with a wound like this for any other creature than an elf due to the infection that would surely set in and a non-functional digestive system. With her limited resources and knowledge, Thranduil himself was sure to look forward to a lengthy and agonizing recovery process at best. Tauriel was working fast now, routine taking over. She cut his upper clothing off, cleaned a wound and cauterised as much of it as she could, taking a moment to soothe him by placing a placating hand to his forehead when he reacted with the shakes, breaths coming in pained gasps. First line of emergency treatment done, she fetched a stretcher made to be able to be used by a single person by rolling the bottom half on the ground, turned him onto it and deposited him on a camp bed inside the tent with Gerda's help.

"This is the last of what we had." The girl had the athelas brew ready that they soaked into the compresses they've placed on his belly and wrapped the bandages over it.

Thranduil reacted not throughout, bar for throwing up blood during him getting moved, so he was placed on his side not to choke and Tauriel started her healing chants, hand atop the wound and eyes squeezed shut in concentration and prayer for her to be good enough for the task. She called forth every intonation she knew, appealed to every force that could bring forth healing, the golden sun and the great earth and the western winds, Eru and the Ainur, and the Valar and the Maiar till her head was light and her arm grew weary. "Do you want me to take over?" She found Gerda's arms around her and when she opened her eyes she found that if not for those hands, she would have completely pitched forward onto the top of the king.

"No, no," she let go of Thranduil for a moment so she could gather some strength, take a few breaths and clear her head. "Go see what ships are in the harbour and if any of the fishermen are willing to go sail North, to any other settlement from where a message could be sent to Mirkwood."

"I will be back as soon as I can," the girl promised, knowing Tauriel would not rest till she had one ounce of strength left to give.

The elleth waited a moment till the stars in front of her eyes retreated, then took to redressing the soaked through bandages as a way of getting some respite before the next chant, releasing a big sigh at the sight of the wound as it finally seemed to have stopped bleeding. In fact it had started closing, with no sign of infection so far. Thranduil was way too still and pale, but Tauriel didn't find the vital signs overly alarming and so restarted the chants with renewed, more hopeful efforts, not minding her own swimming head or shaking fingers..

"Tauriel..." She awoke to someone calling her name and had the impression that it had been utterred a few times before she reacted. She blinked her eyes open to stare into the king's blue ones, mere inches away. With a surprised gasp, she pulled away and sat up, realising she must have really swooned with the effort of channelling her will this time. "My Lord!"

"I have found you." He stared with a hint of a smile.

"How are you feeling?" Tauriel uttered, confused by his statement.

"Hurts somewhat.." Thranduil breathed, vulnerability laid bare in the wince.

Tauriel shook her head, "I am very sorry, but I don't think ingesting anything, even medicine would be a good idea right now. You have a considerable hole in your stomach. I will however, continue my efforts to close it, with your permission."

"Give it a rest, Tauriel," he grumbled, "you wouldn't last a minute more. I can endure."

"I refuse to see you in pain," the younger elf argued.

"I am telling you to," Thranduil refused her healing hand by taking it into his own shaking, weak ones.

The touch confused Tauriel even more, but she understood she'd best obey now. "My King. The girl should be back soon and I need to know what message are we to send to Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood." He's spoken the word as if it held no meaning, voice just above a whisper.

"And you must have some guards with you, did you get separated? In which direction should we send out men to find them?"

"I came alone. I will not jeopardise another elven life in these lands."

"You came alone?" It seemed to be Tauriel's turn to repeat words without understanding them.

"There were stories of a sole elven healer way South, I was hoping it would be you," he squeezed her hand he never let go of.

"Legolas...something happened to the Prince?" Tauriel could not grasp sense in Thranduil's behaviour and that was her only hunch, even though his arrival still made no sense. With her free hand, she checked for fever, assuming the patient must be delirious.

"King. King Legolas rules," Thranduil said with his eyes brightening, pridefulness in the statement.

"I don't understand..." The elleth shook her head, wondering for a moment if it was her having hallucinated the whole thing starting with his very appearance up.

"Nestril, good news," Gerda burst in, "I haven't spoken to him yet, but there's talk of Grimgar sailing to Lond Daer with the morning tide! That is in the right direction to get a message to Eryn Galen is it not?"

"No message," Thranduil breathed, manifestly tired out. His voice was weak, but his once captain recognised the power in the tone of a lethally serious command. "Tauriel, no message is needed," he grabbed onto her tunic to make sure she understood before he let himself fall back with his eyes closed.

Tbc

Sindarin Glossary:
healer – nestril
Mae govannen – greetings, 'well met'