Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

This is my first attempt to write a story located in Mirkwood. Please review and let me know what you think. Lai

Summary:

While visiting Mirkwood Lord Elrond remembers a tragedy long ago which had cost many lives and left great despair in its’ wake.

Rating:

PG-13

Characters and the name’s meanings:

Thranduil- King of Mirkwood

Elarinya- Queen of Mirkwood (morning star)

Galadhion- Thranduil´s oldest son (son of the tree)

Saeron- Thranduil´s second son (wood walker)

Legolas- Thranduil´s youngest son, (green leaf)

Chapter 1:

A look back

Thranduil, King of Greenwood the Great, stood at the steps leading to the main entrance of his underground palace. He still refused to accept the name that the great forest had obtained a long time ago; that of Mirkwood. He knew that the new name was more than fitting, however, as a quick look around him confirmed.

He shook his head and banned the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. Today was not for gloomy contemplation but for joy. A few hours ago he had received a message from one of the patrols that the Master of Imladris and his advisor had been spotted entering his realm.

The King had looked surprised at the news, because their coming was not announced. What could have happened to prompt the Lord of Imladris to leave his safe haven? They had entered the forest from the direction of the Golden Wood. Perhaps they would bring news from Lothlorien? He would find out soon enough. Whatever the reason, he was overjoyed to see his old companions again.

That, he remembered with remorse, had not always been the case. For many years in the past he would have not allowed one of them to set foot into his forest. Sadly he thought back to those times.

Old grudges and prejudices had dominated his mind back then. His unwillingness to let the past rest had nearly cost the life of one of his family members, only because he could not step over his pride and bitterness.

Taking a deep breath he shoved these unbidden memories back and looked up when he heard a commotion at the gates protecting his stronghold. The elves from Imladris had finally arrived. Concentrating briefly he released the magic that held the great gates closed and nodded toward the guards to open them.

Moments later the dark-haired Elf-Lord and his golden-haired advisor were riding through the gates. With a wave of his hand the King ordered a stable hand to receive the horses of his guests. He waited patiently until the visitors had gathered their belongings and mounted the many steps toward the entrance. He flashed a brief smile towards each of his sons who had silently appeared beside him.

When the two elves had reached the top step the King stepped forward, laid his hand over his heart and inclined his head. “Mae govannen, Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel,” the Woodland King said warmly and smiled. “I hope your journey was pleasant and untroubled,” he finished the traditional greeting.

The Lord of Rivendell inclined his head and bowed, as did Glorfindel. “Mae govannen King Thranduil, it’s always a pleasure to be here,” the dark haired Elf-Lord replied.

Almost as tall as his father, yet in appearance greatly resembling his mother, Galadhion, Crown Prince and troop commander of the forest defences smiled too at the Imladris delegation. “It’s good to see you again,” he said while bowing.

“Thank you for your welcome,” Elrond replied while looking deep into the eyes of Thranduil´s eldest. On the outside Galadhion always appeared reserved and aloof but Elrond had come to know him as a very caring elf, not always displaying his emotions and thoughts at first glance or for all to see.

He shifted his gaze to the third elf standing there. Tall, black-haired and with a grin on his face, Saeron was the exact opposite in character from his older brother. Open, straight-forward and often a bit too eager in making his decisions but always hearty and sincere.

Before he could greet Saeron, the King’s second son, he realized that a small elfling was peeking around the King’s legs. He had sneaked up there without them knowing. A golden-haired elfling with bright blue eyes watched him critically.

Only briefly interrupted the King grabbed the small elfling and lifted him easily into his arms. “Elrond, Glorfindel, allow me to introduce my youngest son to you – Legolas.” Looking at the little elf with surprise, Glorfindel leaned toward his Lord. “Without doubt,” he whispered into Elrond’s ear.

Elrond smiled. Glorfindel was right. Thranduil could be counted among the fairest elves in all of Middle-Earth and the elfling was a perfect copy of his father, it was undeniable. Whereas his brothers were dark haired, the elfling had golden hair like his father. Of course they had been informed about the birth of the King´s youngest son, but they had not met him until now.

Seeing Thranduil´s amused look Elrond inclined his head toward the elfling who watched him with a frown from the safety of his father’s strong arms. “Greetings, Prince Legolas. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Hello”, the elfling answered a bit shyly while pressing deeper into his father’s chest. After watching the strangers, one dark-haired like his mother, the other with hair as pretty as his ada´s the elfling turned his head to look at his father.

“Ada let me down. Nana has called me twice. I must go!” he demanded with a most sincere expression on his face.

Thranduil laughed. “Then you had better hurry. We should not let her wait, should we?” The elfling shook his head vigorously and squirmed to be let down. Carefully the blond elf put the elfling on the ground. Remembering his manners in time the elfling bowed and staggered off, before the two Elf-Lords from Imladris could return the gesture.

Finally Elrond could greet Saeron. “Mae govannen, elfling,” he said and embraced the dark haired elf. Savouring the affection, Saeron answered the hug chuckling. Elrond and Thranduil´s middle son shared a special bond, since Elrond had saved his life almost a millennia ago.

Thranduil´s face sobered as he remembered these dark days. He looked after Legolas; Saeron had been his age, a mere elfling, when it seemed that he had no chance to survive.

To be continued……………..

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

 Chapter 2:

And so it begins:

Roughly 1000 years in the past…….

With annoyance the King of Mirkwood looked up from the reports he was reading. Someone had knocked on the door to his study… again. Wearily he rubbed his temples. He would never finish all these messages, if the interruptions did not cease. He had instructed his secretary not to disturb him, unless…. He paled, took a deep breath, and called out “Enter”.

As he had feared, his master healer Thornil stepped through the great double-doors and hovered just inside the threshold. The body-language of the tall elf told the King instantly that he would not like what the healer had to tell him. With a nod the King beckoned him closer.

Closing the distance between them, the elf bowed and looked at his liege. “My Lord, I beg you pardon, but his condition has worsened.”

Closing his eyes momentarily the King swallowed. Two days ago the healers had reassured him that the state of his youngest son had stabilized. Now that fragile hope was being crushed mercilessly with those few words.

He nearly let out a bitter laugh. Ill. Elves did not become ill. There were many sorrows elves had to worry about, but illness fortunately had never been one of them – until now.

Narrowing his eyes the King tried hard not to snap at the healer, knowing that his anger was misplaced and born out of fear for his child. Nonetheless, the healer stepped back when he saw the brief flash of anger in his Lord’s eyes.

Trying to regain his composure, Thranduil softened his gaze towards his subject. He was hoping that the fair-haired elf would soften the cruel reality with some further words, but he knew only too well that he was betraying himself.

“I’m sorry, my Lord….” The healer made another effort to express his sorrow but Thanduil waved him off. He had heard enough. Not trusting his voice right now, the King signalled for the healer to accompany him and together the two elves hastened down the long corridor leading to the private family quarters.

When Thranduil had nearly reached his son’s room, a heart-piercing cry could be heard through the closed door. Shocked, the King momentarily faltered in his step, forcing his master healer right behind him to an equally abrupt stop. The muffled sound of crying, which could now be heard, set the King and his fellow in motion again. Without hesitation Thranduil opened the door forcefully, not caring that the door banged against the wall, and took in the sight he had dreaded.

His wife was trying to soothe their three-year-old son Saeron who was sitting bolt upright in his bed desperately trying to draw air into his lungs. The slightly bluish tinge on the boy’s lips told the King that the child was not succeeding. Alarmed by the sight the King stood frozen in place. He had expected the situation to be worse but not that his child was struggling merely to survive.

The Queen’s head snapped up at the loud noise and desperate eyes were directed at her husband and the healer. Looking into the frightened face of his wife caused the King to feel even more helpless.

“Thanduil, he cannot breathe,” she cried nearly hysterical while tears were running down her face. Snapping out of his stupor, Thanduil quickly crossed the room and sat down beside her and gathered the distressed child gently in his arms.

“Shht, my son, we are here. Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in the tiny pointed ear, all the while rubbing soothing circles on the elfling´s back. “You must breathe slowly; …in …and out, in…and out….” Like a mantra he repeated the words again and again until the little elfling adopted the softly spoken advice and was able to draw shallow breaths.

Unconsciously following the King’s advice himself, the healer stood helplessly behind the royal couple, knowing all too well that he could do nothing to help the child. He swallowed nervously hoping that the King would be successful in soothing his son, otherwise he really feared for the life of the young prince.

After what seemed like endless minutes and now in the loving embrace of both of his parents the elfling finally calmed down a bit and continued to take shallow breaths. Inhaling deeply, the King carefully lowered the exhausted child back onto his pillows and listened with growing fear to the rattling sound his son made with every painful inhalation of air.

For the sake of their son the Queen held her tears in check, but it was only with a great deal of effort. Looking at the healer, she expected nothing other than the helpless shake of his head he now gave her.

She had seen too many children die over the last days. And her son would be next unless a miracle happened. Having lived in Mirkwood for many long years, she knew that hoping for a miracle would be futile.

When their child had finally succumbed to his exhaustion and closed his eyes Elarinya looked at her husband and saw the same desperation in his eyes that was in her heart. Seeing your child suffering and being unable to help was hard to bear.

Squeezing her hand in an effort to comfort her, the King kept watching over the elfling until his son entered a deeper and a bit more relaxed state. But Thranduil knew clearly that this was merely temporary. The scene from before could repeat itself any moment. A new wave of fear gripped him when he admitted to himself that he would be unable to ease his child’s suffering. In the end, regardless of all their efforts, the elfling would die like all the others had done so far and no one seemed to have the power or skill to prevent it.

Anger flared again in Thranduil´s chest and he balled his fists. If the healers did not find a cure soon he would lose his son and he was being forced to watch this happen helplessly. Looking again at the fitful sleep of his youngest he knew that the last stage of the elfling’s suffering had just started. It would not be long now and the end would come. Silently the King stood and took the shivering frame of his wife into his arms; the laboured and painful breaths from their child tormenting their ears.

For long moments they stood there holding each other and tried to shut out the horrible images that plagued their minds every waking minute. Seeing that he could do nothing more and being unwilling to disturb this intimate moment the healer discreetly left the room.

Holding his wife close Thranduil´s mind reeled. How could this be? Elves did not become sick! When did this start? He could clearly remember, when he received the first reports, about elves falling ill…….

To be continued…………………….

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 3: the plague

A few weeks earlier

Not really able to believe what he had just heard, the King of Mirkwood again repeated to himself the message his scout had delivered just a few moments ago.

A mysterious plague was spreading from the southern reaches of the great forest and had now nearly reached the area where Thranduil´s stronghold was located. The illness, characterized by high fever and a severe lung infection, not only affected the humans that lived in little settlements at the outskirts of the great forest; it also affected elves in the same manner, which was unbelievable.

Thranduil had not really believed the messages at first. What was this new devilry? The elven folk were normally not troubled with illness, thank the Valar. Fever was known, yes, but only when it was caused by infection or injury. However the reports about ill people, elves and men alike, increased and soon he took the reports very seriously.

Like his healers, the King had no experience with the consequences of being ill. He was convinced of how grave the situation was when he rode out toward some of the smaller settlements and saw the first dead elflings there. He was shaken by the desperate situations he was forced to witness.

It was reported to him that the children suddenly became ill without warning. They developed a high fever and weren’t able to keep down food. Within a short span of time they were troubled with a severe lung infection, which made proper breathing nearly impossible and soon afterwards they died.

Thranduil saw elflings die in their parent’s arms by suffocation, but the healers had never experienced anything like this. They could not explain how the lungs could get filled up with mucus so quickly, and they were unable to remove the liquid.

Feeling helpless and desperate himself; he tried to bring reassurance and promised to do all in his power to fight against this new threat. However, he knew that he stood there with empty hands. His healers were good at treating wounds, setting bones, removing arrow-heads and fighting against poisons, but with such a simple illness they had little experience. Although, the King thought grimly, this illness could no longer be called simple.

To complete his observational tour, even though he had seen enough to fill his nightmares for years to come; he visited some of the human settlements. There he saw the same horror, but it was even worse. While among the elves seemingly only the children were affected, the humans died irregardless of their age. He had to reject pleas for help with a heavy heart. He did not even know how to help his own people.

Returning to the palace, he immediately summoned his healers to discuss the best, and even more importantly, the quickest course of action. They could not waste any time. The plague had targeted the heart of the elven folk:  their children. Elflings were scarce during the last years of the ever-growing shadow. Each one was treasured and seen as a real hope against the diminishing of the elven race.

While in council the next day with his healers and advisors, the next blow fell. A messenger reported that the plague raged not only in Mirkwood; but that the other Elven realms were also affected. Fatigued and on edge, because they were not making any progress the King dismissed the messenger with an angry shake of his head. He could not afford to worry about the other Elven refuges.

After dismissing his councillors the King sat alone in his office. Weariness and worry were etched onto his face. Foul beasts they could fight against; they stopped them at their borders every day with vigour. But against an illness they were helpless. No warrior could stop or battle an infection.

Looking out of the great window with unseeing eyes, he clearly remembered the evening before when his oldest son Galadhion had come into his study and sat down, tired, on the other side of his desk. He had looked hopefully at the face of his eldest, but when he saw the thin line of his tightly pressed lips, he knew that the news his son was bringing him would not lift the burden from his shoulders.

After looking for permission to speak, the crown prince sat up straight. “I don’t know how to proceed. All our actions lead nowhere. None of the herbs and medicines we provide for the suffering show any effect. We keep the little ones inside, separate them from each other, and give them special food, but...nothing.”

The last word was a mere whisper while Galadhion slammed a fist down onto the armrest of the chair in anger. Thranduil rose and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. He knew all to well how the sight of a dying elfling could affect one’s stability and he knew how his son felt right now. Galadhion had a gentle heart, even if he tried not to show it on the outside. The crown prince took his responsibility to serve his father’s realm very seriously and being unable to remove a threat was something the younger elf could not accept.

Returning to his seat, they sat in silence for a while, both father and son lost in their own thoughts. Again the King’s mind drifted and he recalled the horror on his wife’s face when the first reports about dying children arrived at the palace. Thranduil´s youngest son was an elfling after all. Fortunately the plague had not reached the palace yet, but the King feared that this was only a matter of time.

Seeing Galadhion fidgeting in his seat Thranduil narrowed his eyes, knowing all too well that his son had come to some decision and was now not sure how to present it to him. If Galadhion made such a fuss, the King knew that he would not like what he wanted to say.

“What is it?” he asked nonetheless, bracing himself for what was to come. Swallowing Galadhion looked up to meet his father’s eyes and took a deep breath. “We should send word to Master Elrond of Rivendell. Maybe he has a ….”

Having dreaded his reaction, the King’s oldest stopped short, when he saw the anger that flashed in his father’s eyes. “No!” Thranduil replied sharply, while rising from his chair. “We will master this on our own, like we always have. We surely do not need the help of that Half-Elf.”

Thranduil shook his head unwillingly. How could his oldest come up with such an idea? Being afflicted by this new threat from the surrounding shadow, their need was dire, yes; but to allow this Noldo into his wood would be unacceptable. Given time, his healers would find a cure. Of that he was sure. Lowering his eyes momentarily the King thought the topic closed.

Desperation and weariness, however, were getting the better of him. Galadhion rose, standing now only inches from his father’s taut posture. “Adar, he’s the best healer in all Middle-Earth, perhaps he….”

Thranduil´s head snapped up and he glared at his son. Again Galadhion was taken aback by his father’s strong reaction. “I said no, and don’t say another word, Galadhion. We will not ask the Lord of Imladris to help us.”

Galadhion sighed; he knew when he should say no more. He knew about the old hostility between Mirkwood and Imladris, but had hoped that over the years it had vanished or at least dampened somewhat.

Both father and son fell silent, trying to cope with their anger. Galadhion was frustrated that he had not managed to make his father see reason. He had hoped that this situation was dire enough to let the past rest, but his father had crushed his hope instantly.

Just when Galadhion thought he could no longer bear the awkward silence between them, the door burst open and Elarinya, his mother, ran into the room.

Thranduil´s eyes widened but then his features froze, seeing the desperate expression on his wife’s face. She looked straight at her husband, unaware of the tension between Thranduil and her eldest son.

Dreading to ask what had upset her, while already fearing the answer, the King strode quickly through the great room to take her in his arms. He was shaken when he felt her trembling in his embrace.

“What is it?” he asked as calmly as he could, while directing a warning glance toward his eldest not to mention his suggestion again.

“Saeron is sick,” she whispered looking at her husband with watery eyes. All too clear in her mind’s eye were the images of the dead elflings and she knew that nothing could be done for the little ones once the illness had taken over.

The King closed his eyes while Galadhion gasped in horror. Half an hour earlier he had consulted with the healers, and again they had been unable to tell him anything new.

While holding his wife close to him, the King’s mind reeled. The plague had reached the palace. How could he have hoped that this would never happen? Illness could not be stopped from invading, not even by magical gates.

The argument with his father momentarily forgotten Galadhion stood there as frozen. His worst nightmare had become reality. His little brother was infected! Unable to form a coherent thought, he looked helplessly at his parents holding each other in mutual despair.

After regaining some of his composure Thranduil released his wife, and they both left the room and ran down the corridor toward the room of their youngest. Galadhion stared after them, unable to comprehend his father’s actions in this situation. Shaking his head sadly the crown prince headed after his parents, determined not to give up so easily. His brother’s life was at stake and maybe his father would be more compliant after he had seen his sick child.

Silently Thranduil opened the door to his son’s chamber, Elarinya squeezed past him and hurried toward the bed the healer she had bade to watch over her son while she was gone. Thornil, the master healer of the King’s staff stepped back from the bed to make room for his Queen, and directed an uncertain look toward the King standing at the foot of the bed. He had dreaded this moment. The royal couple would ask him questions he could not answer and vent their anger at him for not being able to present any solution.

Thornil had served at the King’s court for so long now and had always managed to do his work to the King’s satisfaction – until now. He was at a complete loss. How could elves get sick in the first place? Why did the plague only affect children? What frightened him the most was the aggressiveness of the illness. From the first signs to death lay only a few weeks, two months at the most.

Not acknowledging the healer’s gaze Thranduil sat down on the edge of the mattress, opposite his wife. He looked down at the small form of his youngest. Saeron was such a lively child. He had never known trouble or fear or something that would threaten his life – until today. While Elarinya took a small hand in hers, Thranduil touched the youth’s forehead lightly. Hot! The boy glowed and stirred restlessly in his uneasy sleep and, most frightening of all, he had his eyes closed.

Knowing that the healer could not help right now, Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. Had they not suffered enough? Had the ever encroaching shadow not set them on edge every day? Was that not enough? The Valar must truly hate them.

Before his thoughts could go any further he sighed and stood. Grazing the healer with a not-to-gentle gaze borne of his own helplessness, he hurried out of the room. Elarinya looked bewildered after her husband but remained where she was; stroking her son’s flushed cheeks and singing a soft lullaby to calm him.

Out of the room, the King leaned against the wall, trying to compose himself. He had never felt so helpless. Hearing someone approach, he looked up and saw Galadhion leaving his brother’s room. Looking at his father Galadhion knew he had to try again. He would not stand by, to see his brother die. He had to do something, even if this would focus his father’s wrath on him. For the first time he was determined to act, if necessary, against his father’s wishes.

Steeling himself Galadhion took a deep breath. “Adar, the infection is fresh and has not yet affected his lungs, please let me contact Lord Elrond….” Again Galadhion was unable to finish his sentence, so shocked was he when he saw the new anger flaming in his father’s eyes.

With a much too low and controlled voice that shook Galadhion to the core, the King replied. “For the last time, Galadhion, stop this. You cannot ask this of me. I will hear no more of this.”

Knowing that he had already stepped over his limits and hearing the soft sobs of his mother, Galadhion threw all caution to the wind. “Adar, Saeron is going to die! I will not stand by and wait until it is over. I cannot and I will not let this happen. Your son is dying because you are choking on your pride.”

Thranduil stared at him for a second; turned without saying a word and walked away. Galadhion closed his mouth and tried to control himself looking after the retreating form of his father. Angrily he blinked back his tears. His worry and desperation had gotten the better of him. Fine, he knew he had gone too far. His father was furious, but if he could rescue his little brother, than it would be worth it.

Nonetheless Galadhion was shaken. What had come over him? How could he have spoken to his father like that? He knew he would have to apologize, but not now. He took a deep breath and turned, knowing exactly what he had to do.

To be continued…………………………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 4: shadows of the past

The Master of Rivendell looked up tiredly, when he heard a knock on his study door. He rubbed his temples to ease the headache that had taken permanent residence there. Again he had spent hours in his workroom to find a cure against the mysterious plague that was spreading through Middle Earth, but to no avail so far.

When the first reports had reached his doorstep about ill elves, how the illness affected them, and how the plague always ended, he could not, at first, believe what he was hearing. This infection was like nothing he had seen or heard about before. The time between the first symptoms to death was very short and there were no clues to help him find an antidote.

Fortunately the plague hadn’t reached Imladris yet, but Elrond had no illusions; it was only a matter of time. And when it did reach his valley, he wanted to be prepared. Maybe the seclusion of his valley and the power of Vilya would spare them but he was not willing to take any risks.

But what had he achieved so far? Nothing! He had developed an experimental antidote, yes, but how could he test it? No one was ill in Imladris, which was a blessing; but it was also a misfortune in this in this instance. He had no idea if the antidote would work; yet he had no choice but to wait until he could find out.

He was frustrated, he was angry, and he was afraid. This could not be! For every illness there was a cure, he only had to find it. The strangest thing about this illness was the fact that it affected men and elves alike. There seemed to be no barrier between the two races, something that made the plague even more dangerous.

He had received horrible reports from nearby human settlements about the terror that raged there but he could provide no help. He had ended all travelling between Imladris and other elven realms or settlements in order to stop the infection from accidentally entering into his valley until he had found an antidote or a cure for the illness. Knowing that he could not enforce this embargo for long he tried feverishly to understand the nature of the illness so that he could protect his people from possible exposure to the illness. He had to reject the desperate pleas for help from outside. He did not even know how to help his own people.

When the knock repeated he quickly stopped his whirling thoughts and bade the visitor to enter. A servant bowed when he had stepped before his desk handing him a message. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my Lord, but this letter has just arrived and it seems most urgent.”

The Elf-Lord sighed. ”Another one”, he thought.But then he looked up in alarm. How had this letter come to Rivendell? Seeing the Elf-Lord´s expression the servant hurried to explain. “The letter was brought by a carrier pigeon, my Lord.” Releasing his breath slowly Elrond looked at the letter, unwilling to open it. But then again he could not ignore it.

Dismissing the servant he took the parchment and looked at the wax seal. His heart beat faster when he recognized the emblem of King Thranduil. Now what he had dreaded was about to happen. The Woodland King was asking for help and he could provide none, nor was he willing to let anyone enter or leave his valley; including himself.

Taking up the opener he looked at the letter thoughtfully. He had sent many letters concerning the plague toward Mirkwood, yet he had not received an answer, until now. He knew, of course, that the Elven King still blamed him for events long past, and that his stubbornness towards contacting him was a result of this.

However, before he had the chance to break the seal, another knock sounded on his door. “Come”, the Elf-Lord called and a small smile instantly returned to his tired face when his wife slipped into the room. Walking straight toward him, she slung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Returning the kiss, he savoured her welcoming presence; the letter momentarily forgotten.

When they broke apart, Celebrían looked her husband over. “You look tired, my dear. You should take a break.” Elrond smiled knowing that she was right, as always, and resisting her was hopeless anyway.

“Maybe you are right,” he confessed. “How are the boys?” he asked, a sudden fear rising in his heart. Sitting down on the edge of the massive desk, she smiled. “Oh, they are asleep already.” When she saw the concern in her husband´s eyes she quickly added. “Don’t worry; they had too many adventures today. They are simply tired.”

Letting out a sigh the Elf-Lord sank back into his chair. After a while Celebrían pointed at the seemingly forgotten parchment on the desk. “What’s this?” she asked curiously, recognizing the seal from Mirkwood.

Elrond jerked up from his musings and took the letter. “A message from King Thranduil,” he answered while slowly breaking the wax seal and ripping the letter open.

Knowing that her husband had tried countless times to contact the King regarding the illness Celebrían raised an eyebrow. “Ah, at last, what does it say?” Elrond raised an amused eyebrow. With a teasing tone he replied. “I have not even had the time to read it yet!”

Celebrían changed her seat from the desk to her husband’s lap and looked at him earnestly. “Then you should stop talking and read it!” Elrond chuckled. He was doomed. With this wife he was doomed.

Lord Elrond,

I don’t know where to start. You surely have heard about the plague. I hope the illness has not reached your valley yet, as it has my home.

We have many dead to mourn, especially children. Our healers are powerless against the aggressiveness of the plague.

I hope you are working on an antidote and I hope you are successful, because one of the newly infected is my little brother Saeron. You surely know as well as I do, that the illness ends in death every time.

Of course I know of the enmity between our realms and my father has forbidden me to contact you, but…If you can help, then I beg you to come.

I know you have no reasons to do this, but you have two elflings of your own and my brother is only three years old….

I know my father can be very stubborn about all matters, and I love him. I don’t want to disgrace him, but I cannot understand why the hard feelings between two Elf-Lords should cost me the life of my brother. If you feel the same way about this, please consider my words.

Kind regards,

Galadhion Thranduilion.

Seeing that the letter was not from the Woodland King, but from his eldest son, the Elf-Lord was unable to hide his surprise, especially because it had been sent without the King’s knowledge.

However, the desperation the letter showed touched his heart and his dilemma was back again. How could he possibly leave his valley with the dread hovering over them? But how could he ignore this plea for help? Elrond closed his eyes.

Suddenly angry he crumbled the parchment and threw it on the floor. What were they thinking? That they could just knock on his door and he would provide the solutions to all problems in the world?

*Stop it!* When he heard his wife’s sharp mental command he startled and looked into her grey eyes. “Stop this, my love,” she said aloud more gently. “You know you are the only one, who can find a cure, if one exists. Give yourself time.”

Regaining his composure, he nodded wearily. “The tragedy is that any time left is short.” Celebrían sighed. “I know, but you should rest now. In your state you wouldn’t recognize a solution if it danced on your desk right now.”

Elrond smiled. He rose and laid an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?” he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Leaving the room with his arm around her shoulder, Celebrían whispered, “What are you going to do? About the letter, I mean?” Hearing the slightly irritated tone in his wife´s voice the Elf-Lord stopped and turned to look at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully while already guessing what it was that had upset her.

Taking a deep breath and with guilt in her eyes the elven lady looked at her husband. “You are not really considering leaving Rivendell? What if the plague reaches us here and you are away? What if the boys get ill?” she added with a near whisper. Lowering her eyes she knew that her request was selfish and heartless, but….

Knowing that only the fear for their children drove her to speak thus, Elrond stepped closer and embraced her. What should he tell her? He didn´t want to leave his home but what if the antidote was working? He could only test this on ill people. Should he wait until the plague reached his home to learn that the medicine was useless; or should he seize the chance and test it before anyone in Imladris had need of it?

The factor that threw all considerations into a whirl however was time; the short span the ill had until they died, the time he would still need to complete the antidote, and the time he would need to reach Mirkwood, help the elves there, and return. It would take at least five weeks at the best and many more at the worst. What if anyone here became ill while he was away?

Opening his mind while still holding his wife, Elrond let her partake in his fears and thoughts in the hope she would understand or see a solution where he could not. Her silent crying at his chest however confirmed that she was as desperate as he was.

Looking up she sought his eyes. “I understand that you must go, even if I do not like it.” Knowing what he was asking of his wife, in fact asking from all the inhabitants of Rivendell, the healer closed his eyes; silently thanking his wife for her understanding and support and at the same time sending a fervent prayer toward the Valar to spare his valley this illness.

“I will leave as soon as all is prepared. I will leave a sufficient amount of the antidote for all eventualities. Exchanging a deep kiss they stood there holding each other tightly.

To be continued…………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 5: what shall we do?

Thranduil jerked up, feeling a light touch on his shoulder. He blinked, when he saw that is was already dawn. With a quick look around he wondered where his wife had gone. He had not intended to fall asleep.

“You should rest, Ada. I will sit with him,” Galadhion said while glancing at his father, trying to judge his mood. He was sure that the King had not forgotten about their dispute a few hours earlier. He sighed inwardly, when his father didn’t seem to notice his anguish. The King´s mind might seem too occupied with worry to sense the tension inside his eldest but Galadhion knew better.

Under the surface his father was still angry over his request and would not be so easily placated nor could he hope that his father would consider his words. Thranduil was disappointed with him and made no secret of this and that was hard to bear for the crown prince. He always tried hard to please his father and merit his approval. Not an easy thing if said person was both father and King at once.

Thranduil glanced over to the large bed, where his youngest son lay. He could barely distinguish the pale face from the white linen of the pillow. Nonetheless the boy seemed to breathe easy enough, even if was still laboured.

With a reluctant nod he rose from the chair he had spent the night in and walked toward the door; but he did it without looking at Galadhion.

Suddenly Saeron’s breaths became ragged again and he struggled to inhale properly. Having nearly reached the door Thranduil spun around and returned quickly to his son’s bedside. After sitting down on the edge of the mattress he lifted the small fragile body up and held him gently against his chest, all the while rubbing soothing circles over his back and murmuring quietly. “Shht, little one, calm down, I’m here,” he whispered into the elfling´s ear.

Galadhion stood there shocked. How often would this scene have to repeat itself the crown prince wondered with increasing frustration? “Fetch the healer,” Thranduil ordered with a controlled tone still not looking at his eldest. Galadhion swallowed. He knew this tone all too well. His father was still angry.

Looking at his struggling brother and the rigid back of his father one last time Galadhion turned and hurried out of the room. Again, the healers would not be able to help. Nonetheless he ran down the corridor toward the healing ward. Maybe they had managed to find something by now that would help his brother.

Meanwhile the King rocked his youngest back and forth and spoke softly to him, yet it didn’t calm the boy this time. On the contrary, the desperate attempts to draw breath grew more and more frantic. The King struggled to breathe himself when he saw the panic in the elfling´s eyes; eyes that could not understand why he did not help like he always had previously. An icy fear grabbed at Thranduil´s heart at his fruitless attempts to calm his little son.

After a few more ineffective intakes of breath Saeron went limp in his father’s arms. Releasing a strangled sob and in near panic Thranduil grabbed the boy at his shoulders and shook him gently. “No, please, don’t do this to me. Saeron come on, you must breathe,” he shouted with tears in his eyes.

Having heard the shouts; the door burst open and Mirkwood´s chief healer hurried inside, Elarinya and Galadhion on his heels. The Queen’s face went pale when she looked at the motionless form of her child. Shocked she sought the eyes of her husband. She had just left to consult with the healers and had not been away for more than half an hour. The boy had seemed well then and now he looked like he was already dead.

Rushing past his Queen Thondil stepped in front of the King and stretched out his arms. Wordlessly Thranduil handed the still body over, only just now recognizing how badly his hands trembled. Thondil took the boy quickly and laid him flat on his back on the rumpled sheets of the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he dipped a linen cloth in a bowl he had brought with him. The air was suddenly filled with the intense scent of herbs. The healer quickly pressed the sodden cloth over the boy’s mouth and nose and forced the elfling to inhale. He knew that the boy still inhaled, even though it was much too shallow to provide the lungs with enough air. He hoped that the scent of the herbs would get past the fluid blocking the lungs and relax the cramped muscles a bit.

Elarinya had moved closer and fearfully grabbed her husband’s arm when she saw the already bluish tinge of her babe’s lips. Endless minutes passed, while no one dared to breathe. Silent tears ran down the Queen’s face, while she watched the desperate attempts of the healer to coax the boy to inhale again. Galadhion had grabbed the wooden foot board of the bed so hard that his knuckles turned white. The King showed no outward reaction, only staring intently at his child. Yet his still trembling hands betrayed the lie of his calm appearance.

Finally the boy took a shuddering breath. Elarinya´s knees went weak at this sight. Only the quick reaction of her husband saved her from falling onto the floor. Steadying his wife by holding his arms secure around her waist, Thranduil looked anxiously at the face of his little son, when he tried to inhale again. The process was slow and painful and everyone in the room feared that he would not manage to take another breath. But then he took another much needed intake of air and another….

Thondil wiped the sweat-covered little face with a wet towel and watched as the breathing stabilized. He let out his breath in relief after the boy had calmed down enough to sleep. The lips had lost their bluish tinge but now the cheeks were again flushed from the fever. This time they were lucky but what would happen when the next seizure came? The lungs of the infected people were full of mucus, which slowly but surely brought death through suffocation.

Elarinya could barely watch the struggle of her child. “I can’t stand this any longer,” she whispered and buried her face in her hands while silent sobs shook her slender body. The King’s face was a mask. How could he have hoped that his son would be spared? But what should he do?

“Naneth,” Galadhion said into the silence while stepping next to his mother. He could not bear the heartbroken anguish any longer. “Do not despair. I’ve sent for help.”

The words had barely left his mouth when three heads snapped up and looked at him. Galadhion involuntarily stepped back. His mother’s red rimmed eyes looked confused; the healer’s reflected surprise and the King’s eyes narrowed with incredulity.

Disentangling herself from her husband’s hold, Elarinya turned toward her son. “What do you mean by that?” she asked while looking intently at her eldest.

Knowing that there was no way back now, Galadhion swallowed nervously with a side glance at his father. “I’ve sent Lord Elrond of Rivendell a message with the request to help; if he has any cure for this plague that is. I sent a carrier pigeon a few hours ago. It should reach Rivendell by nightfall.”

Stunned speechless the Queen contemplated what her eldest had just told her. She knew of course how hostile the atmosphere was between the two elven realms and she could not imagine how the Master Healer from the hidden valley would react to such a request. But the greatest surprise to her was that her husband had agreed to such a request.

The silence beside her, however, startled her and she turned to look at her beloved’s face and there she got her next surprise. She had never seen so much anger in her husband’s eyes, at least not directed at a family member. She was shocked. What was going on here? Had Galadhion acted on his own, or had the King known about the request and forbidden sending a message? Had Galadhion acted against his father’s wishes and sent the letter anyway? Judging by the stormy expression on the King’s face she guessed the latter assumption was right.

Before she had a chance to ask for an answer to her many questions, the King grabbed his son’s arm and dragged him out of the room leaving his stunned wife and his chief healer behind. Outside the room he pushed Galadhion against the corridor wall and stared hard at his son. “I repeat your mother’s question. What do you mean with that statement?” he asked in a low voice.

Galadhion momentarily held his father’s gaze, but then quickly dropped his eyes. “Please, Adar, I only want to rescue my little brother,” he stammered suddenly not so sure he had done the right thing anymore.

Stepping back a pace Thranduil took a deep breath. “And what do you think I want to do, huh? This Half-elf cannot help us!” the King shouted. Cringing at his father’s sharp tone Galadhion looked up.

“But, Adar, nothing had helped so far, maybe…..”

With a wave of his hand Thranduil stopped his son. “Stop, this Galadhion. I - do - not - want – that Noldor in my house. He is to blame for the death of your grandfather and so many others. He’s not the one who can rescue my son!”

Having nothing to lose now Galadhion shuddered, knowing that he walked on treacherous ground. “But, Ada it’s over 3000 years past, should you not try ….? Galadhion stopped stunned, when he looked at his father’s face.

The King’s irate expression had suddenly vanished and was replaced by a sadness that nearly took the younger´s breath away. “Ada?” Galadhion whispered, his voice quivering.

Stepping further back the King turned. “Do not tell me what to do. You may go. You have betrayed me.” With that the King re-entered the room of his youngest, leaving a shaken and miserable Galadhion behind.

The words hit him like a physical blow. Galadhion looked bewildered after his father and staggered back until he banged against the opposite corridor wall. He had managed to destroy the trust his father had in him. The disappointment he had seen in his father’s eyes would leave a scar on both of their hearts.

Forlorn, he stood there a few more minutes, momentarily at a loss about what to do. He wanted nothing more than to rush back into the room, beg for forgiveness, and explain everything to his mother, but he could not. He knew from experience that his father would not listen to him now. Suppressing the tears that threatened to spill, he walked down the corridor. “I hope you are as good as people say, Elrond Half-elven”, he prayed silently.

When Thranduil re-entered the room and sat down on the bed again, he saw to his immense relief that his youngest had relaxed and was sleeping now. With a thankful nod he released the healer and looked at his wife. Seeing her imploring gaze, he took a deep intake of breath and braced himself against the unavoidable question that would come now.

Elarinya grabbed the hand of her husband and looked him in the eye. “What did Galadhion mean ‘help is on the way’?” she asked, her tone a mixture of irritation and hope.

Shifting to better face her Thranduil sighed. “Galadhion has send Elrond a letter with a request for help; against my wishes,” the King added sadly, barely able to suppress the anger that was rising again.

The Queen gasped. Her assumptions were right then, but why had Galadhion been tempted to act thus? But then, when she listened to the laboured breathing of her child, she knew the answer and could understand the intentions of her eldest. The Master Healer of Imladris was not known as the best healer in all of Middle Earth for nothing. Maybe he could provide help where their own healers had failed thus far. The more she thought about that, the better she could understand her son’s actions. But going against his father’s wishes was something she could hardly approve of.

Seeing the many emotions flittering over his wife’s face, Thranduil looked at her in bewilderment. “Do not say that you agree with him!” Thranduil growled. When a shudder ran through the slim frame of his wife and tears gathered again in her eyes, he quickly stood and embraced her, feeling ashamed about his harsh words. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, holding his beloved tight.

Elarinya relaxed a bit and raised weary eyes at her husband.

“I understand your anger, but maybe Galadhion is right and Elrond can help us?” she whispered frustrated over the entangled situation.

Releasing his wife the King sat back down on the bed heavily; still wanting to keep a watchful eye on his youngest sleep. Deep down in his heart he knew that his eldest was right and that the Lord of Imladris was maybe their last, or worse, their only chance to save his son and all the other elflings. Had the long years of his hard life made him so bitter that he could no longer accept help, that he could no longer see reason? But Elrond…of all elves why did it have to be Elrond?!

Seeing the battle raging inside her husband’s heart Elarinya kept silent hoping that the King could work out his feelings for the best. She would not interfere with his wishes as long as he acted reasonably. But she would also seize every chance to save her son; even if it meant going against her husband’s wishes. The way that Galadhion had acted was not right, but the reasons behind his actions were sound.

Seeing her husband clenching his fists Elarinya knew that the King could not so easily overcome old grudges and his pride. She wanted to show him that she stood by his side, but also that dire situations needed courageous decisions.

“Do not overreact. Do not be too harsh with Galadhion. We must think of Saeron now. You two can work this out later. Maybe that’s the best course of action.”

The King’s ire was still high, but nonetheless he nodded. “I’m just so disappointed in Galadhion. He could have asked me again and….” The King trailed off, knowing that he was lying to himself.

“Would you have listened to him?” Elarinya asked knowingly while tenderly grabbing her beloved’s hands again.

Shaking his head unwillingly Thranduil rose and planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “You are right. We will talk about this later. It’s only….”

“What?” Elarinya queried, as the King trailed off again.

“I do not know how to face Elrond,” Thranduil confessed softly.

Now a real smile broke across the Queen’s face. “Let me help you. I will always stand by your side.” Sighing deeply Thranduil kissed her again. “I know and therefore I’m forever grateful.”

Together they took their places on the bed again, watching over their youngest.

To be continued………………………

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 6:  journey into darkness

Stepping through the main entrance of the Last Homely House the Master of Rivendell stopped his long strides when he spotted his two elflings standing on the steps with their arms crossed over their chests and identical expressions of defiance on their little faces. Feeling annoyed and raising an eyebrow at his wife who was standing right next to him, he sighed knowing what his sons would demand. He thought the matter had been settled already.

Although he did not have the time to go through all the arguments again, he knelt down so that he was at eye level with his sons. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, but softened his tone when he saw the lower lip of the younger twin begin to tremble. The children did not understand the reason why he had to depart so suddenly. He had not left the valley since their birth and now he had to leave for an unknown amount of time and to a place that was foreign to them.

“Why can we not come with you?” two identical voices asked softly never taking their anxious eyes from their father’s face. Dropping his already-packed travel bag on the ground the Master of Imladris took a deep breath and contemplated how to best explain why he must depart and why they could not come along.

“Elladan, Elrohir, we have spoken about this already. In Lasgalen there are many ill elves and therefore it is too dangerous for you to come with me. Besides it is a long and dangerous journey and we could not leave your Naneth all alone, could we?”

Looking uncertain at their mother, the two little elflings shook their heads slowly. “No”, was the reluctant answer from the younger twin. Elladan however was not so easily placated. “But why do you have to go at all? Elves do not get ill, you have said so yourself.”

The Master of Imladris sighed again and looked straight at his sons. “That’s right, but somehow in this case, even elves are affected, and there are many ill elflings. I must go because they need my help. We are not to question the will of the Valar. I will be back as soon as possible,” Elrond promised, kissing each of his sons on the forehead. Since he received no further questions he started to rise. Even though he thought he had convinced them, he was mistaken. At least his older twin was not willing to give up without a fight.

“But…but the King of the wood elves hates you!” Elladan blurted out knowing of no other way to get his father’s attention back.

Elrond head snapped up at this statement clearly not produced by the elfling´s mind. He suspected he knew the culprit behind this already, but he asked nonetheless. “Who said that?” Shifting nervously, the elflings looked uncomfortably at each other. Celebrían laid a hand on her husband’s shoulder in a comforting and sympathetic gesture.

“Yes?” Elrond demanded barely able to suppress a grin since no answer was forthcoming. “Glorfindel,” Elladan whispered and looked quickly at the golden warrior standing beside his father.

The Master of Imladris let out his breath slowly and turned to face his councillor. Glofindel met his gaze steadily. “And that’s exactly why you will accompany me - to protect me from the mighty King of Mirkwood. Right, Glorfindel?” Elrond said sarcastically, finally rising to his feet.

Glorfindel was not impressed and inclined his head. “Right, my Lord, always at your service.” Kneeling down the blond elf pulled the little elflings into his arms and embraced them. ”Don’t worry young ones, no harm will befall your Ada.” Both elflings returned the hug and smiled again, ever confident in the mighty warrior.

Elrond smiled at the loving gesture Glorfindel bestowed on his sons and turned to embrace his wife. He held her close, feeling clearly the tension in her body “Good bye, my love. I will be back as soon as possible. I have left a considerable amount of the antidote and exact instructions should the need arise,” he whispered in her ear, earning a desperate nod.

“I hope we will have no need. Without your presence the success would be futile anyway.” Nodding mutely Elrond knew all too well that she was right. Celebrían held her husband tight for a few minutes more. “Be careful. I hope you will be successful and please greet Elarinya for me.”

“I will,” Elrond replied and withdrew before his emotions could get the better of him. He grabbed his travelling bag holding the precious vials he hoped would bring healing and mounted his horse.

Celebrían stepped forward and before the golden haired warrior could mount she embraced him too. “Take care of him and yourself too,” she whispered into his pointed ear.

Glorfindel returned the embrace with a whispered pledge, the only reassurance she needed. The Lady of Rivendell and her little sons stood there on the steps and waved until the two Elf-Lords rode past the gates and were out of sight. Celebrían sent a silent prayer to the Valar that the plague would spare her beloved home or be delayed at least until her husband had returned. But with the power of Vilya gone the valley’s protection was not as strong as usual.

Sensing the inner turmoil of his mother but not able to fathom the reason behind it Elladan looked up at her. “Nana, why is the King of Mirkwood so angry with father?” he asked raising his arms, demanding to be picked up. Elrohir mirrored the gesture not wanting to be left out and the fair haired Lady scooped both boys into her arms.

Smiling at them she considered the question carefully. “That’s a long and sad story,” she answered and was instantly aware of the trap she had walked into.

“We always love…..” Elladan began, “…. Long and sad stories,” Elrohir finished. “Will you tell us?” both boys inquired.

She thought for a moment on how to tell the complex story about the complicated relationship the two elves shared without scaring the children too much. Finally after considering her course of action, she smiled at the expectant faces. “I will,” she said earning a hug from both her sons.

………………………………………..

Glorfindel watched the Master of Imladris quietly as they rode side by side through the silent forest. They had entered the realm of the Elven King a few hours ago and no guards had stopped them but Glorfindel was sure they were there, silently watching their every move, hidden in the thick foliage of the dark forest.

Elrond had not spoken a word since the morning had dawned. He was wandering in memories and lost in thoughts concerning their upcoming meeting with the Elven King. Glorfindel heightened his senses to detect any danger in time, because he doubted that his Lord would notice a threat quickly enough in his preoccupied state.

They had nearly reached the inner circle of Mirkwood; which was well protected and watched; and Glorfindel expected a patrol to appear any minute. The Imladris elves had no way of knowing if their presence had been announced to the King already.

The gloom around them was darkening and Glorfindel guessed that the sun was dropping behind the horizon; something that was not easy to tell with the thick canopy overhead producing an ever-present twilight. Mirkwood was not a place to travel by night, especially not for elves that were unfamiliar with the dangers of this great forest at any rate.

Reining in his mount, Glorfindel stopped when he spotted a little clearing ahead. “We should make camp here and continue at sunrise. I wouldn’t like an arrow in my back because of an over nervous border guard who mistook us for orcs.”

Not as unaware as Glorfindel had guessed Elrond sighed and stopped reluctantly. He looked warily around, not feeling comfortable in this depressing forest. “I don’t think that would happen. I would appreciate some rest though.”

Sighing in relief Glorfindel dismounted and looked amused at his friend, while he stretched his aching back after dismounting. “You should change your desk chair for a horse’s back more often,” he teased lightly.

“Perhaps you are right”, Elrond replied with a wry grin. “I think I am growing old.”

Glorfindel smiled while brushing down their mounts while the Master of Rivendell was busy collecting fallen logs to kindle a small fire. After finishing the grooming and providing the horses with some treats Glorfindel joined his friend at the fire. “If you are old, what does that make me then?”

Elrond smiled; wise enough not to answer this question. Glorfindel had again managed to lighten his mood. After sharing a quick and cold meal, the dark haired Elf-Lord stretched out on his bedroll beside Glorfindel next to the fire and looked at the stars. Through the silently swaying tree tops he could glimpse some of them. Looking at them from a slightly different angle than at home, he let their light and their steady presences comfort him.

“What bothers you?” Glorfindel suddenly asked, sensing the inner turmoil of his travelling companion. Elrond looked at the golden haired elf startled. “I have thought about tomorrow and what awaits us. Thranduil will not be pleased to see me. In truth I don’t know how to face the King.” Closing his eyes Elrond let out a deep sigh.

Glorfindel turned half around and looked at his friend. “Elrond, you come to help. He knows this,” the warrior replied.

Elrond shook his head lightly. “Have you forgotten how stubborn he can be?” They had once been good friends, brothers in arms, united in their fight against Sauron until that fateful day when King Oropher was killed on the battlefield of Dagorlad and his people were decimated to a pitiful reminder of their former strength and glory. Elrond closed his eyes when the memories came crushing back. To his memory it seemed only yesterday.

Sensing clearly the intense emotions Glorfindel sat up, now looking fully at his friend. “No I haven´t, but he fears for the life of his son and for the wellbeing of his people. I think he will change his mind once you have arrived.”

“At this point I think you are wrong, my friend,” Elrond replied sadly. “He is a King with a heart that cannot forgive and forget. Long years of toil and grief have made him bitter.”

Knowing that he could not convince his Lord this night and in fact unsure about how the King would react, Glorfindel let the matter drop. “Try to rest. I fear there will be little opportunity during the next few days.” Elrond nodded and looked again at the stars, he would rest his weary body but sleep would not come to him this night.

Both elves were unaware of the many eyes watching them; ever vigilantly guarding them to make sure that no harm would come to the two Elf-Lords, so unfamiliar with the dangerous forest.

……………………………………………

Elrond awoke early the next morning, astounded that sleep had finally claimed him. He rose quickly, anxious to resume their journey. As he turned he looked at the grinning face of Glorfindel.

“Have you slept well, my friend?” the blonde elf teased, knowing how furious Elrond would be when realizing that he had fallen asleep, despite his former claim.

“You should have woken me. It’s far too dangerous in this forest to be unaware,” the Elven Lord replied annoyed; even though it was more with himself then with his travelling companion. Glorfindel´s smile brightened. “I wasn’t unaware, and don’t worry there are many eyes watching over us.”

Deliberately misunderstanding the warriors words Elrond shrugged. “Oh, yes, of that I’m sure. For their next meal I suppose.”

Glorfindel grinned, knowing that Elrond had taken the hint. Mirkwood warriors had been following them since the previous day. Even if they were not able to see any of them, they were there. Casually Elrond took a look around, yet he could detect nothing. ‘All right’, he thought. ‘This is Mirkwood and we must play their games.’

After breaking camp they mounted, determined to cross the remaining distance to the palace swiftly. When two guards, dressed in the typical colours of Mirkwood, suddenly dropped from the trees, the Imladris elves stopped their mounts at a safe distance from the armed guards. Having long expected this Elrond and Glorfindel waited patiently.

“Stop!” the guard in front announced. He held his long bow casually by his side but his companion had an arrow notched and trained on the Noldor elves. “You enter the realm of King Thranduil. Who are you?”

Irritated by this overdone display Elrond nonetheless inclined his head. Surely the whole palace knew by now who was arriving but first he must deal with this over agitated guard, otherwise he would get stopped here.

“I’m Master Elrond of Imladris and this is Lord Glorfindel. We seek an audience with your King. He is awaiting us.” Glorfindel grimaced, when he thought about the forced meeting between the two realms. Thranduil would surely not be pleased to see them.

Elrond waited patiently as the guard gave some orders to his companion. Inclining his head toward the Rivendell elves he repeated. “Lord Galadhion has announced your arrival. Master Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, please follow me. I will escort you to the palace.”

Elrond and Glorfindel nodded, and the guards retrieved and mounted their horses. Elrond gazed at Glorfindel; they had no choice but to follow the patrol.

Reaching the courtyard half an hour later, their quiet companions departed without another word and Elrond looked around. Immediately he noticed that the great gates protecting the stronghold stood open. Was this an invitation? Elrond knew that only the King could open and close the gates through some sort of magic. Was Thranduil accepting their visit at last?

Not seeing the King anywhere Elrond doubted that Thranduil was happy with their reunion. When Glorfindel touched his arm lightly, Elrond looked toward the palace entrance and spotted Galadhion, the King’s eldest son standing there. Sighing deeply and ignoring the new affront he dismounted alongside Glorfindel, slowly mounting the steps to greet the younger elf. With a backwards glance he was satisfied that at least their horses were being treated appropriately.

When they had reached the top step Galadhion stepped forward and greeted the two Elves with his hand over his heart and a slight bow. “I’m glad that you are here, both of you,” he added quickly looking at Glorfindel. “I hope your journey was pleasant and uneventful.” Knowing that this was only a formal greeting Elrond inclined his head without answering. Of course Galadhion would have been informed if something had happened to the two travellers.

“Thank you for the welcome, Galadhion. I’m glad to be here and hope we are not too late,” Elrond replied, while watching the younger elf intently.

Knowing that his father was deliberately avoiding the two Rivendell elves Galadhion sighed, relieved that Elrond and Glorfindel did not seen to be affronted, at least not on the outside, and did not blame him. “Just in time”, he stated smiling openly at the new-comers.

“Where is your father, Galadhion?” Glorfindel asked annoyed. There it was. How could he have hoped to overplay this embarrassing situation? Wincing, the dark haired elf directed a pained gaze toward the older warrior, knowing full well how his father was treating his guests.

“He awaits you in his study,” he said an apologetic tone in his voice. Clearly sensing the younger one’s discomfort Glorfindel stepped closer. “It’s not your fault, Galadhion. You have done what you thought right.”

Galadhion nodded not really convinced. He made an inviting gesture and led the Rivendell elves down the long corridor that led to the King’s more private study, after he had ordered some servants to take the visitors’ packs.

Elrond and Glorfindel stopped, when they reached a huge double door. Galadhion hesitated, but eventually he took heart and knocked.

Long seconds passed without a reply. Elrond held his breath, not believing the stubborn behaviour of his once friend. Galadhion stood as anxiously and was about to knock again, when the call came: “Enter!”

Sighing Galadhion opened the door and stepped inside, motioning the visitors to follow. Squaring his shoulders Elrond crossed the threshold closely followed by Glorfindel.

The King stood in front of his desk, casually leaning against it. Elrond however noticed clearly the stiffness and worry the King’s body emanated despite his best efforts to conceal them. He was dressed in casual attire, nothing befitting a welcome for representatives from other realms. Elrond wondered if the King did this on purpose to show them his rejection or if his worries overpowered his sense of diplomacy.

Galadhion bowed before his father. “My Lord, Master Elrond and Lord Glorfindel have just arrived.” He straightened up again; keeping his eyes on the floor the young prince waited uncomfortably for further instructions. An awkward silence stretched between the four elves. Elrond wondered if it lay upon his shoulders to take the first step.

Finally the King gazed at his eldest son. “Very well, leave us alone.” The icy tone made the younger elf cringe. With one last glance at the visitors he bowed and left the room suppressing the urge to run. The silence that again stretched was almost palpable. Elrond and Thranduil only gazed at one another. If the circumstances had not been as dire, it would have been amusing. *What has become of our friendship?* Elrond asked himself sadly and took a deep breath, when he was sure that his voice wouldn’t betray him.

“My Lord King, I come here in this dire hour of need to offer you all the help I’m able to provide.” When it had been said, Elrond was relieved, although at the same time he was angry at himself. How hollow his words had sounded, even to his own ears.

The King however hadn’t even blinked. He only stood there, arrogance himself. Glorfindel took a deep intake of breath to quell the anger rising inside of him. How dare this thick-headed elf greet them in this manner? Surely they had other problems at the moment. He knew how Elrond suffered under the repeated rejection from the King and that made him furious.

Before, however Glorfindel had the chance to vent his anger, the King stepped forward, gazing directly at Elrond. “I do not need your help, Noldor! You came without my asking for it and without my permission.”

Elrond was taken aback and almost stepped back a pace. He had expected the King to be annoyed but these hateful words showed clearly the contempt the King was feeling toward him. A chill ran down his spine. Coming here was a mistake. He had lost precious time. He should have known better. The hope he had harboured of a reunion was crushed.

Intent on leaving the room and departing immediately for home the Master of Rivendell looked up surprised when his advisor stepped forward, until he stood only inches from the King.

Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel said in a very low voice. “You waste time your son and your people don’t have. Can we come to terms, or do you prefer to nurture your ridiculous accusations longer and forfeit the only chance the elves of your realm have?”

Shocked at these clear words Elrond looked at the King, fearing that he would attack Glorfindel right away. Yet Thranduil stepped back with a calm expression on his face, surprising the Rivendell elf once more. If Elrond had hoped however, that the King had changed his mind, he was disappointed the second after. “Go!” the King growled, “Both of you. You are not welcome here.”

Before anyone could recover from this the door burst open, revealing the Queen of Mirkwood. Elrond shuddered when he observed the panic on her face. “Thranduil,” she cried not yet aware of the two elves standing in the middle of the room. “Saeron stopped breathing. The healers cannot help him.”

The situation changed quickly. The anger on Thranduil´s face was replaced by sheer horror. Elrond and Glorfindel looked equally shocked at the bad news.

Elarinya, suddenly recognizing the two other elves, turned toward the dark haired healer. “Master Elrond, please help him. I beg you,” she cried, now sobbing openly. Before Elrond could reply, Thranduil grabbed the arm of his wife steering her toward the door.

Quickly Elrond stepped in their way and stopped them. “Please Thranduil, let me help, at least let me try!” he demanded. Not able to think straight and frantic with worry the King only nodded and the four elves hurried down the corridor together.

To be continued…………………….

A/N:

please let me know what you think and review. I really appreciate every one of them. It keeps me going. Lai

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 7:  hold on

When the four elves reached the quarters of the royal family Elrond hesitated only a second before he entered the room after the King and Queen. His golden haired advisor followed and closed the door silently behind them. Aware that he could be of no help at the moment, Glorfindel stayed in the background ready to intervene should the situation get out of hand. After the unfriendly welcome the golden haired elf wanted to be prepared.

The healer from Imladris stopped short at the foot of the bed and surveyed the scene in front of him. On the large bed lay the motionless body of a small elfling. His dark hair was plastered to his sweat covered forehead and his small chest was exposed. The boy’s face was deathly pale and Elrond could not detect any rise or fall of his bare chest nor could he see any other indications that the child even lived.

The palace’s Chief Healer had stepped back when the child’s mother had rushed past him. His face was as pale as the elfling’s; helplessness and desperation was written all over his features.

The Queen was now kneeling beside her son’s bed, her slender frame shaking with desperate sobs while looking helplessly at her suffering child. Thranduil had rushed to the opposite side of the bed and grabbed his son’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to shake some life back into the small body.

Seeing this futile and helpless action and knowing that there was too much time lost already Elrond stepped beside the King and stretched out his hands. “Give him to me,” he demanded sharply with the goal of breaking through the panic which had a firm grip on the King.

Startled by the sharp tone the King looked up uncomprehendingly but he hesitated only briefly before he handed the little elfling over to the dark haired Elf-Lord, his former rejection of the healer momentarily forgotten. Elrond quickly laid the elfling back on the bed and brought his ear over the little one’s chest at the same time directing his gaze towards the palace healer.

“How long since he stopped breathing?” he asked. Realizing, startled, that he had been addressed, the King’s chief healer hurried to answer. “Only…only a few minutes.”

“How many minutes!” Elrond demanded, in a sharper tone than he had intended. He was always irritated when he did not get precise information, and they were running out of time.

“Only five, I guess…” was the irritated reply. Elrond took a deep intake of breath. There was a deadline before reanimation made no sense anymore and five minutes were almost the maximum.

Blocking out all disturbing emotions inside and around him, the Rivendell elf checked first for a heartbeat. To his immense relief the pounding was there, even though it was very weak and slow. But this was to be expected. There was still time to call the child back.

Detecting that the boy’s lungs were overflowed with mucus, he lifted the upper body of the elfling, holding him on his lap with his head on his shoulder. He positioned his cupped hand over a specific location on the back of the child and beat down hard for several minutes. Even though the time was running short the healer knew all too well that the liquid blocking the lungs had to be removed or at least moved, otherwise bringing air back into the lungs would be futile.

“Elrond what….?” Elarinya asked alarmed, her voice quivering with fear and irritation.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and shifted his stance, when he saw this action but before he could say anything or even intervene, Glorfindel stepped forward and laid his hand on the blond elf’s forearm.

“Let him work,” the golden warrior said while looking intently at the King. “If anyone can help your son, than it is he.”

The King’s expression alternated between anger and worry, but he managed to remain still. A quick look at his wife told him that she was also fighting her urge to protect her baby from the seemingly harsh treatment.

Accepting that the healer was only trying to help their child the King and Queen watched with barely restrained emotions the attempts of the healer to encourage their little son to inhale again.

To his dismay, however, Elrond realized that the elfling didn’t react at all to his ministrations. The mucus moved neither forward nor back and still hindered the child to inhale. The skin and most of all the lips now had a frighteningly blue colour.

Accepting that; the healer laid the boy back down on the bed and covered the small mouth with his hand and blew air into the tiny nose. He did this with more force than necessary for a child so small in the hope to get past the mucus blocking the air system. He repeated breathing for the child several times, not aware that the room had fallen deadly silent, the occupants watching in horror, when the elfling  still made no attempt to breathe on his own.

“Come on, little one, you must help me,” the Elf-Lord now nearly pleaded. Carefully he directed small amounts of healing energy into the little body to encourage the air system to widen and allow the much needed air in. After several more attempts the boy coughed and inhaled painfully on his own.

Elrond sighed, relieved, stroking the elfling´s hair while monitoring him closely. “Come one, Elfling, don’t stop!” he whispered, never breaking his contact with the boy.

Only now he noticed that his hands were shaking. The rattling sound every time the child took a painful breath concerned him greatly and he knew instantly that this was only a brief respite. The lungs would be blocked again and every time it would get worse until their ministrations would no longer bring any success.

Looking into the pleading eyes of the Queen; Elrond nodded and Elarinya gently embraced her now crying son, trying to sooth him. Working on a child was always emotionally draining. After he had regained some of his composure, Elrond stood and turned to face the King. “I must prepare the antidote, we haven’t got much time.”

Too shaken to even answer, the King nodded and something like gratitude shone in his eyes. Elrond signalled his adviser to leave the room and strode toward the door. Before he had reached it, however, the King whirled around and stepped into his path. “Thank you, Elrond, I’m in your debt,” he managed to say but then his voice faltered.

Softening his features; the dark haired elf looked at his friend of old. “Do not thank me yet. He isn’t out of danger. The worst is yet to come, I fear.” Taking a deep breath the King nodded, turned and sat down beside his wife on the bed. With a last look at the child now resting in his parents arms, Elrond and Glorfindel left the room silently.

Thornil, the palace healer rose from a bench on the opposite wall from the little prince’s chamber when the Imladris elves exited the room. Elrond had not even noticed him leaving. Guessing the unspoken question in his colleague’s eyes Elrond answered. “The Prince is resting now, but he must be watched closely. The liquid in his chest can block his system again at any time.”

Bowing his head in gratitude Thornil looked thoughtfully at the Elf-Lord. “I will do this myself; even through I will be of no help if the worst happens. I’m in your debt, my Lord.”

Slightly irritated for again being thanked for a goal he had not even reached yet, the Lord of Imladris inclined his head and after the other elf had turned back towards the sick room he hurried down the corridor toward his appointed rooms, followed closely by Glorfindel.

…………………………………………….

After parting with his advisor the Master of Rivendell closed the door behind him with a heavy heart. He crossed the room and sat down on the wooden table in front of the great window and rested his head in his hands with a sigh.

The situation at the Palace had proved to be much more complicated that he had anticipated. He had expected the King to not be pleased about their arrival, but to be greeted with so much hatred was hard to bear. But worst of all was the state of the ill elves. He had read the reports, yes, but knowing about something and then seeing this young one’s suffering made it another matter entirely. He was used to caring for and treating ill men and injured elves, but this was like nothing he had seen before.

And what did he have in hand to do about it? He did not even know if the experimental substance he had created would work. And how could he test it? Should he just give it to the King’s youngest, then wait and hope? The King’s barely restrained rejection would flare up again if he was not able to provide any help, and at the moment he was in grave doubt about that. The aggressiveness and the swiftness of the plague troubled him greatly. He sighed and raised his head; sitting here and brooding would achieve him nothing.

He rose and unpacked his travel bags. He arranged the items he had brought with him, carefully unwrapping the vial holding the substance that might prove to be their only hope.

Again he shuddered when the picture of the elfling struggling for air crept back into his mind. ‘This illness could just as easily have struck down one of his own sons. What if the antidote didn’t work? What if the youngest son of the King died? The elves of the shadowed forest would greatly mourn the death of their Prince. Would the King be strong enough to overcome this loss? He had to stop these thoughts and do what he knew best; finding a cure and completing the antidote.

Absorbed in his work he looked up sharply; suddenly aware of someone watching him. Unsurprised to see the King standing there he wiped his hands on a towel and rose. “I am sorry; I did not hear you enter. How is your son doing?” he asked the fair haired elf while inclining his head in a greeting.

Waving the apology away the King stepped closer. “He sleeps now. His breathing is still laboured though.”

Seeing the deep lines of weariness and worry in the King’s face Elrond only nodded and did not elaborate on how much worse the state of the elfling could get.

“Good,” he said instead, “but he must be watched closely, in case the mucus blocks his lungs again.” Thranduil nodded, having given this very order to his healer only minutes before.

An awkward silence stretched between the two Elf-Lords, while Elrond returned to his seat and resumed working, knowing that the King watched him closely. He could not afford to lose any more time. He wanted nothing more than to give Thranduil the reassurance that his son would survive, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t made this kind of substance before.

“When will you be ready?” the King asked suddenly. The healer closed his eyes briefly. Blunt and direct as always, the King would not like what he was about to tell him now. Nonetheless he met the gaze of the Mirkwood ruler steadily.

“I can’t say exactly. First, I must test and make sure that the antidote works.” Elrond tensed when he saw the change in the King’s countenance. The green eyes became a hard glint and the weary expression was replaced by incredulity.

Blinking the King stepped closer, rested his palms on the table and looked hard at the healer.  “What do you mean:  if it works?” he finally asked in a threatening tone.

Annoyed at the King’s tone the Lord of Rivendell rounded the table to stand inches before the slightly taller elf. He had never promised that he could counter the plague. He had never given reassurances that all would turn out well. How dared the King address him in such a manner?

Before he could get angrier, however, Elrond swallowed. Galadhion had contacted him without the knowledge of his father. Thranduil did not know that the antidote was not tested. Despite the rejection the King had maybe hoped the healer from Imladris could help after all.

Taking a deep breath Elrond returned the steely gaze evenly. “It is an experimental substance barely even completed and I haven’t had the opportunity to test it yet,” he said as calmly as possible.

Thranduil took a step back and looked at the dark haired elf while trying to sort out his feelings. “Do you mean that you do not know if it works and you want to test it on my son? You cannot be serious!”

Having expected this very reaction Elrond sighed and stepped forward. “Thranduil”, he said with a forced calmness, “without help your son will die. With the antidote, tested or not, he at least has a chance.”

Briefly considering the healer’s words Thranduil finally shook his head. “No Elrond. I will not let further harm come to my son. If you cannot confirm me that the antidote works, I will not allow you to give it to him.” Without another word the King turned and left the room. Elrond looked at the retreating form in bewilderment.

‘You have doomed your son to death’, Elrond thought sadly. He was unsure about how he could convince the King to allow him to administer the antidote. How could he convince him if he could not even convince himself?

Sitting heavily back down at the table he stared into nothing. Deep down he thought he knew why the King reacted with such hostility towards him. As Gil-Galad’s Herald, he had been one of the commanders in the Last Alliance – the war which had cost many lives, including the King’s father. Now Thranduil wasn’t willing to trust any Golodhrim again.

He looked up, startled, when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. For the second time that day he hadn’t heard someone enter; a clear testimony of his confused state.

“He is not thinking clearly. His worry has overshadowed his good sense. You must keep going, Elrond. You are on the right track. He needs you. He has already accepted this and will surrender, you will see.”

Not really convinced the dark haired elf nodded in gratitude towards his golden haired advisor. He was glad that Glorfindel had come with him. His steady and calm presence did a lot to keep him going.

To be continued…………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 8:  Achievements

After hours of concentrated work to complete the antidote the Lord of Rivendell stretched his aching back, rose, and walked to the large window overlooking the courtyard. It was deserted except for the guards on duty and a few servants hurrying about doing their daily chores. The courtyard was no longer the lively place it used to be.

He guessed that the elves of Lasgalen were staying at home hoping to avoid getting infected. An understandable reaction but one without effect, Elrond thought sadly, a virus couldn’t be stopped by a closed door.

Somehow he had expected the King to show up again but he had been disappointed. Elrond had hoped that the King would change his mind. The state of the Prince had not improved and would not without the right medicine. And what role did the Queen play in this battle of wills?

The healer was still irritated over the King’s behaviour. How far would the King go? Would he really risk the life of his son just to hold onto his rejection of him? Briefly he considered whether he had made the right choice in coming here, with the same threat lingering on his own doorstep. But then he shook his head. If he could rescue only one of the children here then it would be worth all the trouble.

Lost in his thoughts Elrond startled when the door opened and someone stepped inside. He did not have to turn to recognize the light steps of Glorfindel. It could only be his advisor; he was the only one who would ever come in without bothering to knock or announce his presence. The golden warrior stepped up beside him and for a few moments they just stood there in companionable silence, observing the deserted courtyard below the window. The sight of the formerly lively place was somewhat frightening. Except the guards standing bravely at their posts no elf could be seen crossing the common area between the palace and the surrounding wood.

Suddenly and without warning the Lord of Imladris moaned and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. Glorfindel looked up, alarmed, when his Lord swayed on his feet and quickly grabbed the dark haired elf’s arm to steady him. Having seen this many times before, the golden warrior knew instantly what was happening. Slipping his arm around the elf to help him stand Glorfindel waited patiently until the vision would release its hold.

Focused on the vision Elrond was only vaguely aware of the steady presence next to him. His breathing increased however while he looked at a barren wasteland devoid of all life. No, that was not entirely true. There were orcs and other dark minions roaming the countryside. He nearly cried out when he could not detect any presence of the elven kind. The entire race of the elves had been erased from the face of Middle Earth by this plague.

Now in dire need of the arm around his waist to steady him, his mind was assaulted by lifeless eyes in little children’s faces looking at him pleadingly and at the same time accusingly. Involuntarily he took a deep breath and stepped back a step, forcing Glorfindel to re-arrange his hold.

When the healer’s eyes finally lost their glassy look and Elrond turned toward him, Glorfindel could not help but feel worried when he noticed the ashen complexion of his Lord. After the dark haired elf had regained both his composure and his balance Glorfindel asked, even though he knew better, “What have you seen, my Lord?”

Shaking his head to get rid of the last cobwebs Elrond looked at his advisor with sad, yet determined eyes. “We had better make the King see reason and hurry with the distribution of the antidote.”

Like many times before Glorfindel was unable to make sense of his Lord’s cryptic words. But he was gifted with enough imagination, so he only nodded, determined to support his friend in every effort he deemed necessary. Sensing how urgent the demand for action had become, Glorfindel nonetheless had to try to talk some sense in his own Lord’s mind first. “You look tired, Elrond. A few hours rest will not hurt.”

Still unsteady on his feet the dark haired elf did not object; this made the advisor worry even more. Wearily Elrond sat down in an overstuffed chair and closed his eyes to get rid of the children’s eyes looking at him. The image would haunt his dreams for years to come.

A commotion in the courtyard drew Elrond to his feet again and both elves stepped back toward the window. A small group of wood elves, guards and servants alike, had gathered around a young couple. The elleth was leaning heavily on her husband crying desperately. Only then Elrond noticed the bundle she clutched against her breast.

Instantly his heart dropped into his stomach. From the expression on both parents’ faces Elrond had no illusion about which state the elfling would be in. Words were not necessary. Both elves looked at each other and hastened out of the room, down the long corridor and toward the main entrance.

When Elrond emerged out of the front door all attention was momentarily drawn to him. The young woman raised her eyes and staggered toward him.

“Help me, she cannot breathe,” she cried stretching her arms out toward the healer. Elrond hesitated briefly when he saw Thornil emerging from the front door. Not wanting to compromise the palace healer he sought the gaze of his colleague and received a nod of approval.

Descending the last steps Elrond pushed through the crowd and gathered the little body in his arms and then he closed his eyes in despair. Without looking at the girl he knew that she was already dead and nothing he could do would ever rescue her. The child was long beyond any chance to help. The fea had already left the small body.

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at the parents huddled together in misery. The father had seemingly already registered the horrible truth, while the young woman was looking at him with pleading eyes, like the eyes in his vision…..

Stepping closer to the elleth he looked deeply into her eyes trying to comfort her fea with his own while laying the dead child back into her trembling arms. “I’m sorry” he whispered ready to catch her if she would collapse.

Long minutes she looked at him in disbelief until a cry of utter despair left her mouth and she collapsed into her husbands arms. The young elf had reacted quickly enough to catch her.

The elves standing around them averted their eyes in sympathy; knowing that no one could take away the pain. It was too early to express their condolences. So they just stood there with the couple in their midst, mourning yet another loss.

The elf-Lord could barely hold back his own tears while looking at the weeping couple. To lose a child was something he could hardly imagine. He did not think that he could bear this. He jerked away startled when Glorfindel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come, you cannot change this, but you can rescue others.”

Elrond nodded tiredly. Glorfindel was right. He had to clear his mind and concentrate on the task for which he had come here.

Only with a great deal of effort was he able to tear his gaze from the dead child and the picture of utter devastation. The haunting eyes crept back into his mind. What if the plague reached Rivendell? What if he could not stop this illness here? Shuddering, he finally rose and turned intent at redoubling his efforts to complete the antidote.

At that moment Elrond noticed Thranduil. The King stood at the entrance of the palace his long cloak billowing behind him in the chill wind. The healer stopped dead in his tracks causing his advisor, walking right behind him, to nearly bump into him. Glorfindel looked at his Lord in concern expecting that another vision had gripped him, but narrowed his eyes when he followed the healer’s gaze.

There, just beyond the threshold of the great entrance stood the King of this realm, the indifferent mask on his face replaced by horror. The King’s face was pale and dark circles under his eyes told that he hadn’t slept much either. What will you do now? Have you changed your mind? the Balrog slayer wondered silently.

For long minutes neither elf moved, the King was still staring at the spot the young couple had already deserted. Elrond was far too tired to get into yet another dispute with the King.

Intent on ignoring the King for the time being and already on his way to walk past him Elrond´s head snapped up, when the golden haired elf grabbed his arm in passing. Glorfindel right behind the healer tensed not sure what would occur next.

Looking at the Lord of Imladris with eyes darkened with worry the King said without preamble: “If you are able to stop this, then I do beg you, do it!”

Before Elrond could respond and without another word the King turned and re-entered the palace.

The healer swallowed. How he had hoped to hear these very words but at the same time he had dreaded them. He was back at the beginning of his dilemma again. He had no idea if the antidote would work and they were running out of time. Nonetheless he took a deep breath and looked at his advisor. A ghost of a smile was grazing the warrior’s lips.

“I told you he would change his mind. It’s just sad that it has cost another life for him to see reason.”

Elrond nodded. Yes, but now they could finally make progress. His friend of old wasn’t gone yet.

This was a start.

To be continued………………………

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 9:  Old habits die hard

When Elrond and Glorfindel stepped through the palace entrance they stopped, alarmed, at the scene they came upon. The King had just uttered a choked cry and was now hurrying down the long corridor, after a servant had delivered some message to him.

The two elves from Imladris needed no imagination to guess what had caused the King’s distress. All colour drained from the healer’s face. Now would be the all-deciding moment. The antidote was not ready yet for administration but it had to do. Their time had run out.

“Go,” was all Glorfindel said while squeezing the dark haired elf’s shoulder lightly. “I will meet you at the prince’s chamber.” Nodding the healer turned towards his room in the opposite direction to gather what would hopefully rescue the elfling´s life.

Banging the door open the Lord of Imladris hastened across the spacious room and carefully retrieved a glass vial from the worktable. Quickly he swirled the contents around and peered at the slightly yellowish liquid. Satisfied that the fluid had not changed he turned on his heels and hurried back out, not bothering to close the door again in his haste.

Please do not let the boy be too far gone, he prayed while heading into the direction of the private quarters of the royal family, earning bewildered looks from the elves he passed by.

No one had knowledge of the drama that took place a few doors ahead. Ignoring the startled guard standing at the threshold where the private section was separated from the common places of the palace Elrond pushed the door to the elfling´s chamber open.

The sight that greeted him caused his blood to run cold. The Queen was rocking the motionless body of her elfling back and forth, her words not understandable under her sobs. The King was trying to extricate the little body from the grip of his wife, pleading for her to let go.

Looking briefly at his already present advisor and the shocked palace healer Elrond quickly crossed the room, pushed the King none-to-gently aside, and demanded with a sharp voice: “Elarinya, give him to me! Now!” he repeated after receiving a blank look from the Queen and seeing the tightening of her grip on her son.

Using his wife’s distraction, the King gathered the boy in his arms and handed him over to the healer. After that he turned just in time to catch the collapsing frame of his wife.

Her head pressed against her husband’s chest, the shaken royal couple watched the ministrations the healer was performing. Elrond quickly laid the elfling back on the bed and searched for a heartbeat. He had to concentrate hard to detect the weak and slow beating.

He sighed, relieved. It was not too late yet, even though the boy was deeply unconscious and his breathing barely recognizable. Shutting out his environment, meaning the four pairs of eyes watching his every move, he retrieved the glass vial from a pocket in his outer robe and poured a small amount into a glass he had snatched from the nightstand. He added a measured amount of water from the ever present pitcher, hoping that he had chosen the right dilution for a child so small.

Quickly he gathered the elfling into his arms and laid him across his lap. Forcing the child’s mouth open by putting slight pressure against the jaw he carefully trickled some of the liquid onto the elfling’s tongue and let it slide down his throat. This turned out to be a painstakingly slow procedure but he dared not to hasten anything lest the elfling would choke and suffocate during a seizure.

He hoped that the antidote would counteract the production of the mucus, allowing the patient to cough the mucus up, drying up the lungs and allowing more air to reach the elfling’s body. The elfling was too weak to do this on his own now, so again Elrond poured healing energy into the fragile body.

After endless minutes the glass was empty and the healer placed it back on the table. After making sure that the boy did breathe, even if it was shallow, he carefully broke his mental contact and laid the boy back onto the bed. For a few minutes he listened to the elfling’s breathing until he was convinced that the child would continue to breathe on his own.

The silence in the room was shattered by the King leaving the room drawing the door shut. Elrond caught the eyes of the Queen. “If he does not stop breathing and the antidote works I think he has a chance to survive.”

Nodding her head; too shaken to speak; the Queen walked over and unconditionally embraced the dark haired healer. “Thank you so much”, she whispered with a tear drowned voice and with more gratitude in her eyes than any words could have expressed.

“He’s not out of the woods yet. He must be watched closely,” Elrond reminded her gently and received a grave nod from both the Queen and the palace healer.

However, when he wanted to rise, his legs buckled under him and Elrond fell back onto the mattress. Glorfindel was at his side instantly and laid a firm hand on his shoulder preventing him from trying to rise again. “Easy, Elrond, give yourself some time,” he said quietly; long accustomed to this.

The Queen, however, looked up in alarm. She was not used to the drained state the Elf-Lord always was in after a healing trance. “I’m alright,” Elrond reassured all of them after recognizing the concerned expression on his colleague’s face.

Seeing the raised eyebrows of his adviser he had to admit that this wasn’t the whole truth. He felt awful and his whole upper body ached from holding the child still for so long while trickling the medicine down his throat. Furthermore he was mentally and physically drained. The lack of sleep over the last few days and the constant worry hadn’t helped either. Moving to a comfortable chair next to the elfling´s bed he surrendered to the stern gaze of his advisor.

The Queen and the palace healer did not object. After Glorfindel was sure that his Lord would not push himself any further he quietly left the room. He was curious about where the King had disappeared to so suddenly.

Stepping into the corridor he came face to face with the King leaning on the opposite wall for support. Thranduil´s face was pale and he could not suppress the shaking of his hands. Feeling pity for the elf, after all he was the child’s father; the golden warrior stepped closer and waited until the other elf met his gaze.

“If nothing unexpected happens your son will recover,” he answered the unasked question. Glorfindel looked intently at the fair-haired elf wondering how much longer it would take until the King would give up his rejecting manner, but the King was not known for easy acceptance after all.

Thranduil acknowledged the warrior’s statement with a curt nod. Still, he did not know how to approach the two elves from Imladris. He still felt resentment against the Lord of Imladris but was at the same time relieved to have him here, knowing that his son would likely be dead by now without the healer’s help.

“I hope this half-elf knows what he is doing,” he said, the sting back in his voice and no longer meeting the other’s gaze.

Hearing the sharp intake of breath his head whipped around and he nearly took a step back at the fury in the eyes looking back at him.

“You should watch your choice of words more carefully, my Lord. The Lord of Rivendell has come here without hesitation to help you fight against this threat with the knowledge that he would leave his own home behind defenceless. He has laboured tirelessly to find the cure against the plague without any reward and not expecting one and he has just rescued your son’s life by endangering his own. I think you owe him at least a bit of respect. If you hurt him with another uncivilized word or keep your brusque manner you will answer to me. Have I made myself clear?”

Bristling at the harsh reprimand the King stared at the golden haired elf. How dared this Noldo speak to him like that! But then he lowered his eyes. The healer could well be the only choice for him to guarantee the survival of his people. However, he still could not let go of the grief over the tragedy that had taken place a long time ago on a battlefield far away. Elrond was after all partly responsible for that. And now he was the only chance his youngest son had to survive.

When he felt a light touch to his arm the King looked up startled ready to fight back the other elf this time, but the former angry eyes had lost their hard stare.

“Thranduil, let go of your grief. Believe me I know of what I speak. There is not a day in my life that I do not wish I could turn back time and act differently than I did, but it is not possible. Do not let the bitterness consume you.”

A sharp reply already on his tongue, for a second Thranduil suddenly did not know what to say anymore. The anger and grief had sustained him through all these long years; it had given him the strength to go on. How could he let go of the very essence of his being? And yet, he was surprised at how appealing this thought was to him; to forge a bond with old companions and draw strength from their unity in fighting against the shadow.

Seeing the fight the King was battling within himself, Glorfindel seized his moment knowing that he had a chance to get through to the bitter and stubborn elf now.

“Let us rebuild our alliance and revive our friendship. You do not have to stand alone in your fight, Thranduil.”

Still irritated that the blond warrior had broken through his carefully built up defences the King gazed back; a cool look on his face again. Glorfindel grimaced knowing how hard the other elf fought to maintain his composure and dignity.

“Do not tell me what to do. I will let you know if I’m willing to discuss the matter of how I will defend my realm. And now excuse me; I have to go and see how my son is faring.”

Sighing Glorfindel stepped aside knowing that the King’s harsh words were only born from his uncertainty. Sensing that he was treading on treacherous ground now, he said nonetheless: “You have another son who needs you too.”

Before reaching the door the King spun around. “My family is not your business, Glorfindel. Galadhion ignored a clear order and I’m not sure if I can trust him again, but that is surely not something I want to discuss with you.” With that the King turned again and entered the room of the young prince not sparing another look for Glorfindel.

The Balrog Slayer sighed, knowing that there was still a long road ahead of them but it was a beginning. Neither he nor the King had realized there was someone standing just around the corner.

…………………………………………….

A few hours earlier…

Galadhion sat at the desk in his office and studied the reports from the patrols. His concern rose when he noticed the steadily increasing numbers of orcs, which attacked the patrols regularly now and with fierce power.

But most disturbing, it seemed that there was some pattern behind the attacks and this suggested that someone in the background was making the plans. Orcs were much too stupid and unorganized to attack so precisely.

Galadhion shuddered. Orcs they could manage and had so far, but what if a greater power with much more evil intent would now guide and lead the orcs? The attacks had already come closer and closer toward the capitol.

He was so occupied with his thoughts and on studying the map that he didn’t hear the commotion outside until Ruanal, his second-in-command and best friend came running into his office. “My Lord,” he said breathlessly after banging the door open, “another patrol has been attacked.”

Galadhion jumped up startled and looked at his aide. He had barely digested the loss they had suffered from the last attack. “How many are injured?” he asked forcing his voice to steady. When Ruanal hesitated and lowered his eyes the Crown Prince swallowed.

“No one has survived,” his aide answered finally his voice shaking. Galadhion closed his eyes. This was the fourth attack in two days. They had never lost so many warriors in such a short time. Briefly he felt dizzy with the overwhelming grief that swept over him. Many of the warriors he had known personally, many were friends of his. Now they were dead, gone forever, and this was his responsibility.

When Ruanal received no reaction he looked up again and swallowed when he observed the change in his Lord’s demeanour. The sorrow that had been there a second before was suddenly replaced by a grim mask, the lips pressed into a thin line, and he did not have to wait long to hear his worries confirmed. “How many warriors are available?” Galadhion asked while looking hard at his friend. Ruanal blinked to make sure that it was not the King who was standing before him. The voice of his friend had changed; it was every bit the Crown Prince and Troop Commander now.

“About forty; not nearly enough to eliminate a larger group,” he answered in the vain hope to convince his friend not to send out more warriors in haste. Galadhion however would hear none of that. “We will ride in an hour. Please organize this. I will join you at the stables.”

Ruanal´s head snapped up. He had expected this order but that the Crown Prince would come with the warriors was a shock to him. “You want to join the patrol?” he asked incredulously but stopped short seeing the angry expression on this friend’s face.

“I’m quite capable of defending the realm!” Galadhion snapped. Ruanal gulped; ready to apologize for the words that had not sounded how he had meant them, but before he had the chance to even open his mouth the prince dismissed him with an impatient wave and rushed past him out of the office. Ruanal sighed. What had irritated his friend this much to leave him this short-tempered? The news was grave yes, but the elves of Mirkwood were used to this hard life and the prince was never one to lose his composure this easily. Turning, he quickly strode toward the warriors’ quarters to do his Lord’s bidding.

……………………………………………..

After changing clothes quickly, Galadhion took a deep breath while he hastened down the long corridor. He knew that he was up for another dispute with his father. The King would not approve of his decision to ride with the patrol. For nearly two hundred years he had directed the realm’s forces from his office. It had been a long time since Galadhion had ridden out himself to know what the warriors were facing each day. This dangerous endeavour was now the task of others.

Galadhion had no idea how he could convince his father to agree with his plans. The voice in his head told him relentlessly that he only did this to win back his father’s approval, but this he could hardly tell him.

When he reached his father’s study he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders ready to face whatever objections his father would have, determined not to give in. He knocked at the heavy oak door and waited.

When he got no response, he listened intently but could not determine if someone was inside at all. His nervousness getting the better of him he knocked again this time more urgently.

When again no invitation came he frowned. At this hour his father could be always found in his study. Suddenly his face paled. There could be only one reason why his father would skip his duties – Saeron. Had the state of his little brother worsened? Because of the trouble with the orcs he had nearly forgotten the tragedy that was taking place in his own family.

Forgetting his own grief and anxiousness, Galadhion turned and hurried down the corridor toward his brother’s room. He stopped dead in his tracks however, when raised voices drifted around the corner. He could easily recognize his father’s angry voice; the other could only belong to the Balrog Slayer. No other would dare to address his father in such a way.

He could not help but listen to the whole exchange, but he nearly let out a sob at his father’s words and there was no doubt who they were talking about.

“I’m not sure, if I can trust him again,” he heard.

Clamping a hand over his mouth he stepped back a step and leaned on the wall for support. He had not only failed in defending the realm and holding the orcs at bay but he had managed to disappoint his father to the degree that he no longer trusted him.

Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall he turned on his heels and hurried back the way he had come. He did not need to consult with his father. The King had given him the answer just a minute ago. He would ride out and destroy these orcs that dared to invade his home. He would not let down his home too.

As he rounded a corner in his haste he nearly collided with an elf coming around it and was terrified a second later to look at his mother’s startled face. Knowing that he could conceal nothing from her, he nonetheless controlled his features in an attempt not to frighten her.

“Galadhion?” she queried surprised to see her son dressed ready for riding out. Unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze, Galadhion looked to the ground desperately searching for the right words to excuse himself and leave, but his mother was not easily fooled.

Elarinya swallowed when she sensed the distress that rolled in waves from her son’s taut posture. “Galadhion, look at me,” she said demanding but at the same time with much compassion. Her worry raised a notch when Galadhion did still not meet her gaze and tried to squirm past her. Having enough on her mind with the worry over her youngest son she quickly grabbed her eldest arm to prevent his retreat.

“Galadhion, what is the meaning of this?” she asked harsher then intended. Guessing what had caused her son’s distress besides the worry over his brother, she softened her tone quickly, but she could not let him go like that. “Galadhion, I’ve already spoken with your father. He’s realised now that it was the right choice to call for Elrond. Give him some time and he will speak with you. He did not mean what he said two days ago.”

Raising his head the Crown Prince looked with sad eyes at his mother; even knowing that she did not know what he had overheard a few minutes ago, and not wanting to repeat it to her he still could not help replying: “He has made his point of view very clear to me,” he stated with a rough voice.

Startled and unaware what her son was speaking of, the Queen frowned. What had happened in the short time since she had left the room of her youngest’? Had Thranduil and Galadhion quarrelled again?

Not wanting to see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes too, Galadhion had finally managed to squirm out of her grasp; he turned and hurried down the corridor without a backward glance. “I’m sorry, Naneth”, was all he could utter.

“Galadhion wait….” Elarinya called after her son, but the younger elf had already turned around the corner. With a heavy heart and a bad feeling in her stomach the Queen turned back; deeply troubled over the encounter.

What had distressed her normally level headed son so much that he was reacting this strangely? Only now did she realize that her son was dressed like a warrior ready to ride out and fight. What was Galadhion up to? Hastening her steps she hurried back toward Saeron´s room. She had to speak with her husband.

……………………………………..

Silently, so as to not disturb her hopefully still sleeping child the Queen entered the chamber of her youngest. Elrond reclined in a chair near the window and dozed and her husband sat on the bed watching his son sleep. When she closed the door the healer looked up and blinked. “How is he?” she asked while looking lovingly at her sleeping babe.

Elrond sat up a bit straighter and also directed his gaze at the now quietly resting child. “His fever is still high. I think I have to modify the antidote. He is not out of danger yet but we can now keep on hoping.”

Elarinya sighed heavily and looked at the healer with gratitude.

“We are deeply in your debt.”

“To get your elfling back outside running under the trees will be enough thanks for me:” Elrond said, and quietly left the room. He had clearly sensed the wish of the Queen to speak to her husband in private.

Stepping behind her husband, Elarinya laid her hands on his shoulders and gently massaged the knots she could clearly feel there. The King sighed and lowered his head to indulge in her ministrations. She waited a bit longer until she could feel that some of the tension was eased under her hands.

Giving the shoulders a final gentle slap she sat into the chair Elrond had occupied a few minutes ago. “Thranduil, what has happened between Galadhion and you?” she asked with a hint of irritation in her voice.

Catching the note instantly, the King’s head snapped towards her direction. “What do you mean? I haven’t spoken to him since Elrond arrived,” he answered trying to locate the source of her irritation.

Elarinya was surprised. Something had occurred she had no knowledge of. Thranduil would not hold anything from her that concerned her children. Something must have upset Galadhion and she wanted to know what.

But seeing the bewildered expression on her husband’s face she was not so sure anymore. “Thranduil, I’m worried about him. I’ve never seen him this distressed. You know how much he tries to please you. He has acted rashly and disappointed you, yes, but it turned out to be the right decision and his intentions were never to disgrace you…..” she trailed off when she saw the change in the King’s face. The bewilderment was quickly replaced by worry.

The bad feeling from before was back in her stomach. “Thranduil, what happened!” she whispered.

The King swallowed. Directing his gaze at his wife again, he took a deep breath. “I think he may have overheard my conversation with Glorfindel.”

She furrowed her brow; she did not need a lot of imagination to guess what her son had overheard. Her husband had repeated his disappointment over his eldest child’s actions to Glorfindel. She closed her eyes. Galadhion was a very sensitive young elf when it came down to earning approval from his parents, especially the King. He was always trying very hard to please his father. The words must have hurt him deeply.

With a sigh she rose and sat beside her husband. “Thranduil, please speak with him before he does something stupid.”

When the King lowered his head and sighed, Elarinya knew that her husband had long forgiven Galadhion, but had not found the right moment to speak with him. The disappointment finally swallowed Thranduil looked up. “I will speak with him, I promise,” he said while squeezing his wife’s hand in reassurance. Elearinya sighed with relief. One son to worry about was quite enough.

To be continued……………………………..

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 10:  more troubles

With a determined knock on the slightly ajar door to Galadhion’s office, the King announced his presence. A frown crossed his face when he got no response. At this time of the day his son was supposed to be here. Looking around, the King realized that the usually bustling building seemed deserted. The desk of the Troop Commander’s aide was also unoccupied.

The King’s frown deepened. What was going on here? When he heard someone enter he turned around, expecting Galadhion to be standing at the door; but instead was surprised to see Galion, a young novice in his first years of training.

As startled as his King, the young elf swallowed. “My Lord, how can I be of service?” he asked while nervously looking around for anyone who was more suitable than he to deal with the King.

Shaking his head about the odd situation the King took a step closer. “I want to speak to Galadhion. Do you know where I can find my son?”

Galion took an involuntary step back and stared at his liege. Did the King not know that his son had ridden out with a large contingent of warriors? It could not be possible that he had to be the one to tell him, could it?

Seeing the disturbed expression at the young elf’s face the King’s irritation rose. Why had his simple question startled the young warrior? His good intentions of making peace with his eldest forgotten, the King stepped closer to the novice. “Galion, I have to speak with my son. And do not tell me you do not know where he is!”

Swallowing Galion accepted his fate and replied. “My Lord, the Troop Commander and twenty warriors rode out not two hours ago. Orcs have been intercepted near the stronghold, right within the borders of the Home Guard. He wanted to investigate how they could get past the patrol and slay them.”

Now it was the King who took a step back. Orcs were at the border of the inner circle? Galadhion was on his way to fight them? Another patrol was slain? His mind reeled. Why had he known nothing of all this? Why had Galadhion not informed him?

His frown deepening he tried to review the last few days which had rushed by in a flurry with all the focus on the plague and the ill elves. He had not really given his son a chance to speak with him since the arrival of the Imladris-elves, had he? Now Glorfindel´s cryptic statement, that he had another son to care about, came back to his memory and he felt that Galadhion had most assuredly overheard his conversation with the blond elf.

The King closed his eyes momentarily. Elarinya had been right about her worry over their son; this all was his fault. First his stubbornness had nearly, and could still, cost the life of his youngest, and now the same could be said for his eldest. What was making him act this way?

Occupied with his own thoughts, the King did not see the bewildered look on the face of the young novice when he hurried past Galion, out of the office and back toward the palace.

After knocking he entered the office of his Steward and nearly collided with said elf when he was about to leave the room. “My Lord,” the dark haired aide cried, “I was just on my way to you. There is some most disturbing news…”

When the King held up his hand to stop the string of words the Steward closed his mouth startled. “Thank you for informing me. I’ve figured this out already.”

Not understanding his King’s sarcastic tone the Steward threw a bewildered look at his Lord, having gained this information himself just a few moments ago. However, having held this position for long enough to gain wisdom, the steward kept silent so as not to raise the ire of his Lord any more.

Thranduil shook his head unwillingly. Over the last few days he had put aside his duties and lost track of what was happening around him. No wonder, he thought wryly. Ill and dying elflings were not an everyday occurrence and this had rattled all of the wood elves, including their King. He decided he would speak to the ones that were responsible for keeping him informed later. They would answer to him.

Making up his mind the King turned his attention back to his still waiting Steward. “Summon my guards. I will meet them in half-an-hour in the courtyard, ready to depart. I want to see for myself what is happening at the borders.” And prevent Galadhion from getting killed, he thought to himself.

Shocked that the King would ride out himself the Steward was wise enough not to question this order. With a nod he quickly turned to fulfil the request and escape the King’s bad mood.

Although he had served his King for many long years, the Steward had misinterpreted the King’s mood. Thranduil was not angry but rather extremely worried. Galadhion was normally level headed and would not risk his life or those of his warriors, but he was emotionally stressed over his father’s rejection and this was not a good basis to go into a fight.

Not daring to lose more time the King turned around and headed down the long corridor. He knew that he had made a mistake in questioning the loyalty of his son. He had hurt him deeply and now he possibly would not have the chance to make an apology. Taking a deep breath he shook his head. No, this would not happen, even if this meant he had to ride out himself and fight at his son’s side. First, however, he had to make another request hoping to gather help from an unlikely source.

Reaching the quarters assigned to the Imladris-Elves the King hesitated only briefly when he heard two voices inside the healer’s room. With a determined knock he waited for the invitation to enter. No sooner it was given he opened the door and strode into the room.

Elrond and Glorfindel had stopped their conversation and the Half-elf rose from behind the worktable. Glorfindel kept sitting on the windowsill, nodding his head toward the King in greeting. With a quick look the King took in the situation he had interrupted. The worktable was scattered with jars and glass utensils and many documents lay piled on the edge. As announced the healer was still working on the antidote’s modification.

“Thranduil”, the dark haired elf inclined his head in the King’s direction. “Is something the matter with Saeron?” The healer was startled over the King’s sudden visit.

Thranduil shook his head. “No, he’s still resting. Is the antidote finished yet?”

Elrond looked levelly at the King. “Yes, I’ve made the final changes. I think it will work now. It is ready for administering.”

Having expected some kind of reaction to his statement, Elrond frowned when the King didn’t say anything only staring at the table. The healer stepped closer toward the blond elf. “That’s only half the reason why you have come here, right?” he asked.

Startled out of his thoughts the King looked first at Glorfindel and finally met the gaze of the healer. “Yes”, he admitted, “in fact I’m here to ask for your help…again.” he added, worry now colouring his voice.

Raising an eyebrow the Balrog Slayer rose from the windowsill and stepped beside his Lord. Thranduil had really made a change over the last few days. There was little left of the arrogant and rejecting behaviour from days earlier.

“What happened, Thranduil?” Glorfindel asked while watching the other elf intently. Knowing that now was not the time for holding back any information the King looked straight at the golden warrior.

“A large band of orcs appeared on the borders of the inner circle this morning and a patrol was slain while defending this area. Galadhion has ridden out with a contingent of warriors to fight against them. The group of warriors is not nearly large enough to stand any chance against the orcs.”

Desperation now clearly visible in the green eyes, the King swallowed. Glorfindel´s heart ached in sympathy. He could fairly well understand why the Crown Prince had started this suicide mission. “Galadhion wants to prove himself and this is only because of a few words that were carelessly spoken in anger,” the King added his voice now nearly a whisper and deeply laced with guilt.

Looking at his Lord and receiving a silent consent Glorfindel inclined his head toward the monarch. “Of course I will join you.” Nodding with gratitude the King squeezed the arm of the Imladris-elf briefly in thanks. With the old and experienced warrior at his side they had at least a chance to rescue the desperate group of warriors before it was too late. Sensing the need for haste Glorfindel bowed to both Elven Lords and hurried out of the room.

Turning his attention back to the healer Thranduil was surprised to see a small smile on the dark haired elf’s lips. “And I will take care of your other son and begin administering the antidote.”

Having not expected the open manner toward him from the two Imladris-elves Thranduil relaxed despite his worry over his eldest. “Thank you, Elrond”, he said with real affection.

“You are welcome,” the healer replied grateful that they had at last reached a new level of understanding.

………………………………………….

Ruanal looked at his Lord and friend with concern while they rode through the forest. They raced along the path at the head of the column of warriors towards the area where the orcs had slain the patrol earlier.

Ruanal still could not approve of the Crown Prince deciding to accompany the warriors, even if he could understand the reason behind his decision. They had been friends much longer than superior officer and dutiful subject. He was aware that it was not only his Lord’s desire to be the Troop Commander that motivated Galadhion’s decision. The threat the plague posed was surely something that would even lead the level headed Crown Prince to despair, but behind the anxious and taut posture of his friend must be something more.

When the tall elf beside him nearly collided with a low hanging branch, Ruanal decided that he would have a word with his friend before they reached their destination. Galadhion was preoccupied and this could be dangerous not only for himself but for the entire troop. In this state they could hardly go on much less enter a battle.

After another hour of silent riding Ruanal called for a halt. Galadhion did not notice the command until he was a few paces ahead of the group. Finally aware he rained in his mount and looked bewildered behind him, instantly recognizing what the concerned looks directed at him meant.

Without a word he turned his horse and came back, not willing to look at his aide. Ruanal dismissed the warriors with the order to take a break and rest the horses. Everyone seemed determined to leave as quickly as possible aware that the two officers wished to be alone. After a final glance at his friend Ruanal dismounted and began taking care of his horse. While gathering some water he saw from the corner of his eye, that Galadhion did the same, but still with a distraught expression on his face.

When he had finished brushing down his mount Ruanal took a ration of food from his saddlebag and sat down beside his Lord still a good distance away from the others. Not really knowing how to address his friend but determined to not let it go before they continue the journey, Ruanal laid a hand lightly on his friend’s forearm.

“I’m here, if you need someone to listen,” Ruanal said, silently watching his troubled friend. He still had not determined why his Troop Commander was so withdrawn all of a sudden. The plague was wracking all of their nerves and he knew that his friend’s little brother was among the newly infected, but all of this did not seem to be at the core of his friend’s distraction.

Taking a deep breath Galadhion eventually looked up and met his friend’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Ruanal. I know that I’ve endangered this group. I will pay better attention from now on.”

Taking a deep breath Ruanal was glad for this admission. It did indeed show that Galadhion was not as unobservant as he had thought him to be, but it was no explanation at all. Knowing that they must come to level ground again Ruanal plunged ahead bluntly. “Galadhion, will you not tell me what is bothering you? Has the state of your brother worsened? Could the healer from Imladris not provide any help?”

When Galadhion did not respond, only breathing in sharply, Ruanal lowered his eyes in defeat fearing that he had gone too far into private matters. But then the Crown Prince looked up and Ruanal was taken aback by the sadness and at the same time anger he saw in the blue eyes staring at him now.

“Saeron fares better. This is only due to Lord Elrond. He is really a miracle healer.”

Ruanal frowned. Not the answer he had expected but a good one nonetheless. But where was the problem then? Somehow sensing that he was on the right path he tried again.

“Then it was the right decision to call him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but……” Galadhion trailed off.

“But your father thinks differently?” Ruanal guessed now seeing to reach the source of all this anguish.

Galadhion nodded. “Not for calling Lord Elrond but for my insubordination.”

Ruanal gasped. He could imagine how furious the King must have been. Every one in Mirkwood knew that the King and the Lord of Rivendell were not on friendly terms, although the reason for their estrangement was not known to many. Momentarily at a loss for what to say, the silence stretched again between the friends. Ruanal regarded the King’s reaction as hardly fair, but he was in no position to utter such a thought, not even in front of his best friend.

“He will change his mind,” Ruanal finally said at the same time cringing at how hollow the words sounded. Galadhion only nodded but Ruanal saw clearly that he was not really convinced. Ruanal too couldn’t believe that Galadhion could put this aside so easily. Now he knew the reason for his Lord’s anxiousness but they were as far away from a solution as before.

……………………………………..

Crouching low on a sturdy branch Ruanal breathed deeply to calm his agitated nerves. Ten minutes ago they had abandoned their horses and had leaped up into the trees when they had realized the orc band was not much further ahead of them. With a quick glance around he made sure that all of his warriors had taken their positions, waiting as he did, for the arrival of the beasts.

Against such a large band they must ruthlessly use their advantage of surprise and the benefit of firing hidden from the trees to have at least a chance to take as many of them down as possible. Ruanal was experienced enough to know that their chances to survive this, were slim if no miracle happened.

This thought brought his attention back to the elf crouching right next to him and the feeling of dread about the Crown Prince´s presence in this mission was back in his stomach. Said elf, however, was not aware of the worried gaze at his back. He stared ahead as if able to conjure up the orcs by his will alone. At least Galadhion was now concentrating and no longer distracted with his thoughts Ruanal thought grimly.

When the orcs could not only be heard but also smelled Ruanal gave the signal to ready their bows. He did not need to look to know that each projectile was accurately aimed at the still arriving orcs.

As always they didn’t try to hide their presence and trampled through the undergrowth without paying attention to either the plants they were destroying or to their surroundings. “All the better,” Ruanal thought and after a last coordinating nod with Galadhion he gave the signal to attack.

Twenty orcs were dead before they even noticed they were being attacked. All too soon they recovered from their shock and began firing back. Unfortunately such large bands always had many archers with them making it all the more dangerous for the elves. The poor aim of the orcs and their exposure on the ground did help to even the odds marginally.

The process of the attack always followed the same pattern. The elves eliminated as many of the foul beasts as possible while still keeping the advantage of being concealed by the trees and easily dodge the poorly aimed arrows. Soon, though, the group of warriors ran out of arrows and were forced to continue the fight with blades on the ground. Then the orcs had the benefit back onto their side. The elves still outmatched them with their sword fighting skills but the orcs compensated for this unbalance with their greater numbers.

Ruanal looked frantically around when the number of orcs seemed to not lessen regardless of how many the warriors slew. For every slain orc two new ones seemed to take their place. With a quick look at his Lord, Ruanal was relieved to see the determined expression on his friend’s face. With practised movements the Crown Prince held his ground but even he could not do this forever.

Forced to direct his attention back to the two orcs attacking him at once Ruanal knew that the elves could not hold out much longer. They would soon tire and the orcs, still great in number, even if reduced by now, would happily finish off the rest of the desperate group.

…………………………………….

Galadhion slashed and hacked at the orcs, thrust and parried the blows with his sword, and all had long become a blur of motion. For nearly an hour they fought against the band of orcs and Galadhion had long lost track of time or the number of their enemies. The advancing bodies however seemed never ending in spite of how many he had taken down so far. Although the growing pile of corpses around him spoke a clear language the Crown Prince was beginning to get desperate. He had no time so far to determine how his comrades were faring.

Galadhion did not feel the muscles in his arms or feet any longer. His whole body ached from exertion and he was bone tired. He did not know how much longer he could hold this pace before he would make a mistake that would lead to a severe injury or would kill him outright. No sooner he had finished this thought, when he felt a searing pain in his right thigh. Having no time to let down his guard and look at the damage that had been done, he felt warm liquid trickle down his leg.

“Wonderful,” he thought. This would surely help him to get to the point where he simply would have no more strength to even raise his sword. He stumbled forward when no scimitar met his thrust and blinked, surprised, when no orc attacked.

With a quick look he gazed around to determine how many warriors were still standing. Amidst the heaps of orc bodies he could also glimpse the bodies of some of his fellow warriors. His breath quickened when he recognized Ruanal kneeling on the ground, pressing his hand to a wound in his side.

The short respite was over; he was again forced to parry the blow of an orc. With renewed fury he struggled to come to the young elf’s aid but realized with panic that his movements became slower. A sharp pain stabbed through his leg every time he moved and the blood loss made him dizzy. They would all die here, if no miracle happened. With relief he saw Ruanal on his feet again but if his friend was as tired as he was and injured too, he would not hold out much longer.

When another orc attacked him he suddenly felt an agonizing pain in his chest. With astonishment he looked at the orc retrieving a bloody sword from his chest. At the same moment and without conscious thought he dropped to his knees and tried desperately to draw a breath. His vision blurred and pain overwhelmed all his other feelings. With great effort he lifted his head and looked at the orc standing not a foot away from him with his sword raised for the final blow. He knew he had no chance to prevent the blow from landing.

Preparing for the call of Mandos any second he blinked surprised when he heard a choked cry and felt a heavy body dropping nearby on the ground. The expected blow never did come. Too tired to think clearly he didn’t feel the hands that grabbed him and lowered him carefully to the ground.

He heard agitated voices around him but was not able to understand the words. He felt cold and wanted nothing more than to just sleep. He closed his eyes, ignored the shouting voices around him and embraced the welcoming pain-free darkness.

………………………………………………………………..

When Ruanal saw his Lord fall his heart nearly missed a beat. With shock he watched the orc retrieving his bloody sword from his friend’s chest. Although what caused him to gasp with horror was when the orc raised his sword to end the Crown Prince’s life.

Without conscious thought and no care for his own life Ruanal dragged the bow from his shoulder, knocked an arrow and fired at the same moment he had taken aim. Shaking from both the adrenalin rush and with relief he realized that the orc dropped dead before he could deliver his blow.

Seeing that no orc was attacking him at the moment, Ruanal rushed to his friend’s side. When he knelt beside Galdhion he took a deep breath when his own wound fiercely protested against this movement. Ignoring this he reached out a trembling hand afraid what he would find; afraid that the orc had already succeeded in killing the Prince.

Shutting out the battle noise around him, Ruanal carefully turned his friend over and gasped again, when he saw the deep wound in the other’s chest. This wound was beyond his skill to treat, nor could any other in the troop heal it. But it didn’t matter anyway. The next orc that would attack them would end both of their lives. Ruanal no longer had the strength to stand much less fight for both of them.

With a weary sigh he hung his head but looked up a moment later sharply when he heard some one or something approach. If he had still hope a moment before it was extinguished now. If the orcs did get reinforcements now it would be their end.

To be continued……………………….

A/N: Please, let me know what you think and review. Lai

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 11:  desperation

When Glorfindel reached the stables he was surprised to see that Thranduil was already there and mounted and the royal guards had formed up around him ready to depart. He had not needed more than a few minutes to get ready but the King appeared to be waiting for him impatiently.

Despite the tense situation the blonde warrior smiled when he observed the unhappy expression the King’s head guardsman displayed on his face. It seemed there had been a debate about the necessity of the King joining this mission. The captain was obviously not very happy with the King’s insistence of riding out with this search party; bringing help to the patrol his son had led to fight the orcs still invading their home.

Glorfindel redirected his gaze when one of the stable’s grooms led Asfaloth toward him. The great white stallion danced nervously in anticipation.

Briefly Glorfindel stroked the soft nose and murmured reassuring words into the twitching ear before he mounted. Looking back at the King he indicated that he was ready and immediately the King gave the signal to depart.

Without another word the troop galloped through the great gate which opened at the King’s inaudible command. Glorfindel was awed anew every time he saw the display of this ancient power.

Riding at the head of the group the King raced ahead on the path leaving his guards hard pressed to match his pace. Asfaloth had no trouble matching the swift gallop but Glorfindel had his doubts that they could hold this speed for much longer if they wanted to be able to fight after their arrival.

After another hour the Balrog Slayer could almost feel the glances of the elves behind his back, hoping that he would be able to convince the King to slow down or take a break. Bringing his stallion alongside the King’s mount, Glorfindel stretched out his hand to lightly touch the King’s arm. “Thranduil, we cannot go on like this. Let us take a break. The horses are exhausted.”

After an irritated look the King nodded reluctantly and slowed his horse. Glorfindel sighed. He had thought that the King would not relent. Spotting a little clearing not far ahead Thranduil held up his hand and indicated at the spot. The group of warriors dismounted and Glorfindel received a grateful nod from the head of the guards.

An odd silence spread in the little clearing when everyone went though their practised routine. The usual chatter among the elves was absent just as their ability to relax was. Careful glances were cast in the King’s direction. Everyone was mindful not to cross their liege’s mood.

After taking care of his horse, Glorfindel joined the King who was now sitting on a fallen log staring into nothing. “We have no time to rest. Something is wrong, I can feel it,” the King suddenly said with an irate tone. The forced rest unnerved him.

It was not that much further now and the burning ache in his heart told him that they had no time to lose. Knowing that he was not acting rationally and that a good deal of his heartache was born out of guilt, the King shook his head angrily.

Knowing what made the King anxious Glorfindel laid a reassuring hand on the other’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. But it helps no one if we arrive there unable to give aid.” he said while looking intently at the blond elf.

The clearing had fallen completely silent with everyone listening to the conversation. Many of the warriors knew the Crown Prince well and some were even friends with him. They feared for him and his comrades, knowing that if they had encountered the orcs by now they would be greatly outnumbered and hard pressed. If fate was cruel they would only arrive to retrieve corpses.

Looking at the Imladris elf with barely controlled emotions the King relented reluctantly, knowing that the other was right. Glorfindel sighed. This break would not truly bring what was intended - rest. Everyone was tense and anxious to go on.

After two hours the King could not contain his anxiety any longer. He began pacing around the campfire making his companions and the horses nervous. Sighing Glorfindel rose knowing that the brief respite was over. The King would no longer consent to this and he could simply order them to move on anyway.

The guards, also relieved to be finally moving on, broke the camp and waited for the signal from their Lord to depart. Already mounted they formed up ready to follow their King.

Just when Thranduil was about to mount he gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. While his face went deadly pale he doubled over and tried to inhale. Before any of the elves around them could react Glorfindel looked up alarmed and instantly slid from his horse to come to the King’s aid.

He crouched down beside the already kneeling King and tried to determine what had just happened. He grabbed the blond elf’s arm to steady him and watched with growing concern when the King struggled to inhale.

With a quick glance at the now gathered guards around them he saw the same bewilderment in their eyes. Seeing no injury or other reason that could have caused the King’s collapse, the golden warrior could, however, guess at what had caused his breakdown. “What is it, Thranduil?” he asked nonetheless, while at the same time motioning toward the worried guards to keep some distance.

When he got no response he lowered the King into a more comfortable sitting position looking worriedly into the pale and pain lined face. After a few rapid and shallow breaths the King looked up and Glorfindel gasped at the pain he saw in the intense green eyes. Knowing that the King was not experiencing his own pain the golden warrior swallowed. This could mean only one thing.

“Galadhion is badly hurt. We must hurry,” the King croaked while trying to rise. Glorfindel supported the King and after a few more steadying breaths the blond elf was able to mount his horse.

Without saying anything or looking back the King spurred his mount on not recognizing the concerned looks his warriors sent after him. Having no other choice than to follow, Glorfindel and the guards urged their horses into a gallop.

…………………………………………………………………………

With a weary sigh he hung his head but looked up sharply a moment later when he heard some one or something approach. If he still had held hope a moment before, it was extinguished now. If the orcs had gotten reinforcements now it would be the end of both his Prince and himself.

Ruanal looked around quickly. They had managed the impossible. There was no living orc left in the clearing but the price had been high and they had not a minute left to waste.

They had to hide and determine how many more orcs were approaching. Here in the open clearing they had no chance at all. He let out a bitter laugh. In their battered state, deadly weary and injured, they had no chance regardless how many orcs arrived.

He waved one of his lieutenants over and together the elves lifted the unconscious body of their captain to transport him to a nearby stand of bushes.

Cringing they both tried to ignore the painful moans they received from the wounded elf but could not slow down. The orcs could arrive at any moment. The other warriors retrieved their weapons and packs to get them out of sight too. With a last look before ducking behind a tree Ruanal swallowed. They had no time to retrieve their fallen comrades as well. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath knowing that the orcs would not leave much worth burying.

Glancing once more at his friend, he cringed seeing fresh blood staining the bandage around his Captain’s chest. Ruanal redirected his gaze back to the clearing. He could do nothing more for Galadhion now. They had to stop the orcs, otherwise their Captain and they themselves would surely be dead.

Directing the few remaining warriors into their positions Ruanal and his remaining comrades strung their bows and waited. He held his breath and hoped that the unconscious elf would not make any sound to betray their location.

However, when he carefully peered around the tree trunk he hardly believed his eyes. A large group of Elves rode into the clearing with their King at the head of the column. Only now he registered that the sound he had heard was that of horse hooves. He felt that he should slap himself - Orcs did not use horses!

…………………………………………………….

When the King rode into the clearing he stopped his mount abruptly while his heart nearly missed a beat at the sight that greeted him. The forest floor was littered with orc caresses but to his horror there were also many dead elves. His lips pressed tightly together, he let his gaze wander across the glade; but in the tangled mess it was impossible to count or identify anyone.

While Glorfindel and the guards had stopped beside him, shocked at the slaughter, the King drew his sword and slid from his horse. Although the silence in the clearing spoke only of death one could never be careful enough.

Suppressing his first impulse to haul the orc caresses aside and search for his son the King momentarily closed his eyes and listened to the song of the trees. As he both expected and dreaded, the paramount emotion he received was that of mourning and regret over the loss of immortal life. He swallowed. He had come too late. Again many of his warriors, including his firstborn, had been killed, and it was his fault, his responsibility.

Hearing a rustle nearby the King spun around and raised his sword ready to eliminate any orc which might have survived this battle and was now either brave or stupid enough to cross his path. The guards and Glorfindel strung their bows in the blink of an eye and notched arrows ready to do the same. As quickly as the weapons were drawn however, they were lowered when the King and his followers detected who had caused the rustle.

With surprise and immense relief the King hurried toward a heavily limping Ruanal glad that at least one elf had survived. Supporting the younger elf and helping him to sit down the King waited patiently until the other had caught his breath.

“You do not know how glad we are to see you, my Lord”, Ruanal breathed while looking up at his liege. Frowning, the King knelt at eye level with his son’s captain.

“We?” he asked with renewed hope in his voice. In all the worry and wariness it had not occurred to Thranduil to search his heart. Doing so now, he discovered that the bond with his child was not severed yet.

Gathering the last of his strength the younger elf lowered his eyes. The King swallowed. The small flame of hope was threatening to go out again.

Unaware of the King’s pained gaze the young warrior took a deep breath. “Only five of us are left and your son is badly wounded, my Lord,” he whispered his strength gone now.

Thranduil gasped while his heart leaped into his throat. Galadhion was alive but severely wounded! He looked around quickly. Where was Galadhion then?

After transporting the injured further down the path to another little clearing just a few steps away from the battlefield, the King ordered two of his guards, one of them a trained healer, to care for the dark haired captain, and the others to establish a temporary camp. Glorfindel stood ready to follow the King to look for the other survivors.

“Let go, Ruanal, we are in charge now,” Thrandul said while handing the nearly unconscious elf over to the helping hands of the healer. With a relieved sigh the captain sank to the ground, closed his eyes and surrendered to the ministrations of the healer. The short distance to the new camp had depleted his remaining strength completely.

With Glorfindel close behind him the King hurried back into the bushes and stopped when he came to three warriors kneeling around a fourth one and looking back at him with weary but relieved eyes. With a dismayed cry the King knelt beside the still figure on the ground. The concerned looks of the three warriors confirmed his fear that the injury Galadhion had sustained was more than bad. Inclining his head toward the younger elves the King’s face lost all colour when he looked at the thoroughly blood-soaked bandage around his son’s chest. Only a deep and severe wound would bleed so profusely.

Glorfindel knelt also, already retrieving a new bandage from his healing pouch while the King removed the soiled one. He was no healer but he had seen enough wounds in his life and he did know how bad this one looked. If the young elf did not receive proper help soon he would die.

Knowing that he could be of no help here the King turned to call for the healer but closed his mouth when he saw him hurrying toward him. The healer looked at Galadhion and his mouth tightened. The grim expression on his face told all. “Will he live?” the King asked with a rough voice not able to tear his gaze from the deadly pale face of his son.

Not looking up from his work the healer sighed. “First I must stop the bleeding and stabilize him and then we must find a way to transport him back to the palace. Here I can only do what is absolute necessary, but he requires more proper help, my Lord,” the healer responded while applying pressure on the deep stab wound.

Knowing that this was only the basics, and that his son was dying, the King nodded numbly. Now that he had found his son again, he feared to lose him altogether. When the healer had finished his ministrations and wrapped the Crown Prince in a blanket to hold him warm and immobile, the King slumped wearily beside his son and closed his eyes.

This was entirely his fault. Had he not pushed Galadhion away, his son would not have run into this mess. How could he ever forgive himself?

Carefully cradling the head of his eldest in his lap the King closed his eyes. He was beyond weary; weary in body and weary in spirit. The darkness creeping up from all sides seemed overpowering. On one side there was the illness that threatened the life of his youngest, and on the other side, the chance that Galadhion would survive was marginal at best.

On top of all of that were his suffering people, especially the elflings. He had failed so far; failed to fight the illness successfully, failed to protect his youngest and failed in saving his heir. What would come next?

To be continued………………………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 12:  one up, one down

Elarinya watched hopefully when the Master of Imladris made her little son drink another portion of the antidote. She had the little boy’s head cradled in her lap and stroked his hair softly while fighting to hold her tears in check. The boy didn’t react at all, lying limply in her arms too exhausted to fight or struggle or simply cry. They had performed this procedure many times now, ever hopeful that the child would finally show some improvement.

Again long moments passed while waiting and hoping. The elfling was not the only one at the limit of his endurance. The dark circles under the Queen’s eyes gave testimony of the worry that burdened her heart. Thornil, the palace healer stood ready in case his colleague needed any help, his heart as troubled as the Queen’s. He knew that if the boy’s condition did not improve their fight was lost. Elarinya kept sitting at the head of the bed still stroking her son’s hair, while Elrond re-arranged his utensils on a chest silently conversing with Thornil.

Elarinya had come to the sick room from visiting her husband’s steward and gathering the latest news. The reports about the mysterious illness as well as calls for help still arrived in great numbers at the palace doors and this grieved her beyond measure. This was unlike anything the wood elves had been forced to endure in the past. The situation around the palace was eerie. No one dared to cross outside. The usually lively area around the palace was silent, muted, and devoid of life. A terrible vision crossed her mind…that all inhabitants of the great forest had already died. She let out a gasp and shook her head vehemently to get rid of this thought.

She knew that word had spread throughout the forest that the Master Healer from Imladris had arrived and was working on an antidote. Many of the wood elves again looked hopefully toward their King to eventually provide them with help, yet, for many of the families that help would come too late, and that was hard for her to bear. She could not imagine losing a child, yet many families had had suffered that very fate.

Having heard the gasp and guessing what thoughts had crossed the Queen’s mind Elrond laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Have faith,” he murmured, “I’m confident that the antidote will work. Those who are not too weak to struggle will pull through. His breathing is less laboured than yesterday. As soon as his condition stabilizes, I will begin to produce the antidote in larger amounts. We will soon be able to provide your people with the medicine.”

Nodding mutely and a bit embarrassed that Elrond had so easily read her mind she only squeezed the healer’s hand in gratitude. With the promise to watch over mother and child, Thornil had settled in a nearby chair. When Elrond was convinced that the elfling was resting he arose, determined to return to his work. However he turned sharply when he heard a gasp from the Queen now sitting on the cushioned window sill.

Alarmed he looked first at the elfling in fear that his condition had worsened again, but turned his head quickly toward the elleth when he could not detect any change in the child’s condition. Elarinya’s face had become unnaturally pale all of a sudden and her hand clutched her chest with a painful expression on her face.

Sending a bewildered look toward Elrond, Thornil sprung up and stood beside his Queen to aid her if she should collapse. “What is it?” he asked concerned, suspecting that the mother was simply exhausted and drained. Elrond however narrowed his eyes. This did not look like a mental breakdown. The lines of pain across Elarinya´s face were atypical and he suspected that she experienced not her own pain. While fighting for breath the slender body of Thranduil´s wife shook with silent sobs and after regaining her breath she confirmed the healer’s worries. “It’s Galadhion, something has happened to him,” she whispered.

The two healers exchanged a quick look. Deciding against pressing for further information from the already stressed mother Thornil held up his hand and sat down beside her in silent support hoping to get some information eventually. Elrond nodded his agreement and left the room silently. He did not need a lot of imagination to guess that something had happened to the Queen’s other son. He only hoped that the King and Glorfindel would be able to arrive in time to prevent the worst.

It was quite some time until Elarinya calmed down and relented to the request to rest although she insisted that she would stay with her youngest. Thornil spread a blanket over the exhausted elleth, reclining now on the couch beside the bed, and sat on the window sill keeping a watchful eye on both mother and son. He, like all others, could only wait until the rescue party would arrive.

………………………………………….

The mood in the little camp was downcast, the tension almost palpable. Even the trees’ songs were veiled, expressing their sympathy to the little group. The King’s guards had established the camp and distributed their watch duties. They would not let any harm come to their King or the other elves for as long as they were forced to stay here. The healer had immediately begun to treat the injured and provide the five survivors with all of the care he could make possible at the moment.

His main concern, however, was directed at the Crown Prince. Since their arrival he had not woken and he showed no improvement despite the healer’s efforts. He remained pale and motionless and the deep wound in his chest refused to stop bleeding altogether. Much more than the basics; cleaning the wound, applying an herb paste, and rebinding the wound, were not possible in this camp. If the injury had caused severe internal damage only time would tell if the young elf would survive.

After wrapping the prince in a blanket to help keep him warm, the healer directed an apologetic glance towards the worried face of his King. He was unable to do more at the moment. He knew that he did not have to explain the extent of the injury to his liege. Thranduil had fought in enough battles to be able to judge for himself the severity of a wound.

After having offered his help to take one of the watch shifts and being politely but determinedly refused, Glorfindel sat back with a sigh. He was not offended; he would not have allowed guests in Lord Elrond’s realm to share his duties. Silently, he watched the guards on watch duty vanish into the trees. He doubted that they would be bothered by orcs again, but one could never be careful enough and this was Mirkwood after all and not Imladris. Briefly he wondered how the situation was at home. Hopefully the illness had not reached the Valley.

After a while the golden warrior directed his gaze toward the King. Thranduil was sitting near the little campfire, his eyes closed and the head of his son cradled in his lap. He sang softly to the injured young elf while his head rested against the trunk of an old oak. Glorfindel looked curiously at the tree. He could almost feel the connection the tree had established with the wood elf. He was not unacquainted with the song of the trees, but not to the extent of the wood elves and their King in particular.

Glorfindel looked at the motionless youth resting in the King’s lap with concern. They had decided to depart by first light and this could be quite dangerous for the seriously injured Galadhion; but staying there any longer would guarantee his death. Glorfindel dreaded the journey back to the palace already. It was no short distance and there were still the orcs to consider. Another attack on this little group would be disastrous.

Seeing no task which could occupy his thoughts, Glorfindel tried to rest, but his thoughts strayed again towards home. He could quite imagine the chaos that would erupt when the illness reached Rivendell. Elrond had left some of the antidote, but it had not been altered such as the one they were now using here in Mirkwood. The unaltered serum would be less effective, maybe even useless. Additionally, the Valley’s Master was absent.

Having given up the fruitless attempt to relax, he was glad when the guards returned from their watch and the King immediately pronounced their departure. Glorfindel sprung to his feet and walked over to the King. Thranduil was whispering softly to his stallion until the great horse tossed its head and begun to kneel. Seeing the King’s intent Glorfindel hurried over to assist.

“Let me help you”, the Balrog Slayer said after he had gathered an approving nod from the healer who was helping Ruanal to mount. Glorfindel bent down and carefully lifted Galadhion into his arms. Nodding, the King sat astride his horse’s back and stretched out his hands. Glorfindel smiled inwardly. Thranduil did not even think about the resentment he had harboured against the elves from Imladris no more than a week ago. After Glorfindel placed his son into his arms the King tightened his grip careful not to add to the young one’s hurts while the horse got to his feet again.

When Glorfindel was sure that the King had a firm grip on the unconscious body he turned and grinned listening to the dispute Ruanal was having with the healer. “I’m perfectly able to ride unaided and certainly on my own horse,” he grumbled. Glorfindel had agreed with the healer that Asfaloth would bear the injured captain while Glorfindel would lead the horse to make sure it made no misstep. “No you are not,” the healer returned irritably with an indication at the new red spot on the younger elf’s leg. Sighing and lowering his head in defeat the elf nodded and handed Glorfindel the reins. Squeezing Ruanal’s good leg Glorfindel nodded at the captain. “Be grateful that you are able to ride at all,” he whispered with a sympathetic tone. Understanding the underlying meaning Ruanal looked guiltily at the back of his King holding his best friend’s limp body in his arms.

With a last look around, and satisfied that all the injured were mounted and the guards ready, the King gave the signal to depart. The dead had been placed upon the guards’ horses. The King’s warriors marched along the perimeter determined to prevent any more harm from coming to the desolate group.

…………………………………

Because of the slow pace they had to use the way home took more time than the King had anticipated and hoped for. For about the hundredth time he adjusted his hold on the limp body in his arms, his shoulders and back aching from the cramped muscles. The King grimaced. What was this small discomfort in comparison to the pain the injured must endure now?

When he looked into the pale face of his son’s captain riding on Glorfindel´s horse next to him he was almost grateful that Galadhion was still unconscious. He took a deep breath however when he felt the wetness beneath his hand which lay lightly over the bandage around his son’s chest. He knew without looking at it that the wound had begun to bleed again. He must soon decide if they should proceed with all possible haste or stop to let the wounded rest and rebind the wounds. Being well inside the Home Guards’ territory now he deemed a rest not overly dangerous apart from the time they would lose.

Catching the look from Glorfindel walking next to his horse they silently agreed that a short rest was necessary. Holding up his hand the King brought the procession to a stop.

Relieved sighs could be heard from the wounded, the guards however looked annoyed. The distance to the palace was short now, but they refrained from arguing with their King. Again with the help of the golden haired warrior Thranduil laid his son on a blanket and settled right beside him. The pallor of his son worried him beyond description. The bandage around the younger elf’s chest was now completely soaked with fresh blood.

The healer changed the bandage around the Crown Prince’s chest and Thranduil did not have to look at the grim face of the healer to know that the condition of Galadhion was dire. After finishing re-bandaging the wound the healer nodded toward his liege knowing that he did not have to speak about the severity of the situation.

Resting his hand lightly on the cold and clammy skin of his son’s cheek the King rested his head back on the trunk he was leaning against and received, gratefully, the sympathy and support the tree offered; but his heart´s ache could not be lessened. Regretting the words he had said to Galadhion tenfold, he now feared that he would not get the chance to ask for forgiveness.

Above and beyond that was the worry that plagued him about the situation at home. How was his youngest faring? Was the antidote ready for administering by now? If fate was cruel this day he would have to mourn the death of both his sons - one at home and one whom he was bringing with him.

……………………………………………………………

When the Master of Imladris silently entered the room of the little prince his face brightened immediately at the sight that greeted him. The boy was awake and actually tried to smile at his mother. Hearing the door open Elarinya turned her head and Elrond saw through the tears that streamed down her face the immense joy in the green eyes.

Smiling, he quickly crossed the distance and sat on the edge of the large bed opposite the Queen. The elfling looked at him curiously, not able to remember if he had seen this stranger before. “I’m glad you are better now, young one,” Elrond said while monitoring the little elf intently. “Hello,” Saeron replied a bit timidly still not sure if he liked these grey eyes looking at him so piercingly. Just in case he groped for the hand of his mother.

Chuckling, the healer laid a gentle hand on the child’s forehead. The fever was not yet gone but was at a tolerable level and the child’s breathing, although still laboured, was equally at a state that was acceptable. More worrisome to the healer right now was the frail condition of the child. The boy was dehydrated after many days of high fever and much too thin and weak to master the rest of his way to full recovery.

Silently watching and not really understanding the still concerned countenance of the Imladris elf the Queen looked questionally at the healer. “What is it?” she asked with a forced calmness, new fear rising in her chest. Winking at the elfling Elrond rose and guided the Queen a step away from the bed. “His condition is much improved, but he is not out of the woods yet. Make him drink as much as possible and try to feed him some broth. He will need his strength to fully recover and he must be watched closely. A relapse is not out of the question.”

Nodding and seeing that her son was squirming impatiently on the bed the Queen and the healer turned back smiling down at the elfling. Squeezing the arm of the Queen reassuringly Elrond turned and strode toward the door. “I’ve much work to do,” he whispered and exited the room after winking a last time at the elfling.

Elarinya sighed relieved. The antidote was now ready to administer. Elrond would organize the delivery with the help of the palace healer. This would bring change, and hopefully no more elflings had to die. Smiling she sat back on her son’s bed. “Nana, where is Ada and Galahon?” the boy asked, still not able to pronounce the name of his brother correctly.

Quickly masking her worry the Queen forced a smile on her face. “They will visit you soon, Saeron,” she replied while stroking her son’s flushed cheek softly. “You must rest now.” His brow furrowed the elfling clearly sensed the tension coming from his mother but he was too weary. He snuggled deeper into the covers and was asleep instantly.

………………………………………………….

Elrond looked up from his work when he heard a knock on the door. He was satisfied so far. He had produced a considerable amount of the antidote. Now he only had to decide how to bring it effectively and quickly to the sick.

He rose from behind his worktable and bade the visitor enter. He had hoped to see a guard informing him that the rescue party had returned but was surprised to see the palace healer Thornil coming into the room. He had intended to call for him but had not done so yet. His posture involuntarily stiffened. He already had a guilty conscience when facing his colleague. He could imagine how he would have felt if the situation had been reversed and another elf had done the work that he had usually been responsible for doing. 

Inclining his head toward the tall elf, Elrond waited to learn what had brought the palace healer to him. “Master Elrond, I’ve heard the good news that the young prince is recovering now and I wanted to express my gratitude to you. I’m in your debt,” he said.

Elrond relaxed. He had seen no ill feelings in the other’s eyes, only sincere gratitude. Stepping around the table he looked at the healer directly. “No thanks are needed. I’m only glad that all turned out well in the end, although the help came too late for many.”

Sighing Thornil nodded and lowered his eyes. “Yes, and that’s my fault. I’ve failed the King and my people.”

Understanding the other’s feeling all too well Elrond stepped closer and laid a hand on the other’s forearm. “It’s not your fault. This illness is nothing anyone of us has seen before. I was only fortunate to find the right cure in time. I’m sure the King will not blame you.”

Sighing deeply and not really convinced the palace healer nodded weakly. Drawing the other’s gaze again Elrond swallowed before he uttered the apology which was long overdue. “I wanted to thank for your tolerance allowing my presence in your domain.”

Furrowing his brow in annoyance the palace healer stepped back. “But it was a matter of course!” he said vehemently.

Elrond smiled. “I know it was not, but I thank you nonetheless for your words. It has made my stay here more pleasant than anticipated.”

Smiling back the wood elf relaxed too. Seeing this Elrond took a deep breath of his own and gestured back to his worktable. “In fact I would be glad for your help right now. The antidote is ready for administering. Have you any suggestions on how we could accomplish this?”

Smiling openly now Thornil nodded. “Yes I have. It is why I’m here.”

To be continued…………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 13:  joy and sorrow

Elrond dragged the sleeve of his tunic wearily across his eyes. He had been labouring for hours now to produce more of the antidote. At first he had underestimated the amount that would be needed. Not long after word had spread throughout the forest that a cure had been found, families arrived in great numbers at the palace with their sick children. Elrond leaned back while the memory of the first wave of giving out the medicine surfaced again in his mind.

There had been really chaotic scenes happening in the courtyard in front of the palace. Every restraint seemed to snap when children were concerned. Families who had known each other for centuries glared at others who had garnered a closer place in the seemingly endless column of waiting elves. Sometimes Elrond had to watch parents being heartbroken when he had to turn down aid to elflings who were already beyond his help. In those cases he had to deny administering the precious antidote and give it to others with more promise of success. Joy and sorrow lay so close together that it made him reel.

And then came the moment when the already produced antidote was used up and he had to announce that they had to stop treating the sick until more was available. He had many helpers of course but it would take some time to come up with the next portion; time that a few children did not have.

The wail that erupted on the lawn nearly took the healer’s breath away. The desperation was all too understandable but he was no wizard and needed time to produce more of the precious medicine. At first he had feared that the agitated mob would stop the riders that Thornil had sent out to distribute the antidote to more far away villages, but only desperate glares followed them.

Now he sat here hours later and tried to focus his tired mind on the task at hand. Without Thornil´s apprentices he would have never stood a chance to fulfil his task. Fortunately the great forest provided the healer with enough of the herbs and other ingredients he needed to produce more of the slightly yellowish liquid. A constant stream of young elves hurried between the forest and the palace to deliver the much needed plants.

When he looked outside the window onto the courtyard he noticed gratefully that the column of elves waiting to receive aid shortened with each new amount of the medicine he could provide. Only a few hours more and the majority of aid seekers would be medicated, at least for the time being.

After a brief visit to see “his” elfling he closed the door to the young Prince’s chambers pleased with the progress the child was making. He was sure now that the elfling would fully recover. If his other patients did equally well in response to the medicine he was confident that the plague would soon no longer be a threat to the inhabitants of Eryn Galen.

Sighing deeply and resolutely ignoring his body’s request for rest he dragged his feet over the floor toward his workroom knowing that much work still had to be accomplished. The sick could not wait. When he had nearly reached his room the clatter of many hooves sounded through the long corridor and he spun around. Judging by the raised murmurs coming from the courtyard he guessed instantly that the rescue party had returned.

His weariness forgotten he turned around and hurried toward the great entrance door. Halfway down the corridor he nearly collided with Elarinya coming around a corner. With an apologetic glance over her shoulder she did not even stop; too anxious to reach the arrivals. Elrond both looked forward to and at the same time dreaded what would await him at the courtyard. The reaction of the Queen earlier this day promised nothing good.

Reaching the many steps that lead down to the courtyard he stopped and narrowed his eyes when he observed the group that had arrived there. The waiting elves had parted to allow their King and his followers to enter the courtyard. The warriors surrounding the King looked curiously at the gathered elves in the courtyard, while the families, in turn, gazed at them.

Both groups did not comprehend at first what this commotion meant. The King however instantly recognized the meaning of the gathering and signalled his warriors to not disturb the administration of the antidote, motioning them a bit aside. The murmurs had died down when it dawned on the elves already gathered in front of the palace what procession they observed.

The healer from Imladris quickly scanned the newly arrived group and sighed, relieved, when he spotted his advisor. Glorfindel was obviously uninjured as was the King, but the sight of the other elves was all the more saddening. With sorrow in his heart he looked at the many wrapped bodies on the back of the horses brought home for their last farewell.

And then his look came to rest on the limp body the King so desperately clutched to his chest. The Queen was looking up at her husband with wide eyes barely able to hold her tears in check at the sight of her eldest son.

Elrond did not have to come any closer to tell that the young elf was gravely wounded. The too pale face, the limpness of the body and the bright red patch of blood on the young one’s chest spoke a clear message. The living members of the patrol sported varying degrees of injuries but no one except the Crown Prince seemed to be in a life-threatening condition.

Not wanting to displace the palace healers again he remained at the top of the steps while some of his colleagues with Thornil at their head rushed past him to receive the King’s son and the other injured elves. After delivering his son into the care of the healers the King dismounted and gathered his wife into his arms. Over the top of her head Thranduil observed the many elves waiting in the courtyard.

Seeing his hopes confirmed that the antidote could now be administered he took a deep breath and directed his gaze toward the healer from Imladris still standing at the top steps. With a light nod of his head he expressed his thanks with the promise to do this in a more proper manner as soon as the imminent business at hand had been handled.

After the King made sure that every injured warrior had been cared for, he walked over to the waiting elves and reassured them through either a gesture or word, promising more help as soon as it was available. Being comforted by the presence of their King the families calmed down with new hope in their hearts.

After bowing to Glorfindel and expressing his thanks; the King took the hand of his wife and mounted the many steps to stand before the healer from Imladris. Momentarily at a loss for words to express his thanks or even to ask questions concerning the antidote, and anxious to follow the healers attending to his son, Thranduil simply stood there staring at Elrond. Sensing the inner turmoil of the King Elrond only smiled and gestured inside the palace.

“Go, we can talk later,” was all he had to say to set the royal couple in motion earning a grateful smile from both Elarinya and Thranduil.

After Glorfindel had reached his side Elrond looked him over carefully again. Though not injured the warrior looked dead on his feet. No wonder Elrond thought when he noticed the dead that were taken away. “I’m alright, Elrond,” Glorfindel reassured, well aware of the scrutiny of his friend. “Sadly this cannot be said for many others. Galadhion is badly wounded. I worried he would not make it home.” Elrond only nodded when he looked into his friend’s blue eyes. “I also was afraid of that.” What happened out there?”

Taking a deep breath Glorfindel let his gaze wander over the still waiting elves in the courtyard. “We arrived too late. The battle was already over. The patrol had stood its ground and dispatched all of the orcs, but they paid a high price. We could only pick up the pieces.” The golden warrior directed a pained look at his friend. “I fear for the King’s eldest, Elrond. The injury looked bad.”

Elrond sighed in desperation. The positive news he wanted to deliver was without value at the moment, but he knew that Glorfindel had seen enough of the events unfolding in the courtyard to know them anyway which he confirmed with his next words.

“At least you have achieved your goal,” he said. Elrond looked up sharply when he caught the guilty note in his advisor’s tone. “You did what you could. Nothing is your fault, Glorfindel,” he tried to reassure but stopped when the elf beside him shook his head.

“I know but that does not make it any easier.” Elrond nodded. Saeron was out of danger and many of the inhabitants had been given reason for hope but the Crown Prince’s life hung in the balance now.  Maybe tonight they would rescue one life but lose another.

…………………………………………………….

The two Imladris elves passed the great doors leading into the healing ward and Elrond was just about to sternly advise his friend again to take his much needed rest, when one of the doors opened and revealed a frantic looking Thornil. Seeing the one he was seeking standing right there in the corridor, the palace healer strode directly toward his colleague. Seeing the open desperate expression on the other’s face Elrond swallowed, expecting the worst.

“Master Elrond,” Thornil addressed the other healer, “the injuries of the prince are beyond our skills. I wonder if you…” he trailed off suddenly aware what he was requesting. Thornil knew exactly how his King had treated the elf from Imladris and what Elrond had done so far to help the wood elves despite the rejection he had received.

Shame was clearly written across his face, over the fact of his own inabilities and the way that these guests had been treated. Thornil looked down. Elrond had achieved what he could not, and now he was asking for assistance again because he knew that the healing skills of the dark haired elf surpassed that of himself and his staff. Throwing his dignity to the wind and knowing that they could lose no more time Thornil looked up again. “He’s dying, we can do no more for him”, he nearly whispered.

Shocked by this bad news Elrond did not have to look into his advisor’s face to see the disagreement there when he stepped toward Thornil. A few minutes ago he had wanted to reprimand Glorfindel because he was still on his feet, yet at the same time denying that he needed rest just as badly.

“I will do what is in my power,” he stated and followed an already turning Thornil into the healing room. Swearing under his breath Glorfindel had no choice but to follow his friend; determined to prevent the Elf-Lord from endangering his own life.

……………………………………………………….

After entering the sick room right behind the two healers Glorfindel swallowed taking in the scene before him. Thranduil and Elarinya were hovering beside their son’s bed holding onto each other while they watched the desperate attempts of the palace healers to rescue their son’s life.

Glorfindel closed his eyes when he saw the great amount of blood all over the bed, the floor and the clothes of the healers. He did not have to be a healer to know that this was definitely too much.

The King’s face was a mask, in contrast to the tear streaked expression of his wife. Glorfindel´s heart ached for the couple because of the scene that was repeating itself before them. Again the parents were forced to watch as one of their children fought with death.

Seeing Elrond rush towards the bed, Thornil motioned for his helpers to step back and allow him room to get to the Prince. They had done what they could anyway. Only the superior skills of the Master healer could achieve something now, if even he could succeed. The King looked bewildered at his staff whereas the Queen’s eyes held a spark of hope when Elrond carefully sat down on the bed.

Thranduil only now recognized how precarious the situation had become. The presence of Elrond clearly indicated that his own healers could help no more. Not looking at the royal couple Elrond looked the young elf over carefully.

Judging by the ashen complexion and the rattling sound he could hear every time the Prince tried to draw a breath, he could tell that not much time was left. The sword that had stabbed the Prince’s chest had pierced a lung, resulting in heavy internal bleeding. The young elf was drowning in his own blood.

Elrond closed his eyes briefly. This injury was one he could hardly do anything against and so he did the one thing he hoped would at least achieve a lessened blood flow.

He closed his eyes, placing one of his hands on the heaving chest and the other one on the young elf’s forehead and sinking into a healing trance. Hopefully he could provide the weak body with enough energy to fight the damage done to it on its’ own.

Glorfindel stepped beside his Lord with a concerned frown on his face. He knew what would follow. The healer would pour as much healing energy as possible into the weak body and encourage the elf’s own healing powers to increase. This was exhausting at best and could be dangerously deadly for the healer in his current physical condition.

For a moment Glorfindel was at a loss about what to do. If he interrupted this now the Prince would die, but if he allowed this to happen then it was possible that Elrond might not be able to hold enough back for his own survival. He was not willing to risk that. Resolutely he stepped up beside the healer with a trained eye constantly directed towards him. He would let Elrond proceed as long as he was able to determine that the healer could handle it. At the slightest indication however that something was earnestly amiss, he would intervene – a life in the balance or not.

With a frown Thranduil looked between the Balrog-Slayer and the healer. Not familiar with this procedure he did not know why the posture of the blond elf had stiffened.

Elarinya seemed not to notice the silent exchange between her husband and Glorfindel. Her eyes were fixed on her son, fervently hoping that the dark haired healer would achieve something.

Even without knowing what was happening she completely trusted the dark haired elf. Not wanting to interrupt what magic Elrond was performing through his questions, Thranduil redirected his gaze at his son. Not more than two weeks ago he had tried to deny the Elf-Lord entrance to his realm and now, for a second time, the healer was the last chance one of his sons had.

While the time dragged on Thranduil could not get rid of the feeling that something was amiss with the healer. Elrond’s face had lost its colour and his hands had begun to tremble, slightly at first but with increasing intensity.

When the King looked up to demand an explanation from Glorfindel he nearly took a step back at the furious expression on the other’s face. The blond elf stared intently at his Lord with a firm hand on the healer’s shoulder. If he didn’t now better he would have sworn that he saw a surge of energy coming from the warrior’s hand and vanishing into the healer’s shoulder.

Before he could comprehend this, the healer moaned and would have collapsed onto the floor if not for Glorfindel. He quickly caught his friend before he could tumble from the bed. Elarinya let out a small cry of dismay when she realized how utterly drained the healer looked. He was barely conscious and holding onto Glorfindel to steady himself.

“What just happened?” the King demanded, in a sharper than intended tone of voice. His confusion and irritation was getting the better of him. Glorfindel did not even look up, fully concentrating on the swaying figure before him. After the Elf-Lord had regained some of his strength, Elrond looked up and addressed first the Queen and then the King. With a hoarse voice he looked back at the young elf on the bed.

“I’ve stabilized him enough that he hopefully will stand the night. If the wound does not start bleeding again then he has a chance to survive.”

Feeling unconsciousness tugging at the corner of his mind Elrond stood and turned unable to hold up a conversation much longer. Motioning for Glorfindel he walked toward the door closely followed by his advisor.

Opening the door for the exhausted elf Glorfindel looked back over his shoulder and was rewarded with two bewildered expressions. Resolutely he followed his friend out of the room while Thornil rushed past them toward the bed. Their questions would have to wait.

To be continued…………………..

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 14:  forgive me

After Elrond had left, Thranduil looked at his wife questioningly. “I had no idea that this procedure would drain him to this degree, least of all be dangerous for him,” Elarinya said with a guilty tone. Directing her gaze toward her son still lying completely still on the bed she dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Nonetheless I’m grateful that he did this.”

Not sure how to respond and still irritated over the accusation he had seen in Glorfindel’s eyes the King stepped behind his wife and encircled her with his arms. Together they watched the slight rise and fall of their son’s chest. However, the King could not detect any other improvement.

Sitting down on the bed Thranduil took Elarinya’s hand into his. “It’s my fault,” he said suddenly while still gazing at the pale face of the young elf. “I’ve treated him unjustly. He was right to call for Elrond. I see this now.”

Turning so she could look at her husband Elarinya took a deep breath. “You could not have foreseen this, but we should have guessed. Galadhion was always very determined to please you and to get your approval.” The King nodded. He hoped that he would have the chance to set things right.

Thranduil looked up startled when the door opened, and Thornil stepped inside after he had left the parents just a few moments before. “Do you need a distraction?” he asked quietly while motioning for the royal couple to follow him. The King and Queen furrowed their brows while an apprentice healer hurried over to take their place watching over their son.

Reluctantly Thranduil and Elarinya followed the healer down the corridor and a small smile crept over the Queen´s face when she noticed where they were heading. Thranduil had also noticed which way the healer was heading.

When they reached their goal the healer stepped aside and the parents rushed past him and opened the door to the room of their youngest. The sight that greeted them lifted their downcast moods almost immediately. Saeron was sitting on his bed and let out a shriek of delight in seeing his parents rushing toward him and enveloping him in a tight embrace. Thornil closed the door with a relieved smile.

…………………………………………

After Thranduil had convinced his lively elfling that he had to stay in bed a few days longer and Elarinya had promised to stay and read to their son, the King left the chamber quietly. With a sigh he leaned against the corridor wall next to the door for support. The emotional ups and downs were sapping his strength. He could not remember when he had last eaten or slept properly, but this, he realized with a grimace, was true for many others around him too.

He was of course overjoyed that Saeron was progressing so well. Children were amazing. A few days ago they were not sure if the elfling would survive and today he had already demanded to be allowed outside. Relieved from this worry, what was left was his concern about Galadhion. Yes, the injuries of the young elf were grave, but they should not have been life-threatening to this degree. And on top of everything else was his concern for the many sick children in his realm.

Thornil had briefly informed him that the distribution was going well and nearly everyone had been provided with the antidote by now. However, even the King knew that this was no guarantee for the childrens’ survival. If the illness had advanced too much the antidote would come too late. He was still receiving reports about the death of sick elflings at various villages. Tomorrow he would inspect the process of delivering himself and he hoped his presence in the cottages further away would stir hope again. The deaths he could not undo, though, and a thick cloud of grief still hung over the great forest and would continue to for a long time.

When he heard someone approach Thranduil straightened up and tensed when he recognized the Balrog-Slayer coming down the corridor carrying a tray with a bowl and several towels in his hands. The scowl was still in place on the blond´s face and it had, if this was even possible, intensified. The King furrowed his brow. He did still not know why Glorfindel was so furious. Never being one to back away from a confrontation, he stepped away from the wall and into the warrior’s path; not that Glorfindel had not already spotted him.

Briefly Elrond’s advisor glared at him but at least he stopped. He looked at the King questioningly. “May I have a word with you?” Thranduil asked still not sure what to make of the other’s demeanour. Considering the request and rebalancing the tray in his hands Glorfindel nodded and Thranduil motioned to a door on the opposite side of the corridor, a small office he used occasionally.

After he had closed the door and Glorfindel had set the tray on a nearby shelf Thranduil stepped in front of the other elf and looked him in the eye. Glorfindel looked back at him levelly. Taking a deep breath and reigning in his rising anger Thranduil took a step closer. “Glorfindel, I have still not really comprehended what happened earlier. Elrond poured healing energy into my son’s body; that much is clear to me. But why is he so weakened and, most of all pray tell me, why are you so furious? Are you angry that my son will survive?” he asked challengingly, hoping to draw out the warrior.

With an angry glare Glorfindel stepped back. “Of course not,” he shot back. “But you have not once asked about Elrond nor have your healers had the grace to ask if we might need something, thank you very much.”

This time it was Thranduil who stepped back with confusion. What was going on here? What had he overlooked? Why should his healers look after Elrond? A very bad feeling began to spread in his stomach but he did still not grasp the meaning. Still irritated by the warrior’s attitude Thranduil took a deep breath. “I would be very glad, if you would tell me now where the problem lies”, he declared the irritation clearly visible in his voice.

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “Then I will tell you. Elrond was beyond tired and drained from the long hours of preparing the antidote and caring for the elfling and he was by no means in any condition to perform a healing trance. He has widely overstepped the border where the procedure would endanger his own life!”

Thranduil stared at the golden warrior in dismay. This he had not known. How could he? He had never seen the healer in action before and knew nothing about the after-effects of such doings. Seeing the King’s stunned expression Glorfindel´s anger vanished as quickly as it had flared up. He knew that the King was not really the target of his anger, besides anger was not the right word. Concern…the feeling of helplessness and fear for his friend’s life described it much better.

“I’m sorry Thranduil, I did not mean to vent my anger at you, I only…” he trailed off and sighed. The King swallowed. The many days of emotional strain had left them all on edge. He stepped closer and laid a hand on the other’s forearm. “No, Glorfindel, it is I who has to apologize. I have not thanked Elrond for rescuing my youngest and now I’ve made the same mistake again with Galadhion; not to mention my not having thanked him for the help he has given all the other elves in my realm with the antidote he developed.” Thranduil lowered his eyes. “I have not even thanked you for coming with me to help rescue the patrol.”

Hearing the real regret in the King’s voice and seeing the remorse in the green eyes Glorfindel let out a deep breath. “We are all emotionally drained at the moment. Now, I must go and look after Elrond.”

Hearing the deep concern in the other’s voice the King looked up. “Can I accompany you? I would very much like to speak to him.” Looking at Glorfindel and expecting a confirmation Thranduil frowned again at the bewilderment he could see back on the warrior’s face.

“You can come, of course, but when I left him he was unconscious.” Without a further word the Imladris elf turned, took the tray off the shelf it was on and was out of the door before Thranduil could even blink. Now understanding the other’s anger and concern Thranduil let out a breath. Closing his eyes briefly the King followed the blond elf determined to begin setting things right.

………………………………………………

When Thranduil reached the dimly lit room shortly after Glorfindel he hesitated before he stepped over the threshold and closed the door quietly. He did not know if he should intrude here. He was a very private person himself and treasured nothing more than keeping his privacy. But Glorfindel had not objected and he wanted very much to speak with the half-elf.

His gaze travelled around the room and he looked surprised at the still figure on the bed. Glorfindel had not exaggerated. The healer was really not accessible. Feeling all the more awkward now he turned and was about to leave when Glorfindel called him back. “Please stay Thranduil. He’s close to waking. Maybe you two should talk.”

Not knowing how Glorfindel could say that Elrond was waking from his unconscious state, Thranduil nodded nonetheless and turned back to sit in a chair opposite the bed. With bewilderment the King watched when Glorfindel took his hands from the sides of the healer’s face and called softly to him.

Not long after that the half-elf began to stir and opened his eyes. A smile broke over his friend’s face, even if the lines of worry did not leave his features.

“Welcome back, my friend,” he said softly all the while watching the dark haired elf closely. “How do you feel?” Blinking several times the half-elf tried a smile. “I’m alright Glorfindel. Only a bit tired that is all. Now move aside so that I can stand up.”

Snorting but relenting the blond warrior moved aside and reached out a hand to help his friend sit up. Thranduil averted his eyes. The healer did not only look tired he looked outright drained; exhausted, and ready to break down again.

Having sensed another’s gaze the healer looked toward the chair and raised one eyebrow. Seeing the guilt and anxiousness in the King’s face he directed his gaze back at Glorfindel. “How long have I slept?” he asked, feeling that he would not like the answer.

Sighing Glorfindel filled a glass with water and handed it to him. “You have not merely slept. You were unconscious after you collapsed. That was yesterday,” Glorfindel answered, his irritation still evident in his voice.

Before Elrond could respond, Thranduil stood and walked toward the bed. Elrond in the meantime had managed to stand despite Glorfindel’s protests. Taking a deep breath the King gathered his thoughts.

“Elrond,” he began, looking straight at the healer, “I did not realize that you were endangering your life to help Galadhion. Although I’m very grateful for what you did, I’m not sure if I will allow you to do that again. I had no idea that a healing trance would weaken you to this extent. I can only thank you and know that it will never suffice.”

Hearing the worry and real regret in the King’s voice Elrond’s features softened in sympathy, which made him look all the more tired. “No need to apologize, Thranduil but I think you thanks are misplaced. I could not really reach your son yesterday.”

Thranduil´s head snapped up at this announcement. What was this supposed to mean? The healer had clearly saved his son’s life, had he not? Remembering that he could detect no real improvement after the healer’s ministrations, save that his son’s heart did still beat, Thranduil blood ran cold.

Narrowing his eyes he looked directly at the healer hoping for some explanation. “What do you mean by that?” he asked with a careful controlled voice dreading that he would not like the answer.

Feeling his knees weaken Elrond gestured toward the small table standing beside the window. “Please sit Thranduil. I will try to explain to you why your son is still living but not really recovering.”

His frown deepening the King sat himself opposite the healer while Glorfindel stepped behind Elrond in case his friend would need his help. When the King’s patience was used up Thranduil hit his fist on the table.

“Elrond, say it plainly and simply. What’s wrong with Galadhion?” The King nearly let out a laugh when he heard himself ask that. His son was laying there a few rooms down the hall, motionless, gravely wounded and he was asking what was wrong?

Not reacting to the outburst Elrond leaned forward and looked the King directly in the eye. “Thranduil, when I poured healing energy into your son’s body I could strengthen his hroa but I could not reach his fea. He will not survive for long in this condition. He has lost his will to live!”

Thranduil jumped up with a cry of dismay. What was the healer telling him? That his son had no wish to live on? This was ridiculous! Galadhion had always been a young elf with a deep love of life, for finding the little joys in every step he took. He loved his family deeply and was loved in return. What could possibly have brought him this low that he denied returning to this life?

But as soon as these thoughts had crossed his mind, he staggered back with a moan. This was his fault entirely. He had rejected his son at a time when they had needed each other the most, when Galadhion had needed his support, not his denial.

With a pained gaze he looked at Elrond. “What have I done? With my behaviour I’ve doomed my child to death.” With a ragged breath Thranduil was grateful for the wall against his back for support.

Their victory over the plague would be a defeat if Galadhion died because of his stubbornness. How could he ever explain this to Elarinya? How could he ever look her in the eye?

Seeing the pain in the King’s eyes Elrond rose and walked toward his old friend. He laid his hand in sympathy on the other’s arm. “It’s not too late yet, Thranduil. I can try again to get a connection to your son’s fea, but I will need your help. He will not respond to me, only to you.”

Looking doubtful and hopeful at the same time the King directed his gaze first at Glorfindel and then back at Elrond. “I will do all you will ask of me, but how does this work?”

Elrond sighed and after a warning glare from his advisor he explained. “I will need a few hours rest and then I will attempt to connect with your son’s mind. I will take you along. It’s too complex to explain, you must trust me Thranduil.”

A wry smile crossed the King’s face. “What other choice do I have, but I fear Galadhion will not listen to me.”

Now Elrond smiled. “All will turn out well, you will see.”

Not really convinced Thranduil nodded anyway. After wishing Elrond a true rest he left the room in search of his wife. He anticipated a long and complicated conversation.

To be continued……………………………

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 15:  Ada, I love you

With an arm around his wife’s waist the King followed the healer from Imladris into Galadhion´s chamber. Elarinya was lightly leaning against him for support. She looked exhausted, her eyes red rimmed from crying. ‘’I guess I do not look any better,’ Thranduil thought grimly.

They had agreed on transferring the prince to his own rooms, hoping that the familiar surroundings would somehow bring a positive reaction. But up to now this was not the case. The prince had still not moved a muscle or showed any indication that he interacted either with his surroundings or with the elves caring for him.

Elarinya was most anxious about the experiment Elrond wanted to perform with her son. Despite his explanations she could hardly imagine how the healer intended to reach and contact her son’s mind, much less how her husband would be able to help him in any way. Not that she doubted her husband’s abilities but neither she nor Thranduil had ever done something like that. The race of elves shared a very close connection with their children, that was true, but this attempt to consciously reach her son’s mind and coax it to respond was beyond her comprehension.

A look into her husband’s eyes told her that Thranduil was as unsure as she was. Like her, he would do anything to help their child find his way back from wherever his mind had retreated to, but the fear of failure was high.

Despite answering as many questions as he could Elrond could not destroy the worry. In fact their doubts had actually increased rather than lessened. It was no recipe that Elrond wanted to put together here. He had no clear concept himself about how to do this. He would have to decide spontaneously.

Despite that Thranduil was very determined to try. What did he have to lose anyway and what did he fear - that Galadhion would not respond to him or forgive him? With an inward sigh he hoped not.

After checking on his unconscious patient, Elrond bade all the elves present, save the King and Queen of course, to leave the room so they would not get distracted. Thranduil gave strict orders that they should not be disturbed. Maybe they had only one chance to call his son back.

Thornil and his apprentices were very glad to leave the room, feeling out of place and incompetent. Elrond had come to a respectable agreement with the King’s healing staff, making the palace healers not feel replaced. Thornil had even, every so often, declared that he was very grateful for the Master Healer’s presence and that Elrond did not to have to feel any disquiet about offering his aid.

Elarinya looked lovingly at her son. If one did not know better he appeared to be sleeping. The outer wound had healed and the signs of the battle had faded; any casual observer could easily assume he was asleep. But they all knew better. The wound that mattered went deeper. If the mind was not healed the body could not heal either.

After planting a last kiss on the cold forehead she settled herself on a couch opposite the bed. From there she could watch all that was happening. She wanted to be prepared if her help was required even though she had absolutely no idea how she could provide any kind of assistance.

Smiling at her briefly Elrond sat on the mattress on the left side of the motionless body and motioned Thranduil to sit opposite of him. Seeing the stiff posture of the King Elrond laid a hand on the King’s forearm.

“You must still your nerves, Thranduil. I will guide you. Regardless of what will happen I’ll be with you, but it’s your presence that his mind will answer to. Be honest and hold nothing back. Then he will respond to you.”

Nodding mutely Thranduil tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. He did not understand a word of what Elrond was talking about but he would do all in his power to call their son back.

Looking intently at the disturbingly closed eyes he started when Elrond grasped his left hand and laid it on Galadhion´s chest. Elrond did the same with his right hand.

The healer placed his left hand on the young elf’s forehead and closed his eyes. Sceptically the King watched while the healer took deep calming breaths. What was he supposed to do?

Somehow he felt awkward. This was his son he was touching with all the gentleness he could, but how could he achieve anything with this? Mimicking the healer and closing his eyes the King tried to focus solely on his son’s song. Feeble as it was he could still recognize his connection with Arda, with his family, and with life, but he was shocked how disturbed the thread already was.

For long minutes nothing happened and he was about to open his eyes and ask for an explanation when suddenly he felt a slight tugging at the edge of his mind and before he could consciously comprehend anything his mind was trapped in a whirlwind of motion.

He gasped involuntarily and his entire being screamed to resist this presence invading his thoughts but he somehow managed to stay in control and let the other guide him wherever it would lead him.

The mad rush his mind was forced to follow stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Before his mind’s eye he saw himself standing on the edge of a long and dark tunnel of some sort. Having never experienced something like this before he stood there shrinking back from the utter darkness emanating from the tunnel. He looked warily around but could not distinguish any shapes around him. All was motionless, almost wavering.

Feeling a touch on his shoulder he jumped, whirled around and looked surprised at the face of the healer. Then he scolded himself. Whom had he expected to see? However despite the awkwardness of the situation he could hear the healer’s voice clearly. “Go down the tunnel. At the end you will find what you search for,” the dark haired elf said cryptically.

Looking sceptically back into the dark tunnel the King was not sure what to do. Would Elrond not accompany him?

“Follow your heart,” the healer advised, gently nudging the King forward. Swallowing Thranduil took a few careful steps into the tunnel.

After a few meters he looked back over his shoulder and nearly let out a cry when the healer had vanished. First he felt a surge of panic, but then his self confidence took over. He was here to rescue his son. He would go anywhere to achieve this goal with or without the healer.

Resolutely he directed his gaze forward and carefully set one foot in front of the other. The further he went into the tunnel the deeper the darkness seemed to grow, but every tunnel had an end and there was always a light at the end of every tunnel he reminded himself. But the longer this walk lasted the more doubts crossed his mind. What was this dreadful place? Would he really find Galadhion here somewhere? How distressed did his son have to be to hide here?

Just as he wanted to stop he could see a faint light coming from the end of the tunnel, but was it really the other side? The light seemed to come from everywhere at once - the roof, the bottom and the walls. It was eerie. He was still in the middle of the tunnel and it seemed suddenly that it had no beginning and no ending.

But then his breath caught in his throat. Not four steps away from him he saw a figure cowering on the ground. He could not see the elf’s face but he knew without doubt that the slumped figure was Galadhion. With a cry of dismay he ran forward and knelt down beside the motionless figure on the ground. His son’s eyes were closed and his cheeks pale, almost the same sight he had left behind.

Galadhion showed no sign that he had acknowledged his approach nor did he react in any way to his presence. ‘How can I speak to my son when he is as unresponsive as before?’ ‘Thranduil asked himself desperately.

Overwhelmed by his guilt, while knowing that he had caused this state his son was in now, Thranduil reached out a hand and gently caressed his son’s cheek and called softly to him.

“Galadhion, I’m sorry for what I said to you. I’m not disappointed in you for what you did; it was the right thing to do. I know this now. I love you and you never betrayed me. I still trust you with all my heart. I was angry, but not at you, rather at me. Please, come back to us.”

After uttering the words the King edged closer to his still motionless child and gathered him in a strong embrace. The words had tumbled out of his mouth without thinking and he now recognized that they had come straight from his heart.

A wave of love for his child rushed over him and he nearly cried. How could he have doubted his son in the first place? His children meant everything to him and losing one of them would be devastating for him and also for his wife.

Still rocking the cold frame in his arms the King feared that his son would not forgive him, but then after long minutes the dark haired youngster stirred and slowly lifted his head to look hesitantly at his father.

The fear and uncertainty Thranduil saw in those eyes clawed at his heart anew. How could he have let it come so far that his son doubted his love for him?

After long minutes where father and son looked at one another Galadhion took a deep breath. “Ada?” he finally croaked. “Is it really you?”

Swallowing the King nodded. “Yes, Galadhion, it’s me,” Thranduil answered with a tear drowned voice, relieved to hear his son call him Ada; he had not heard his solemn child say this for a very long time. He lifted the chin of the young elf with his finger after the other’s gaze had dropped again. “Have you heard what I said?” he whispered.

The young elf nodded but did not meet his father’s eyes. The King frowned. They had not reached the core of the problem and somehow he could feel that his time was running short.

Gently forcing his son to look at him again Thranduil took another deep breath. “Galdhion, why did you ride out with so few warriors toward a battle that seemed lost from the beginning?”

Closing his eyes briefly Thranduil forced himself to ask what had haunted his nightmares since he had brought home his son’s nearly dead body. “Did you wish to die?”

Raising watery eyes Galadhion shook his head. “No, Ada, but I was disappointed, sad, angry and a thousand emotions in between. I betrayed you and lost your trust, and for what reason? The plague is unstoppable. I’ve failed to defend the realm, many of my friends and many good warriors are dead now. How could I wish to live on….?”

Thranduil tightened his hold on the shaking frame of his son. He had feared as much. “Galadhion, please listen to me. You’re wrong. The plague is nearly defeated, your brother is almost healed and, as I said before, you never betrayed me. I hope you can forgive my thoughtless words.”

The young elf’s head snapped up and he searched his father’s eyes intently. “Really?” was all he could utter before he hugged his father back after searching his eyes intently. “Of course I forgive you. I love you, Ada.”

Sighing Thranduil stroked the long black hair gently and simply held his son close. “Then come back to us. Your mother is nearly sick with worry and your little brother is determined to drive us insane with questions about you.” Smiling the young elf only nodded, savouring the strong arms encircling him.

Just as Thranduil wondered how this strange encounter would end, he felt the same tugging on his mind as at the beginning of this surreal journey and before he could utter another word and comprehend what was happening he was pulled back. He had wanted to stay a while longer to make sure his son had decided to return to life but he was unable to resist the mental call to end this now.

Slowly opening his eyes he blinked. Had he imagined it? Confused he looked at the healer still holding his hand over his son’s chest.

Elrond smiled at him. “You have done well, Thranduil,” he said and released the King’s hand. Doubtful the King looked at his son and was disappointed to see the still closed eyes.

“Give him a bit more time,” Elrond advised gently and laid a reassuring hand on the King’s shoulder. Sighing Thranduil rose and embraced his wife looking at him anxiously. “All will be well,” he reassured her while holding her close. `Please come back to us, Galadhion`, he prayed while the healer and his advisor silently left the room.

…………………………………………..

When Thranduil had regained some of his composure after the strange experience he beckoned his wife to sit with him on the nearby couch. Elarinya looked at him pleadingly; anxious to know what had happened during the time the two elves had appeared as motionless as her son.

Quietly he told his wife all he had experienced while being in his son’s mind. Relating everything and holding nothing back, Elarinya cried silently as she learned that her son had really contemplated the aspect of being killed on purpose.

Looking up into her husband’s face she saw the same desperate expression there. They had failed their child. What if Galadhion had died? They would have followed him without doubt, unable to live with the guilt. But what would have happened to Saeron then? Taking a shuddering breath Thranduil tightened his hold on his wife.

“I will never again let my personal feelings over the past rule me. This I promise you. I will not forget what happened but it will never affect my future life and certainly not the life of my family again. Please forgive me, Elarinya.” With a shaky breath the Queen brought her husband’s lips to hers and kissed him softly. Her affirmative echoed clearly in his mind.

As they broke apart Thranduil gasped and Elarinya turned alarmed to see what was happening but quickly a real smile broke over her face when she looked into her son’s eyes.

“Welcome back, my son,” Thranduil said while the Queen quickly grasped her son’s pale hand and squeezed it gently. “Yes, welcome back, my sweet.”

To be continued………………………….

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 16  a light in the dark

Two days later Thranduil sat on his eldest son’s bed, squeezed his hand lovingly and gazed into the green eyes, sparkling again by now and so like his own. They had talked long over what had happened and what had led to the tragedy that had nearly cost the young prince’s life and almost broken his father’s heart.

Thranduil had again asked his son for forgiveness, making Galadhion very uncomfortable; nonetheless Thranduil had to make sure that nothing stood between them anymore. They had both explained what had led them to act as they had. The King had confessed that he had never been angry with his son but rather with himself for being unable to let the past be and to overcome his grief.

Galadhion on the other hand was ashamed for abusing his father’s trust and acting behind his back. They had both made mistakes and were now very relieved to speak about it and set things right again.

Their agitated nerves had stilled after the reports they had received shortly before; the plague was nearly defeated and the orcs had been driven back to a respectable distance from the outer settlements.

Galadhion sighed, albeit contently, when his father embraced him carefully and advised him sternly that he had to rest in order to get fully healed. The Crown Prince still had a way to go before being fully recovered. However as the King was about to take his leave the door opened and Elarinya entered with the youngest member of their family in her arms.

Squealing in delight at the sight of his older brother awake, the elfling wriggled to be put down. The Queen smiled and hurried to obey the elfling’s demand, looking in amusement at her husband.

Saeron’s feet had hardly touched the ground before he raced past his father; and eluding the King’s grasp he jumped onto the bed. Galadhion gasped and closed his eyes with a grimace when the impact made his recently healed but still sore body ache anew.

Saeron froze, when he saw his brother’s tightly closed eyes and heard the groan Galdhion was not able to suppress. Hearing the sharp intake of breath from his parents and realizing that he had hurt his brother the elfling´s eyes filled with tears. Quickly he scrambled away so as not to touch his brother anywhere. “Galadhion, I’m sorry, I did not mean to….” he stammered unable to go on as sobs shook his little body.

Having been able to take a deep breath to ease the pain Galadhion reached out and wiped off the tears from his little brother’s face. He smiled when the elfling looked up at him hesitantly. “Do not worry; you have not hurt me, little one. Come over here.”

Carefully this time, Saeron moved closer and snuggled alongside his big brother. Anxiously he peeked from under his brother’s arm at his father and was relieved to see that his father’s eyes did not look angry at him for not being more careful.

Shifting into a more comfortable position Galadhion looked down at the little boy. He had not missed the still flushed face and pale pallor. “Now, tell me little one, how do you feel?” he asked while stroking over the black unruly tresses.

“Much better. Today I’m allowed to be out of bed, although only for a short time,” the elfling explained with a half scowling half hopeful look toward his parents. Seeing the stern expression back on his father’s face and the slight shake of his mother’s head the elfling quickly buried his head under his brother’s arm, pretending not to have seen the gesture.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Galadhion said inwardly sighing that at least the crisis was over. The elfling would also need some time to get back his former strength.

“Uncle Elrond said that in two days I can go outside and play with my friends again, when the anit… anti…. the medicine has been given to all the ill elves.”

When Thranduil tensed, hearing the word “uncle” Elarinya laid a reassuring hand on her husband’s shoulder. Eventually the muscles under her fingers relaxed as he looked back at her with a wry expression on his face.

Having not missed the silent exchange Galadhion smiled inwardly. His father’s resentment against the healer from Imladris was not to be taken seriously anymore. His father knew as well as he that he owed the lives of both of his sons to Elrond.

Seeing the fine lines of pain on her son’s face and the weariness in his eyes the Queen rose and beckoned for her youngest to scramble over into her arms. Pouting but relenting eventually Saeron disentangled himself from under his brother’s arm and let his mother lift him from the bed.

“Come my dear, you brother needs to rest,” she said holding the elfling so that he could plant a kiss on his father’s cheek. “Love you Ada, love you Galadhion” he cried and giggled when his mother tickled him. “Love you too,” father and brother replied following the two with their eyes until the door closed behind them.

Redirecting his attention back to his son Thranduil was just about to suggest that Galdhion should rest but with a smile he realized that his advice would not be necessary. His son’s eyes had already lost their focus. Re-arranging the blanket over his son’s body the King planted a kiss on the young elf’s forehead, turned, and silently left the room.

………………………………………………………..

Galadhion looked up startled when a knock sounded on his bedroom door. He had only slept a few hours, which had done him some good and his parents had just left. The healers would not announce their presence, having hurried in and out of his room much too often for his liking during the last days. Knowing that without answering he would never find out who was standing at his door he bade the visitor to enter.

His eyes widened with joy when Ruanal, his best friend and right hand, stuck his head around the door. “Are you decent?” he asked playfully. Galadhion rolled his eyes, knowing that Ruanal would not care anyway, so he beckoned his friend to enter.

He narrowed his eyes while looking at the other’s slightly bent posture, his right arm tightly pressed against his side. The heavy bandage around the dark haired elf’s middle could clearly be seen underneath his tunic.

While Ruanal sat awkwardly on the side of his bed, perfectly aware of the scrutiny, Galadhion briefly closed his eyes when the memories of the battle rushed back like a wave. Again he saw Ruanal kneeling on the ground with his hand pressed over the wound in his side the red patch on his tunic growing alarmingly.

But then his memories were clouded. He did not know what had happened then. His father had told him what had transpired after he arrived but he had not elaborated much, trying not to unbalance the barely stable state of his still-healing mind.

Opening his eyes he looked at Ruanal and for a long time the two friends simply gazed at each other without a word. The Crown Prince did not know how to express his feelings of guilt and grief. Many good warriors, some of them long time friends and companions, had died that day.

Eventually Galadhion took a deep breath after he had seen no contempt in the other’s eyes only worry and concern. “Ruanal, I’m sorry for all that happened. To lead our troops into that situation was stupid. I should have known better but….” At a loss for how to go on he lowered his eyes, not able to look at his friend any longer.

Reaching out Ruanal grabbed the pale hand of his friend and squeezed it lightly. “Stop this, Galadhion. It’s not your fault. The orcs are to blame for the death of the others. They died protecting their home; it is what they trained for. No one holds you responsible. You nearly died yourself and….” He trailed off still shocked over what the King had told him about why his friend had refused to return to life and had nearly given up.

Smiling faintly Galadhion looked up and squeezed back the hand holding his own with gratitude. “Thank you, Ruanal, but I’ve made two grave mistakes in one week and this one will take time to overcome.”

Nodding in understanding and seeing his need for rest Ruanal rose and patted his friend’s arm lightly. “Take all the time you need but remember that the troops miss their captain,” he said with a smile. Swallowing Galadhion only nodded not trusting his voice at the moment.

When Ruanal had left he closed his eyes. The wood elves would recover from this loss like from all the others, but it would leave another scar on the already damaged spirit of the inhabitants of the great forest.

…………………………………………….

Two days later a large contingent of warriors, mostly consisting of the King’s royal guards with Thranduil, Elrond and Glorfindel in their midst, rode out to see for themselves how the administering of the antidote was coming along at the settlements further away from the palace.

The King wanted to see with his own eyes how much suffering the plague had caused and how he could take some of the grief away. The death of a child he could not remedy of course, and there would be no comfort for the grieving parents, but he wanted to speak words of reassurance and hope to his people, showing that their King did suffer with each family who had a loss to mourn.

Always when the King and its entourage entered the many settlements the greetings were the same; overwhelming joy where the antidote had come in time to rescue elflings from a terrible death and deep sorrow where it had come too late. It would be years before his people would recover from this loss and many would not be able to bear the grief.

After several days of travelling and many joyous moments (and as many grieving ones), the King and his companions made camp near a little settlement, which lay farthest away from the palace. They had not stopped until they were sure that the antidote had reached every corner of the great forest.

The plague seemed conquered and after that realisation the King ordered his healers to sent riders to the settlements of men surrounding Mirkwood to bring the antidote to them as well. This accomplished, the large group of riders settled down around a campfire and enjoyed the food the inhabitants of the nearby settlement had provided in honour of their King camping nearby.

Looking across the campfire after refusing another helping of the delicious stew Thranduil frowned when he looked at the tired features of the dark-haired elf sitting opposite him. He knew that he probably did not look much better, but Elrond had not had any real rest since his arrival in Mirkwood and the King guessed what made the healer more and more restless the longer he stayed away from his home. Feeling the scrutiny Elrond looked up and gazed at the King. They had now come to have an easy attitude with one another and felt content in the other’s presence. The King’s troubled expression did not fit the success they had accomplished over the last days.

“What is it, my friend?” Elrond asked knowing that there was more on the King’s mind than weariness. “Despite the many who are mourning, I think we should also be thankful for being successful at last.” When the King grimaced Elrond frowned.

“It’s entirely due to your efforts Elrond that this turned out relatively well. We have suffered a lot, but it could have been worse, if my son had not done what I could not. I only hope that sometime in the future you can forgive me and we can re-establish some sort of friendship like we once shared. I’m forever in your dept.”

Seeing the genuine smile on Glorfindel´s face the dark haired Elf-Lord rose and rounded the fire. Sitting on the log beside the King he reached out a hand and grasped the King’s arm in a warrior’s grip. “I would very much like that and I’m just grateful that I could help.”

Sighing deeply Thranduil only nodded. For a long time they simply sat there in silence each staring into the flames and lost in their own thoughts. Their heads snapped up however when the short respite was shattered by hurried hoof beats coming down the path leading directly to the little clearing.

Recognizing the rider as one of his guards used to bring urgent messages quickly to the patrols or back the King tensed in anticipation of what could have warranted this hurry.

Looking at the two Imladris elves with a neutral expression Thranduil stood and walked over to his captain who had already stepped on the path signalling the rider over to them.

Reining in his breathless mount sharply the fair haired elf slid from the horse’s back and bowed before his King. “My Lord,” he said after catching his breath. “This letter arrived not an hour ago at the palace brought by a carrier pigeon and it seems most urgent.”

The King’s frown deepened and he took the letter with a nod from the messenger. Elrond and Glorfindel in the meantime had joined him on the path. Thranduil took in a deep breath when he recognized the wax seal on the letter. Wordlessly he turned and handed the parchment to Elrond. The healer swallowed and looked at his advisor. A deep frown had appeared on Glorfindel´s face.

With trembling fingers Elrond broke the seal and opened the scroll. Seeing the face of the dark haired elf pale, Thranduil did not need much imagination to guess what information the letter contained.

After reading the few lines again Elrond handed the letter wordlessly to Glorfindel. His concern increasing Thranduil stepped up beside the healer. “What does it say?” he asked while Glorfindel finished reading. Not answering Elrond gestured for Glorfindel to hand the letter over.

Looking worriedly at the blond warrior the King took the missive and slowly scanned the lines written there in an elaborate script although with much haste:

Lord Elrond,

The plague has reached Imladris. We have many ill, but thankfully no dead so far. If your mission in Mirkwood is finished, hopefully with success, then I request you to return home quickly. Your sons show the first signs of illness. We could recognize only marginal improvement with the antidote.

Erestor

Looking up the King cringed in sympathy seeing the desperation in the healer’s eyes. The guilt he had felt all the time for keeping Elrond in his forest so long was back and the scowl on Glorfindel´s face did nothing to alleviate his feeling.

He knew as well as Elrond that the journey from Mirkwood toward Imladris took four weeks one way under the best of circumstances. Elrond would never arrive in time to save any one who was already ill. He had left some of the antidote in the valley but as experience had shown it was less effective. Only the modifications he had made recently had brought the change.

Suddenly Elrond slumped to the ground before Glorfindel could react. Kneeling there he buried his face in his hands. The message he had feared every day had finally arrived. In bringing hope to the wood elves he had doomed his own home. The reassuring hand on his shoulder from Glorfindel did nothing to comfort him.

To be continued……………………………

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 17:  no way out

For some time after the dark haired Elf-Lord had sunk to his knees, the scene in the little clearing seemed frozen. Not knowing what message the letter had contained, the bewildered guards looked at the kneeling figure of the Elf-Lord. Feeling the need to express his sorrow, but hesitating to interrupt the attempt from Glorfindel to comfort his Lord and friend, the King’s thoughts raced.

The message he had hoped would never come had finally arrived. It was a cruel twist of fate. While helping to ensure the survival of the wood elves the Lord of Imladris had doomed his own people to suffering. What could he do now to pay back his debt?

Was it possible to send the modified antidote to Imladris through a much quicker way or was it important that the Half-elf was present too? Thranduil sighed. How could this be accomplished? If Elrond’s children were ill by now then he would never arrive home in time to administer the proven antidote.

Thranduil had seen how aggressively the plague spread and how little time remained, once the patient was infected. Even with his swiftest horses and an immediate departure Elrond had no chance to arrive home in time.

Never one to give up so easily and dwell on matters he could not change, the King turned toward the messenger still standing where he had dismounted waiting for his King to dismiss him.

He redirected his gaze from the two kneeling Elf-lords back to his King and snapped to attention when Thranduil addressed him in a low voice only he could hear. For a short moment the messenger’s eyes widened when he received the new order but then he quickly mounted his horse and galloped back the way he had come. The King looked after him thoughtfully.

When Thranduil turned he saw that Elrond had risen from the ground and was now speaking silently with Glorfindel. Knowing that they would soon ask to depart he addressed his captain standing right next to the leader of the little settlement. Both elves looked at him expectantly.

Addressing the village leader first the King inclined his head. “Thalion, I thank you for your hospitality and the food you provided us with. But we must depart immediately and I ask you to express my thanks to your people.”

Sensing that now was not the time for questions or a lengthy speech Thalion bowed to his King. “We are honoured to have had the King in our humble settlement. We wish you a safe journey home.”

Acknowledging the understanding from the village’s leader the King nodded with gratitude in his eyes and turned toward his captain. “We depart immediately. Please see to this, we need to make haste.”

Still not knowing what warranted this haste but also knowing that he would anger his Lord with further questioning, the captain of the Royal Guards bowed briefly and strode back to his companions to issue orders and fulfil the King’s orders.

This accomplished, Thranduil turned and stopped short when he came face to face with Elrond and Glorfindel. Before however he had the chance to say anything Elrond held up his hand. “Thranduil, we have to depart immediately. Even knowing I will never arrive in time, at least not for the ones now infected, I nonetheless have to try to reach Rivendell as quickly as possible.”

Briefly looking into Glorfindel´s unreadable face Thranduil could only nod, surprised at the detached attitude Elrond showed while speaking about the plague raging at his own home. Taking a deep breath to respond Thranduil refrained from saying anything when he looked at Glorfindel shaking his head.

Thranduil knew the healer well enough to know that his brusque manner was only his way to cope with the concern flooding his heart. One unintentional word would break down this hard built control.

Thranduil only squeezed the arm of the healer briefly and gestured toward the waiting horses. The guards and helpers from the settlement had done an admirable job in breaking the camp so quickly. Hardly mounted, the large group of elves raced from the clearing leaving the bewildered villagers behind.

………………………………………..

Without a word or any other delay the riders galloped at a hard pace along the path. The guards were hard pressed to keep up with the three swift riders. Apart from racing along they still had their job to do; to protect the three Elf-Lords.

Nearing the palace the path divided into two, one path leading directly into the courtyard, while the other wound into the forest leading west toward the mountains. When Glorfindel and Elrond reined their mounts in sharply, Thranduil did the same while holding up his hand to stop the guards and gazed at his guests bewildered.

Bringing his horse alongside Elrond’s mare the King looked sharply at the healer. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked sharper than intended. “You do not really mean to depart now, without any preparations or protection?”

Seeing Glorfindel tense but ignoring him Thranduil moved his horse further in front of the other two horses practically blocking the path for both elves.

The Royal Guards eyed the scene warily and also edged closer knowing how quickly tempers could flare; although they still did not know what had transpired to set the three elf-Lords on edge.

Ignoring the taut posture from the Balrog Slayer and the irritated look from the healer, Thranduil took a deep breath.

“Elrond, please listen to me. Its folly and suicide to depart now. It’s already getting dark and without preparation I cannot let you ride through the forest. It’s too dangerous for someone who is not accustomed to the dangers here. Wait at least until first light.”

Snorting Glorfindel urged his horse closer to the King’s. “Wait?” was the incredulous replay from the warrior. “We cannot wait. You have read the message yourself, Thranduil. Every hour we arrive earlier will rescue lives.”

Sighing deeply and trying to remain calm at the irritated tone, Thranduil ignored Glorfindel´s comment and looked again at Elrond who had said nothing so far.

“I understand perfectly well your need for an immediate departure, but I say again, it’s too dangerous to travel the forest and the mountain paths by night. Elrond, please think. What will a few hours accomplish considering a four week journey?”

Taking in a ragged breath with his form slumping Elrond lowered his head, knowing that the King was right. He could not win the race against time. Despite having enough antidotes in his saddlebags he would accomplish nothing by endangering his and Glorfindel´s lives by departing now.

The dull ache in his heart suddenly flared and nearly took away his ability to breathe. He clawed his fingers into his horse’s mane and tried to slow his furiously beating heart. In not being able to reach home in time he would forfeit the life of his little sons and many other ill children in Imladris.

He had seen too many dead elflings in the past days he could not bear more losses and surely not either one of his sons. Celebrían must be beside herself with worry. He could feel her anguish through their bond and it nearly hurt physically.

Seeing the horror crossing the healer’s face Glorfindel moved his horse alongside Elrond’s prepared to catch him if his friend should collapse. He could well imagine what images crossed through his Lord’s mind. Elrond’s sons were as dear to him as to the half-elf. He could not even bring himself to think about the fact that they would not be able to heal them.

Watching the silent exchange Thranduil looked at the two elves with worry. What words of comfort should he give? Making up his mind he reached out and squeezed the healer’s arm lightly.

“Come; let us return to the palace. Remaining here on the path we will accomplish nothing. Maybe I can provide a way to reach Rivendell much faster.”

Glorfindel´s head snapped up and he glared at the King. What was this supposed to mean? With a clear warning in his eyes not to add to the healer’s heart ache Glorfindel redirected his gaze at his friend trying to coax the dark haired elf out of his stupor.

Sighing and hoping that his plan would work Thranduil turned his horse and signalled his guards to resume the short ride toward the palace. Quickly he looked over his shoulder and sighed. Glorfindel and Elrond had followed him wordlessly.

…………………………………………………

When Glorfindel and Elrond reached the courtyard the King had already vanished inside his halls. The blonde warrior looked around in irritation. Only some of the guards that had arrived with them remained in the courtyard and a stable hand already rushed toward them to care for the horses. What was Thranduil up too? Where had he gone to so quickly?

Glorfindel shook his head. The King’s business was his own. He wondered only at the King’s odd behaviour. After dismounting he walked around his horse ready to give Elrond a helping hand in dismounting. He had not missed the shaking of the other’s hands on their ride back. Elrond looked pale and drained, more so than the days before.

But the healer wanted to have nothing of it. He slid from his great horse without assistance and looked sternly at his advisor.

“I’m well, Glorfindel, but I do not intend to wait until first light. I will gather our belongings and depart immediately and do not try to stop me. I will go mad staying here while knowing that the lives of my sons are at stake.”

Smiling Glorfindel laid a reassuring hand on the dark haired elf’s shoulder. “Do not worry, my friend. I will not stop you. I’m as determined as you to return home, even if this means travelling by night through this forest and the mountain pass. We are accomplished warriors ourselves. We will not be as helpless as Thranduil may think.”

Smiling wryly Elrond nodded and turned toward the entrance of the underground caverns. Glorfindel handed both horses over to the young elf waiting and hurried after his Lord.

When they crossed the great hall a door opened and Elarinya emerged into the hallway. She stopped short with a surprised expression on her face; she had not expected her husband and his guests back so early.

Seeing the distressed expression on the faces of the Imladris elves she frowned. Had something happened during their visit to the outer settlements? Looking behind Elrond and Gorfindel and not seeing her husband her concern rose.

“Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel,” she said while stepping closer. “Has something happened?”

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at one another questioningly. Thranduil had obviously not informed anyone so far. Elrond tried to smile when Elarinya had reached them.

“Can we speak somewhere undisturbed?” Elrond asked with a glance toward the many elves in the hallway looking at them. Her concern now plain in her eyes to see, the Queen only nodded and gestured the two elves into a small office the King used occasionally.

No sooner had she closed the door, Elarinya turned and rushed toward the two Elf-Lords. “Elrond, now tell me what happened and where is Thranduil?”

Sighing Elrond looked into the worried eyes of the Queen. “Our mission went well, but while visiting a little settlement to the south a messenger brought this missive.”  

Wordlessly he handed the letter over into the slightly shaking hands of the Queen. Her eyes widened. She had sent the letter with the messenger after the troop when it had arrived not five hours ago. She had not imagined that it would contain such bad news.

She let out a cry of dismay, however, when she had finished reading. With burning eyes she looked back at the healer and all the emotions welling up inside of her could be seen there. “Elrond, I’m so sorry,” she whispered while handing the letter back. “What will you do now? How can we help you?”

But then her voice faltered when she registered the sad truth. Nothing could be done for the Elf-Lord to reach his home in time. Lowering her head she could not hold her tears back any longer.

“I’m sorry, Elrond. I’m so incredibly sorry.”

Elrond stepped forward. “It’s not your fault. We must pray to the Valar that I will nevertheless be able to arrive in time but this means we have to depart immediately.”

Elarinya’s head shot up at this pronouncement.

“Elrond, you are not really considering departing now?” she cried. “It’s much too dangerous to travel the forest by night.”

Elrond sighed and stepped back. “Your husband said nearly the exact same words to me not an hour ago.”

Elarinya narrowed her eyes. “And he was perfectly right. Elrond you cannot leave now….”

She suddenly faltered when something nagging on her mind became now insistent. “Where is Thranduil?” she asked with irritation. She could not understand that her husband had abandoned his guest in such a dire situation.

Shrugging his shoulders Elrond sighed. “He left us before we arrived at the palace. I suppose he is arranging our departure. He probably guesses that we will not wait until first light.”

“You had better wait. However, I will find out what my husband is doing. Please do nothing impetuous.” Without another word she turned and left the two stunned Elf-lords behind.

Elrond sighed and turned toward Glorfindel. “I will go and pack my belongings. If the King has not come up with something to convince me to wait until morning, I will depart within an hour.”

Nodding silently and knowing that he could not convince his Lord otherwise (nor did he want to), Glorfindel followed the healer out of the office.

To be continued……………………………

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 18:  never lose hope

After Elrond had packed his belongings and carefully stowed away the ingredients he had used and would still need to modify the antidote he sat heavily on the bed and opened again the letter he had hoped would never arrive. His eyes could not leave the line

…your sons show the first signs of illness.

He took a ragged breath. How had the illness progressed until now? Could the moment when the mucus overflows the lung system be delayed by the un-modified antidote he had left behind? Then he shook his head angrily. Elladan and Elrohir were as old as Saeron and nothing, save the new modification of the medicine, had rescued the little boy’s life and that only with his constant presence and interaction. To hope now that the illness would progress any other way in Imladris was wishful thinking.

His sons did not have this supervision and his healers at Imladris would be as helpless as the King’s staff. He would lose them both and he had absolutely no power to stop it.

Angrily he tossed his packed bag in a chair and looked around. Where was Glorfindel? He wanted to ready their horses and prepare for their departure but his friend had been gone for over an hour now. What was taking him so long?

After visiting Saeron and Galadhion, both on their way to full recovery he had again spoken with the King’s healer’s to advise them how to make the antidote in the unlikely event that the illness would show up again.

He could find neither Elarinya nor Thranduil and so he had returned to his rooms to prepare to depart. The royal couple would show up at their departure.

When he stood and walked toward the chair holding his bag he suddenly faltered and moaned when a wave of dizziness assaulted him. Too far away from the chair to support him he sank to his knees and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples.

This time it was not only anguish he could experience through their bond but outright panic. Celebrían was unconsciously reaching out to him and had released all her desperate emotions through their bond.

Panting hard he concentrated trying to calm her in the same way. But as he had feared, she did not even recognize his presence; her mind was in too much turmoil.

Elrond was only vaguely aware of the door opening and someone rushing to his side dragging him from the floor toward the bed. After a few moments, in which he was again not able to reach his wife he opened his eyes and looked into the concerned face of Glorfindel.

Glorfindel was sitting beside the healer on the large bed, stabilizing the swaying figure with an arm around his waist, too accustomed to such incidents to ask any questions. The pale complexion of his friend’s face and the shaking hands told him enough. The situation at home had reached a dire state.

“Feeling better?” the golden warrior asked when Elrond finally looked up at him. The worry in the other’s eyes however answered his question. At least he could release the dark haired elf after he had made sure that the healer would not tumble from the bed.

“Thank you,” was all Elrond had to utter. Gorfindel squeezed his arm sympathetically and stood. He closed the door he had banged against the wall and retrieved the bag he had tossed to the ground when he had entered and seen his friend kneeling on the floor.

“Where have you been so long?” Elrond asked while he took a deep steadying breath. The emotional storm had subsided and he could not bring himself to think about what this could mean.

Glorfindel turned and looked at his Lord with a bewildered expression on his face. “Something odd is going on here. I’ve tried to find Thranduil or Elarinya to inform them of our departure but I could find neither of them. No one could tell me where they have gone. Not even the guards or the King’s steward have seen them since our arrival.”

Elrond frowned. Did Thranduil think that by avoiding them he could delay their departure? Elrond shook his head. This was ridiculous and atypical for the King. Elrond knew that the King could not stop them when they wanted to leave, despite his personal desires.

Sighing Elrond looked out of the window. It was already dawn. But he had made up his mind. They would depart now and this was final. He would never forgive himself, when these few hours he had waited until first light would decide his sons’ fate. He knew that he was betraying himself but hope was all he could cling to at the moment.

Aware that Glorfindel was watching him intently Elrond nodded toward his advisor and both elves slung their bags over their backs, ready to leave the room. Just when Glorfindel opened the door, they stopped. A strange noise was coming from the courtyard.

The elves looked at each other trying to find out what was making that noise. Unable to detect the source of the commotion outside, they dropped their bags again and walked toward the window.

At first Elrond could not see anything unusual, only that the place in front of the palace was deserted. No guards, no stable hands, if fact no elf could be seen crossing the otherwise so frequented place. But when Elrond narrowed his eyes he let out a small gasp. One elf was standing at the edge of the courtyard, his hands stretched toward the sky, his eyes closed and his lips moving in some silent chant Elrond could not hear.

Thranduil stood there looking every bit the King that he was. He was dressed in a magnificent dark green robe, his hair flowing behind him in the light morning breeze and his posture so taut that he appeared like a statue carved out of marble.

After opening the window the healer listened intently at the words the King was speaking. He could at first not determine what language the King was using.

After a while he thought he understood some words though. It sounded like a very old dialect of Quenya. The words sounded quiet but powerful, low but demanding, and Elrond had no doubt that they would be witnesses of some display of old powers from the Elder Days. With a side glance at Glorfindel Elrond almost smiled, seeing the narrowed eyes of his advisor and his nevertheless rapt attention.

Elrond’s attention snapped back toward the King however when Thranduil had stopped his chant and was now looking intently at the sky. Elrond swallowed. What was the King looking at? Only now did the healer spot the Queen standing a few feet away from her husband also looking into the sky.

Again Elrond looked at Glorfindel in the hope that the warrior could make some sense of this, but Glorfindel was still intently staring at the King.

Again Elrond’s attention was drawn into the courtyard when another strange sound could be heard. Without conscious thought Elrond directed his gaze at the sky too, somehow convinced that the source of the noise could not be found in the courtyard. And then he gasped.

Unclear at first but quickly recognisable he could clearly make out the huge shape of a giant eagle coming down rapidly. The healer blinked. Of course he had heard about the giant birds commanded only by Manwe himself, and he had even seen some of them in times long past, but he had never dreamed to witness such an encounter again.

But what surprised him most was the fact that the King of Greenwood obviously had the power to call the great birds. Elrond knew that Thranduil possessed some old magic but he had never known how far this power reached. To open and close some gates was one thing but to call the birds of the Valar was another matter entirely.

Elrond looked in awe at the great bird when it let out a loud screech and folded its huge wings to land in the courtyard directly in front of the royal couple. The beast ruffled his feathers and pulled his wings in tightly next to his body.

For long moments while the bird lowered his head and looked intently at the King nothing stirred; time seemed frozen. Nothing moved - no elf, no leaf. Even the breeze seemed to have stopped.

Unable to contain their curiosity any longer Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other and in silent agreement they turned away from the window, grabbed their bags, and hurried out of the room and down the long corridor to emerge a few minutes later out of the front door into the courtyard.

Nothing had changed. Eagle and King were still standing opposite one-another, no word had been uttered so far.

Elrond stopped in his advance when he had nearly rounded the great bird. He did not want to intrude or interrupt the obviously silent exchange between it and the King. From this close proximity the beast looked even more magnificent.

After another few moments of silence the bird opened his beak and uttered words in a low guttural voice that could be understood clearly. “You have called for me, King of Greenwood the Great. How can I be of service?” it said while still keeping his eyes firmly on the King.

His face a mask, Thranduil inclined his head in respect. “I request your help in transporting the Master of Rivendell home, because the need is dire and much haste is required.”

Elrond swallowed after hearing what the King had said. Transport him home? Maybe there was still a chance to rescue his sons? Over the excitement of seeing a being from the Elder Days he had never considered why the eagle had come or what request Thranduil could have asked.

His heart beat suddenly furiously again and he felt his knees shake. His need to return home was so overwhelming that it nearly caused him physical pain but considering calling one of Manwe’s eagles to transport him home had never ever crossed his mind.

Looking at Glorfindel standing right behind him he could see the same surprise on the warrior’s face but also a slight smile on his advisor’s lips. “He’s always good for a surprise,” Glorfindel muttered and Elrond could only agree.

Redirecting his gaze towards the spectacle in the middle of the courtyard Elrond shifted nervously onto his other foot when the great eagle regarded the assembled elves with his big eyes and took a step forward. The healer held his breath when the attention was directed at him and he had to suppress the urge to move back a step. Gazing deeply into the bird’s eyes Elrond had the distinct feeling that the big bird could look straight into his soul.

After a few minutes the eagle raised his head and voiced a shrill tone. When he looked down again he inclined his head toward the healer. “I would be honoured to transport you over the mountains, Master of Imladris, although I need a few hours of rest.”

Now staggering back a step, filled with relief and new hope that he would still be able to reach his home in time, the healer nodded grateful and inclined his head. “Thank you, I will be in your debt.” The healer cringed at how hollow this sounded, but what else could he have said?

Stepping back a step the eagle let out another screech and swung up with a mighty flap of his wings. “I will be back, when I’m ready,” he cried. Elrond and Glorfindel followed the majestic flight of the great bird with their eyes until it was out of sight.

For long minutes nothing happened. Everyone was still under the spell of this stunning encounter. As the King laid a hand on the healer´s shoulder Elrond nearly jumped. “I promised I would help you and now I think you will arrive home in time.”

Blinking Elrond turned and looked at his friend’s smiling eyes. Fighting for the right words Elrond swallowed. “Thranduil, I do not know what to say. This is simply unbelievable, I’m….” he faltered, too overwhelmed with gratitude.

The King laughed. “No need to thank me. You have done so much to rescue our children and my sons this is the least I can do to repay my dept.”

Elrond looked at the King irritated. Thranduil was speaking of this matter as if it were an every day occurrence. Seeing the bewildered look on the healer’s face the King laughed again and Elrond recognized that Thranduil had teased him. Nonetheless Elrond could not suppress to ask. “How have you done this? How can you command them?”

The King’s expression grew quickly serious. He smiled when Elarinya slipped her hand into his. “I cannot command them, Elrond. It is rather a friendship of long duration and a favour repaid.”

When the King said nothing more, obliviously not willing to elaborate further Elrond sighed and accepted the explanation. Thranduil saw the sceptical and suspicious look that Glorfindel shot him and he turned his attention to the golden warrior.

“Don’t worry my friend. I’m not the sorcerer of Dol Guldur. I have simply saved a few of the ancient skills my ancestors possessed and you are no stranger to the great eagle’s service, if I remember correctly.”

Smiling smugly, Glorfindel saw no need to answer.

“Anyway”, Elrond sighed with genuine relief. “I’m very grateful for your help, and….” Again he was interrupted by the King. “Stop this Elrond. I can never repay what you have done for me during these last weeks. With this I can offer my thanks and my gratitude.”

……………………………………

Elrond smiled as he stepped into the Crown Prince’s chamber. Saeron was sitting astride his brother’s lap and giggled helplessly while the agile fingers of his brother tickled him mercilessly.

Recognizing the healer the elfling scrambled up carefully, remembering his former incident, and then jumped from the edge of the mattress toward the dark haired elf. Just in time Elrond was able to catch the little boy in his arms. He was pleased to see that health was so completely restored to the young elf.

“Uncle Elrond you are back,” the elfling cried and placed a kiss on the older elf’s cheek. Elrond smiled and placed the elfling on his hip. “Yes, little one, but you know why I’m here, do you not?” he asked twinkling at the big eyes gazing at him.

Quickly the bright face sobered somewhat. “I know, you and Glorfi must go home,” he whispered with a trembling bottom lip. Smiling inwardly that another child had adopted Glorfindel´s “favourite” nick name, the Elf-Lord looked earnestly at the youngster.

“That’s right, but you know that it is important that I return home. I have two sons of my own and they miss me. We should not let them wait any longer, should we?”

After a reluctant head shake from the elfling the Elf-lord sighed. Of course they had not told the child the true reason for his departure. Gazing over the head of the elfling Elrond looked at Galadhion and received a nod from Thranduil´s eldest. He knew of course the reason for this quick goodbye.

“But,” the healer said, “if you are a good boy, I will visit you in the spring and maybe I will bring my sons along,” he said. Now the face of the elfling brightened again. “Oh, I would very much like that”, the youngster replied bouncing up and down on the healer’s hip with excitement.

Sitting the child back on the bed, the healer sat in the empty chair and gazed at the eldest son of the King. Laughing Galadhion took the healer’s hand. “Do not worry, Elrond. I’m fine. In a few days I will be able to leave my bed.”

The healer smiled, knowing full well how close the young elf had come to visiting Mandos. “I’m glad to hear that,” he replied. Squeezing the healer’s hand in gratitude Galadhion looked earnestly at the dark haired elf.

“Elrond, thank you so much for your help and I would much appreciate it if you would visit us soon.” Elrond lowered his eyes. Did this phrasing indicate that Galadhion was sure that his sons could be rescued?

After regaining his composure Elrond embraced the older brother and planted a kiss on the elfling´s forehead. “Farewell,” he said with a smile and left the room quickly before he wasn’t able to.

……………………………..

Hours later Elrond and Glorfindel stood beside the Queen and King in the courtyard and looked into the sky. An elf posted on the lookout had brought the message that the great eagle was returning.

Elrond had made his farewell with the royal couple, all was said and done. Glorfindel would return home with their horses and belongings and the escort Thranduil had insisted upon would accompany the golden warrior, at least to the foot of the mountains.

Elrond was grateful for this offer. Glorfindel was an accomplished warrior, but the extra protection travelling through this forest that Gorfindel was unused to, set his mind at ease. Glorfindel would need more then four weeks to return to Rivendell.

When they spotted the eagle Elarinya stepped forward and embraced the dark haired Elf-Lord. “I do not know how I can thank you. I wish you a good and swift journey home. Greet Celebrían and your boys from me.”

She swallowed and Elrond knew exactly what she wanted to say. He shared her hope that he would arrive in time. The consequences were too horrible for him to even contemplate.

Turning toward the King the two elves only gazed at one another. Further words were not necessary. Nonetheless the King squeezed the arm of the healer in a last farewell. “May the Valar guide your path, Elrond. With all my heart I hope you will arrive in time. And don’t forget your promise to visit us soon.”

Inclining his head Elrond smiled. “Thank you Thranduil for this help,” the healer said and gestured at the approaching eagle still not knowing how the King had managed to obtain the eagle’s help.

When the great eagle had landed and let out a loud screech Elrond turned toward his advisor. “I wish you a safe and uneventful journey home, my friend. I will await you at the Last Homely House,” he said his voice thick with emotion.

“And I will be there,” Glorfindel replied and nodded toward the waiting bird. With a last glance at the royal couple, Elrond turned and strode toward the eagle. He had to depart now if he wanted to have any chance to rescue his sons.

He secured his bag with the modified antidote securely against his back and awkwardly reached out to mount the back of the bird.

The eagle did not move and Elrond settled himself directly behind the bird’s neck just where the wings joined on the back. He grabbed a handful of the long feathers on the back in each hand, not sure how much he would need this hold. He had never travelled like this before.

Looking a last time at the waving elves gathered in the courtyard he tightened his hold when the eagle screeched again and tensed his muscles. With a mighty flap of his wings the eagle took a few steps only to be airborne a few seconds later.

Elrond ducked low over the beast’s back and pulled his cloak tighter around him. The wind swiftly increased in volume and the temperature dropped significantly when the bird had reached its flying height. Directing his gaze toward the mountains, Elrond had only one goal: to reach home in time.

To be continued……………..

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

Again many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. 

Chapter 19:  epilogue

………………………Thranduil´s face sobered as he remembered these dark days. He looked at Legolas; Saeron had been his age, a mere elfling, when it seemed that he had no chance to survive…

When Legolas had disappeared around a corner Thranduil´s thoughts snapped back to reality. He smiled apologetically at his guests which gazed at him with amusement. Elrond stepped closer.

“I think I know where you have been with your thoughts,” he whispered while winking at the surprised King. Looking at Glorfindel Elrond got the confirmation that his advisor had equally guessed what event in the past the King had been thinking about.

Shaking his head Thranduil tried to get rid of these not so pleasant memories. “That is all long past, but I’m still grateful how everything turned out back then. Without your help Saeron would be dead and we would most likely not be standing here with my youngest.”

Elrond only nodded and Thranduil looked intently at the healer. “Most of all, however, I’m very glad you arrived home in time to rescue your sons too.”

Elrond nodded again, still shuddering when he thought about the desperation that had driven him then and the anguish he had felt all the way home perched on the back of the great eagle. Despite the swiftness of the journey he was nearly mad with worry that he would lose his sons despite their efforts.

Feeling that the joyful greeting was drifting into a melancholic mood Glorfindel cleared his throat. “We should let the past rest and enjoy some glasses of your excellent wine, my Lord,” he hinted and earned a laugh from the King.

“You are absolutely right, Glorfindel,” the King agreed and motioned for his guests to follow him inside. Looking over his shoulder Thranduil was glad that the serious expression on the healer’s face had vanished after Glorfindel´s request. Galadhion and Saeron excused themselves but not without promising to join them later.

Opening the door to the private quarters for his guests Thranduil gestured them inside. After they had all taken their seats the King leaned forward, a glass of wine in his hand just like his guests. “Now tell me what brings you so unexpectedly into my forest.”

When Elrond did not immediately look up and kept staring into his wine Thranduil frowned. This was no simple visit then. As feared there must be some serious reason behind it. Had his scouts not reported that the two elves entered the forest from the direction of the Golden Wood? Were there some new developments in the South that he was not aware of?

When Elrond finally looked up, Thranduil braced himself for the news the half-elf would soon deliver and he feared he would not like it. Looking directly at the King Elrond took a deep breath.

“Half a year ago our border patrols registered increased orc activity in the mountains. Travelling across the mountain path, and even at the base of either side of the pass, had become extremely dangerous.

“There was no party going over the mountains that came across without being attacked. It got so bad that I stopped any trade or movement over the pass. But before that we had forty five dead to mourn.

“Messages between Imladris and Lothlorien can only be delivered by carrier pigeon since then, and even some of these birds don’t return. But on top of all that the orcs have been growing more and more bold and have pressed us hard, even to our very borders. As if this is not enough they have some sort of new poison that they use regularly now; a new substance that can kill within an hour.

“Once brought into the body there is no remedy. I have never seen anything like it before, this substance is completely unknown to me. Many have died a horrible death and we could do nothing to stop or slow it.”

When the healer had ended his report Thranduil stared at him speechless, the wine in his hand forgotten. The orcs in his forest also used poison occasionally, but if treated quickly and if the elf was otherwise not too severely wounded…no one had died just from the poison.

The wood elves had a lot of experience with poison, considering the great spiders that lived in the forest. But something as deadly as what Elrond had just described he had never heard of. His master healer Thornil was an expert with all sorts of poison and knew every plant that could remedy the after effects, but he had never reported that there was a new poison they were completely helpless against.

Letting the words the healer had uttered resonate in his mind again the King looked up suddenly. “Are you telling me that you cannot find any cure against this new poison?” Thranduil took a deep breath to calm himself. If the orcs over the mountains used this deadly poison, it was only a matter of time until the orcs invading the south of his forest used it too, more so when they got word of the potency of this substance.

After a few minutes of silence Elrond raised his eyes to look at the King. “Over four months now I’ve tried to counter this poison but to no avail. We could slow the dying of the afflicted but the result was always the same. After some hours, or a day, the unfortunates died in agony.”

When Elrond did not elaborate further Glorfindel stood and walked toward the window. “Because of this we travelled to Lothlorien in the hope that the Lady of the Golden Wood could provide some help, but….” Glorfindel trailed off and Thranduil looked back towards the healer, understanding what the golden warrior had left unsaid.

“This is bad news indeed. And if even Galadriel cannot help in this matter what do you think to accomplish by travelling here?” he asked with a slight irritation in his voice. His warriors had enough troubles with the evil creatures invading his realm day by day; he did really not need any more complications.

Hearing the undertone in the King’s voice Elrond took a deep breath. “Thranduil this is no threat only to Imladris and Lothlorien. The use of the poison will spread and soon you will have many dead warriors to mourn. But informing you is only half the reason why I’ve come here.”

Gazing back evenly at the healer Thranduil braced himself for what would come next. Seeing the lips pressed into a thin line in the King’s face Glorfindel snorted and turned to look out of the window. `You are as stubborn as your father` he thought, already wondering if it was a good idea to come here.

He closed his eyes wearily. They had mourned too many good warriors of late. Young elves he had trained and led in his patrols every day. This had to be stopped now. He knew what Elrond would request but he doubted that they would find the cure here. Maybe Elrond was too involved in this to see a possible solution.

Not turning he listened nonetheless when the healer started speaking again. “Thranduil, the reason why I’ve come here is to ask your Master Healer for assistance.”

The King’s jaw nearly dropped. The best healer in all of Middle Earth was really asking the wood elves for assistance and in a matter of healing no less? Regretting his sarcastic thoughts already, when he looked into the serious face of the healer, Thranduil swallowed. He realized that this request showed clearly how dire the situation was.

Guessing the King’s thoughts Elrond ignored the furrowed brow of his old friend. “Thranduil, Thornil is a real expert with all sorts of poisons and we have at least discovered that the poison is not only made from a plant but also from an animal - a spider. Judging the potency it must be a really big spider. It is some mixture of poisons and therefore very dangerous. Because of that I had wondered if your Master Healer would be willing to help me in this matter.”

Having regained some level of calm Thranduil leaned forward. “Of course, I will ask Thornil if he is willing to help, and I know he will be. But tell me Elrond. Why would the orcs produce some new poison from the spiders around Dol Guldur and then use it hundreds of miles away, not directly against my warriors?”

Elrond sighed. He had asked himself that very question many times. “Thranduil, honestly I do not know. Maybe the orcs knew how trained the wood elves are when it comes to spider poison and they wanted to test it first on elves not so accustomed with it. Or perhaps there is some other reason behind it. The fact is that this new poison is extremely dangerous and always deadly. I do not want you to have the same experiences with it that we have had.”

Swallowing Elrond lowered his eyes. He had fought for so many lives in the last few months and always lost the fight. His sons were out there day by day and it was only a matter of time before one of them would be brought home infected with the poison. If that happened he would again be unable to help; he would have to watch until the spirit would flee heeding Mando’s call after hours of agony.

Feeling the desperation rolling in waves from the healer Thranduil stood and laid a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Elrond, I will call for Thornil immediately and I’m sure together you two will find a remedy. Many years ago he was helpless to help you with the plague, and believe me it has tormented him until today. But in this matter he’s the one who can help you. There is no poison Thornil has not investigated.”

Sighing gratefully Elrond lifted his head. “Thank you, Thranduil, I had hoped as much.”

Smiling back Thranduil was already turning to ask the guard waiting outside to call for his palace healer. Thornil would be pleased to help and maybe an old debt could now be repaid.

To be continued…………….. for all who want to know how Elrond arrived at Imladris. 

Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

For all who want to know how Elrond arrived at Imladris. 

Chapter 20:  epilogue 2

The Lady of Imladris sat on the edge of the bed occupied by her little sons, her head bowed in utter despair. She could hardly bear to hear the rattling sound coming from the elflings every time they tried to take another painful breath.

A few hours earlier, the healers had laid the weak children side by side on the large bed and left the room with a downcast gaze. They could do no more for them. They had left the children to die in peace with only the comfort of their mother.

The illness had finally reached its final stage. The mucus had permeated the lungs of the children, making it more and more difficult, every passing minute, for the infected twins to draw another breath. Celebrían knew all too well that the end had come.

She had mourned the death of a child with its parents four times over the last weeks. It seemed as if nothing could be done or changed to alter the always terrible outcome. The unmodified antidote had failed to improve the children’s condition as much as expected and the only medicine that could help was hundreds of miles away. The only person who could alter the antidote into an effective one was equally not available.

Fate had turned against the inhabitants of the sheltered valley and the despair that had settled over the beautiful vale could almost be grasped. It was small comfort to the Lady of this house that her husband had rescued many children far away in the realm of the wood elves.

She made a conscious effort to swallow her rising anger directed towards those fortunate Elves that her husband was with, knowing that each life that could be rescued was precious. But in the face of death, especially death threatening her own children, she could hardly remain fair and just.

When Elrohir tried again to take in another breath and succeeded only marginally his little hand reached out and searched frantically for his brother’s.

Celebrían let out a strangled sob. She felt that she was doomed to see her children struggle and die and to be unable to help or even to lighten their pain. Her sons did not even recognize her. Their systems had closed out the outside world, only fighting until the call of Mandos would release them from their misery. Although of course she wished otherwise, she hoped that the call would come soon to relieve her babies.

For many days she had hoped and prayed that her husband would return in time but now she was forced to accept the horrible truth. When she had written the letter that the plague had reached Rivendell it was already too late. Even if Elrond had departed immediately he would need at least four weeks under the best of circumstances to reach the valley. Too much time would be lost by then to give any effective aid.

She carefully guarded her emotions. She had once reached out through their bond in despair; she would not do so again. Why should she burden him with facts he already knew? Facts he could not change? He would be devastated anyway if he was not able to arrive in time.

Her head jerked up when she heard no more sounds from her children. She sprung up with a startled cry and quickly leaned over them to check if they still breathed. As much as she wished for them to be released from their pain, her whole being prayed that it would not be the case; not now, not ever. Please, only a few minutes more...

She let out a sigh when she detected that their little chests still heaved shallow breaths, but without enough vigour to sustain them much longer. They lay there with their fingers entwined, their eyes closed, and their faces relaxed; a nearly peaceful sight.

With no tears left, Celebrían sat back down memorizing every detail of the dear faces before her; the little scar under Elladan´s nose acquired after a fall from a tree, and the little oval brown patch on Elrohir´s brow. They were little differences that anyone could easily overlook.

When the rattling sound of her children’s lungs had ceased she became aware how quiet the house had fallen. Everyone, elf or beast, held their breath while mourning the children’s passing. How she wished Elrond were here right now. Yet she dreaded the moment he would arrive here and was forced to face the horrible truth. She did not know what would happen then. Maybe they would have neither the strength nor the will to remain in this world any longer.

The twins were their joy, their reason to still celebrate life on Arda, and the fulfilment of their love; but without them everything would be unbearable. There would be no reason to stay any longer in Middle Earth.

The other affected families in Imladris had ceased asking for help after seeing that no help could be obtained. Celebrían did not know how the other children fared, nor had she the strength to ask about them, fearing that the drama would be the same as in her own home.

Her frame shaking she rounded the bed. Maybe she should lie down and join her children in passing to a peaceful place? To let them know that she was there, that they were not alone. Perhaps she should let go of all the sorrow and join them?

Just as she reached the opposite side of the bed she heard voices through the open window from the courtyard below. This was nothing unusual at other times, but now the voices sounded much too loud and agitated in the unnatural silence which lay over the valley.

Contemplating simply closing the window and shutting out the outside world she walked over and looked detached through watery eyes down into the courtyard. Her attention was quickly drawn back however when she beheld a most uncommon sight. Many inhabitants of the Last Homely House were standing in the middle of the great place pointing into the sky and uttering words of surprise and awe. Having no idea what had pulled so many elves outside all of a sudden, the Lady of Imladris also directed her gaze upward.

When her brain had registered what her eyes were telling her she staggered back with a cry of shock and would have fallen if not for the strong arms behind her catching and steadying her in time. Although irritated and grateful at the same time for the unexpected help she could not tear her gaze from the spectacle she was witnessing.

“I cannot believe it!” the voice behind her whispered and she could only agree with her husband’s dark haired advisor. Descending down in the courtyard before her very eyes was her husband on the back of a giant Eagle!

Stunned speechless she could only stare, her misery forgotten for just a moment. The miracle she had silently hoped for had happened. Elrond had returned to Imladris.

Her knees still weak, she watched while the Master of the Valley dismounted from the great bird’s back and after a short interchange hurried into the house. After the initial spark of joy the fear was back in her heart again. Would Elrond really be in time?

Her heart beating furiously, Celebrían turned away from the window and hurried over to the bed. Her hands were shaking badly. How could she have doubted the will of the Valar? Yet what if the elflings were beyond help by now? What if Elrond had arrived timely and could still not rescue them?

With tears anew gathering in her eyes she reached out a trembling hand to search for a heartbeat in each child. She nearly let out a cry when she could not detect any signs of life in Elladan, the child closest to her. “They cannot be gone!” she sobbed, her movements frantic now.

Startled by the cry Erestor also hurried over to the bed and reached out to Elrohir, searching for a heartbeat He had to concentrate hard to detect the weak pounding beneath his fingertips. If Elrohir was still alive then Elladan would also be, but their mother was too agitated to search her bond with her children to recognize this. She was near a hysterical breakdown which was only too understandable.

‘Elrond hurry!’ Erestor whispered, already wondering what was taking the healer so long. He prayed that all their efforts would not be in vain at the end.

Taking his Lady’s hand he connected his fea with the fleeting spirits of the younglings rooting them in this world until their father was able to take his place. Joining with his Lady’s mind Erestor had a firm grip on the elflings spirit, but he wasn’t sure how long he could perform this. Sweat ran down his face and neck. He guessed that he must hold out a bit longer while Elrond prepared the antidote he had brought with him. After an eternity, or so it seemed to the dark-haired elf, the door banged open and the Master Healer rushed inside.

Elrond momentarily faltered in his steps when he beheld the scene before him. His sons lay unmoving side by side upon the much too large bed, pale and unmoving and for a second he feared they had already gone. Then he chided himself. His bond with his children told him that they were still alive. At the same moment he sensed what the strained faces of his wife and his advisor did indicate. Erestor and Celebrían were struggling to keep the elflings from heeding Mando’s call.

Elrond’s knees went suddenly weak. He had anticipated that the situation was dire but that his sons would be nearly gone he had not even dared to think about. Forcing all of his fears and anguish into the back of his mind, he rushed forward and settled himself, after a quick nod toward the two elves, between his sons’ heads to be able to lay one hand on each boy’s forehead.

Registering this Erestor and Celebrían gratefully relinquished their hold on the children’s fea so as not to interfere with the much more powerful stream of healing energy now flowing into the little bodies. They looked at each other hoping that the healer would be able to call the children back and anchor them in this world until he was able to administer the antidote.

The two elves did not dare to move so that they did not interrupt the healers’ concentration. Elrond had now cradled his sons in his lap, his hands now on the elflings’ chests. He had his eyes closed and was lost in a healing trance.

After some time, Celebrían could not say if minutes or hours had passed, Elrond took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. Celebrían swallowed when she gazed at her husband. He looked not only bone-tired but utterly drained and worn-out to a degree that was frightening.

For long minutes no one moved or said anything, yet with a look at the still unmoving children Erestor could contain his anguish any longer. “Elrond, will they live?” he whispered not able to detect any improvement yet.

After another wearied sigh the healer nodded. “Yes, I was able to stabilize them but I must quickly give them the antidote, before the lack of oxygen does more damage.”

While Elrond extricated the vial from his pocket, Celebrían´s head jerked up. “More?” she cried when the words had sunk in.

Pulling Elladan´s head into the crook of his arm Elrond took the stopper from the glass. “The antidote may not work. It’s possible that they will never wake. They have perhaps gone too far,” he replied detached.

Erestor shuddered. He knew the healer well. This seemingly uncaring manner was only proof that Elrond had managed to set aside the father and become the healer now; his only chance to act as needed.

Celebrían was shocked speechless. She knew that her husband would not be so blunt under normal circumstances but this situation was far from normal and the healer was beyond tired and sound reasoning.

She watched with burning eyes while her husband fed the antidote drop-by-drop into each little mouth with a patience she could only admire. He had a systematic cadence: administer a drop, evoke the swallowing reflex, wait, and then repeat.

When the glass vial was empty Elrond laid the boys back on the bed and looked up after he checked their heartbeats. Looking first at Erestor and then at his wife he let out a breath. “Now we can only wait but I have some hope that they will pull through,” he said his voice breaking.

Celebrían also lost her battle of self control. Tears spilled uncontrolled down her cheeks and her frame shock. Carefully, so as not to disturb the resting twins Elrond rose and gathered his wife in his arms, able to hold her for the first time since his arrival. Erestor quickly left the room, wanting to give the family some privacy. Before he closed the door Elrond caught his eye and expressed his gratitude with a look.

Erestor only winked at the couple and left the room. Words were not necessary anyway. Besides he had another task to fulfil. He did not know how Elrond had parted with the Eagle but he hoped that the bird was still there so that he could express their thanks.

…………………………………..

Later, after he had given another dose of the antidote to the elflings he made sure that the children were breathing with more ease. Now he was confident that they would recover, they had only to wake. Celebrían and Elrond had allowed themselves to briefly leave them.

After changing into more comfortable clothing and eating a meal Elrond had told his wife and advisor briefly what had happened and how he had come to arrive with the Eagle.

Celebrían and Erestor listened in wonder and could still hardly believe that all would hopefully turn out well. The antidote was, of course, also sent to the families in need. Elrond had sent out his staff of healers to aid the parents in the administration of the medicine.

Later that day Elrond again checked on his sons and was pleased to see that the lungs were not as flooded with mucus as before. The antidote did work. His only concern now was the prolonged unconsciousness of the boys.

When he nearly stumbled and swayed after rising from their bed, Celebrían was at his side in an instant. “Elrond, I will sit with them. You must rest now.” She held up her hand at the coming protest. “Elrond please, you are on the verge of collapsing. Please. I will call you if anything changes, but please get some rest. You will help no one if you break down.”

Too weary to protest anyway, the Lord of Imladris nodded and let his wife walk him to his room. His head had barely touched the pillow before he was deeply asleep.

……………………………………………………

More then forty eight hours later he felt a feather-light touch on his cheek and jerked upright. He looked at his wife’s face and tried a small smile.

But suddenly his memory caught up and his eyes widened. “The boys?” he asked already rising. Celebrían laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Peace, Elrond, they are all right. In fact they have woken and asked for their Ada.”

The Lord of Imladris was on his feet immediately. He embraced his wife gratefully, forgetting that he wanted to chide her for letting him sleep so long.

He searched his wife’s eyes but only joy could be seen there. The boys had not only awakened but all seemed well otherwise Celebrían would surely have told him that something was amiss. But he needed to see with his own eyes and make sure.

He was still tired but the immediate danger of a breakdown had passed. Together they headed out of his room and toward their children’s chambers.

……………………………………………………

Four weeks later some kind of normalcy had returned to the valley. It was not so for the families who had a child to mourn, of course. Two families had decided to leave for Valinor, too devastated too remain here, and two other families had made the choice to stay at least for the time being, trying to find comfort in caring for their other children.

Celebrían silently opened the door to their bed room and smiled at the scene that greeted her. Elrond was lying in the middle of the great bed fast asleep. In each outstretched arm a peaceful slumbering elfling was cradled.

The children had recovered well. Some echo of the near death experience still remained however, they were more cautious in their endeavours, nearly every night they crawled into their parent’s bed, and some weariness still clung to them.

The same could be said for the Lord himself. He had still not regained his full strength. But Elrond was confident that given time all signs would vanish and all would return to normal.

Celebrían was again reminded that her most loved ones were of two races. What was admirable and interesting at some times was frightening at other times.

Quietly seating herself onto the bed she silently savoured the peaceful moment, simply watching them. It did not take long however until Elrond stirred, sensing her presence.

He gazed at her with a smile enjoying the little warm bodies pressed against him. It was not long until they stirred too and sat up, rubbing their eyes sleepily. Unbeknownst to them Elrond quickly checked them over, pleased that only some tiredness remained. When Elrond raised an eyebrow, sensing that his wife wanted to tell him something, she smiled and obliged.

“The sentries have sent word that Glorfindel is arriving”, she announced barely able to finish the sentence over the loud cry of joy from the twins.

When the boys had raced from the room, Elrond rose and kissed his wife. “That is good news indeed”, he whispered and grasped her hand to follow the elflings outside to great his long expected friend.

The couple had composed a letter to inform Thranduil that all had turned out well and that Glorfindel had returned home without incident. As soon as Elrond had made sure of this they would send the letter on its way to Mirkwood. The King of the wood elves would eagerly await this message and be greatly relieved at the news.

Elrond and Celebrían stood on the top of the steps leading into the courtyard and watched while the golden warrior entered the courtyard. Apart from some grime covering rider and horse the healer could detect nothing amiss. Elrond let out a silent sigh of relief.

No sooner had the golden warrior dismounted than he had both arms full with squealing elflings. Glorfindel hold them tightly against his chest clearly sensing the remnants of their ordeal.

However when he looked over the elflings heads into the smiling faces of Elrond and Celebrían he knew there was no reason for worry. He had done so for four long weeks now, not knowing if he would ever have the chance to hold the elflings again.

After Celebrían had relieved the warrior from his “burdens” Elrond and Glorfindel looked at one another. Elrond could clearly see that his Troop Commander was weary but it was nothing that a good night’s sleep, a bath and a hearty meal could not remedy.

Glorfindel however frowned while he saw the weariness in his Lord which had nothing to do with too little sleep. The healer was already worn out at their parting. What had happened here to drain him that much? “You have a lot to tell me, my friend!” he said earnestly while handing the reins of his two horses over to a waiting stable hand. The Master of Rivendell sighed knowing that Glorfindel would not let him get away without proper information.

Hooking his arm around his friend’s shoulder, he smiled nonetheless. “As have you, my friend, as have you!” Glorfindel only laughed.

End.

A/N: many thanks to all that have followed this story. Each review and comment was welcome and really appreciated. Lai