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:

As always many, many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. Thank you so much for your help and constant encouragement.

Summary:

A threat is brewing in Mirkwood King Thranduil refuses to address until it is too late……

Rating: PG-13

Chapter 1:  an unpleasant awakening

Legolas, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood awoke with a start. He blinked not knowing what had disturbed his rest. It was already morning, the sunrise promising a glorious day. When his eyes came into focus, he sensed something odd.

Still a bit confused he rubbed his eyes. He was about to sit up in his bed when a hand was pressed over his mouth. He panicked and struggled until he heard a familiar voice.

“Hush, little one, do not fight me.”

Legolas instantly stilled and blinked in surprise when he realized, the attacker was actually his older brother Galadhion. He looked up questioningly and sat up straight, when Galadhion slowly removed his hand.

“What….?” he began, and was again silenced by his brother’s hand back over his mouth.

“Ssht”, Galadhion demanded his tone sharper this time. The crown prince directed a quick look over his shoulder at the door.

“You must be quiet!”

Only after Legolas had nodded, Galadhion removed his hand again. Legolas did not like this game. He knew that even his older brother could be fun sometimes, but this was no fun at all.

“You must trust me now!” Galadhion whispered barely audible and Legolas frowned. However, the pleading expression in his brother’s eyes let the elfling nod.

He trusted his brother without question, but he still did not understand why Galadhion was sneaking into his room this early. Why was his brother looking like a hunted animal, and why must he drop his voice in his own room?

Legolas blinked when he also recognized distress and fear in his brother’s eyes. What did Galadhion fear? His big brother never feared anything; he was almost as brave as Ada.

The elfling began to shiver slightly when Galadhion got more and more nervous and continued to look over his shoulder, to listen to what might be outside the door.

Not understanding what was happening the young prince did the only thing that came natural to him. He opened his senses – not a conscious but rather an instinctive action- to receive some answer from another source.

The elfling gasped at the response he got from the trees. The distressed murmur reached him like a slap. The trees were agitated, even furious, in a way Legolas had never experienced before.

What was the meaning of this? The trees were always serene around him, ever happy when he spent time amongst them. Now they felt dark and menacing.

He had to talk to Ada! His father always knew everything. He could explain the odd behaviour of the trees. Ada could communicate with his big friends almost as good as he could.

The gasp let Galadhion turn. He looked at his little brother with a frown. He searched his bond with his sibling and instantly heard the trees disturbed song too.

With burning eyes, he looked outside through the little window over the bed. He never had had such a deep understanding and close connection with the trees like his brother, but the uneasiness he could feel as keenly.

Galadhion got up and strode toward a high chest. Without really looking at the items, he tossed his brother a pair of legging along with a tunic. With his foot, he shoved the little boots toward the bed.

“Get dressed, quickly,” he urged while again looking at the door.

Legolas frown deepened. “But, I have to wash my face first. Nanny Amariel says so!” he declared with a stubborn expression on his face.

Had the situation not been this tense, Galadhion would have laughed aloud. Legolas was the very image of their father with his raised eyebrow showing his irritation.

Galadhion sighed knowing that he would get nowhere like this, yet his patience was running thin already.

“Legolas, please, today we have to skip the routine. You must hurry now!”

Clearly feeling his big brother’s short temper Legolas scrambled out of his bed and slipped into his clothes. Galadhion helped to fasten the tiny buttons lest this would take the rest of the morning.

Suddenly however, he stopped, titled his head and listened intently.

Mimicking the action Legolas listened too. Suddenly he heard footsteps nearing his chamber and saw the door handle move down. With surprise he realized, that the door was locked. Galadhion must have done it after he had slipped into his room.

Whirling around Galadhion grabbed him and dragged him to the great closet in the corner. Just in time, Galadhion managed to push his little brother inside and scramble in after him. The closet door closed with a creak but not completely.

Galadhion did not have the chance to close the door fully. With a loud crack, the door to Legolas room burst open. Galadhion quickly covered Legolas mouth with his hand when the elfling jumped and let out a shocked shriek.

The crown prince held his breath and waited to see if the sound had betrayed them. The impact of the door with the wall had fortunately covered the noise.

Through the slightly open door, Legolas got sight of two unfamiliar elves searching his room. Fortunately, they were in a great hurry and it did not look as if they searched very efficiently.

Legolas held his breath and pressed against his brother. His slender body shivered with fear. These elves really looked angry.

Roughly, the two dark haired elves turned items not too heavy over, kicked stray toys under the bed and swept the desk under the window clear. With an angry grunt, they pulled the still closed curtains down.

One of them suddenly directed his gaze at the cupboard and Galadhion held his breath. With his free hand, he slowly reached for the long knife strapped to his thigh and unsheathed it carefully.

He had enough difficulty sealing his brother’s mouth effectively with his other hand without suffocating the frightened elfling.

The elf yanked the door open and ruffled the clothes inside with a sweep of his hand. Fortunately, for the hiding brothers some robes from Legolas´ mother still hung there, out of nostalgia or fond memories, shielding them from view.

Nonetheless, the hand of the intruder brushed Legolas head. Galadhion raised his knife, sure that they had been discovered now.

Yet, just as the elf wanted to drag the clothes to the side, his companion called.

“Let us be off. They are not here. I wonder where this little brat has vanished to.”

After grunting an affirmative and joining his partner the two elves hurried out of the room, not bothering to close the door.

When they had left, Galadhion let out a sigh of relief and removed his hand from his brother’s mouth. He waited some moments more before he re-sheathed his knife.

He carefully opened the door of the closet and sat his brother on his feet outside. After taking another steadying breath, he left their hiding-place too.

The dark haired elf quickly strode over and attempted to close the opened door, but the doorframe was broken. Returning he knelt down to be at eye-level with the wide-eyed elfling.

“You’re frightening me what is this all about?” Legolas asked with a quivering voice. “What is going on here?”

Galadhion embraced his brother and held him close. Legolas returned the hug, convulsively swallowing the sobs coming up his throat.

After releasing the little elfling, Galadhion looked into eyes brimming with tears.

“Legolas, many things are in motion that we can’t control any longer. You must now do exactly what I say. The situation is dangerous.”

Legolas drew back from his brother and stared at him with incomprehension. His childish mind could not longer process the words.

“Galadhion, I don’t understand you! Where is Ada?” he cried his voice high pitched with sobs.

Making a desperate gesture that he should lower his voice Galadhion grabbed Legolas´ arms and tried to still the wriggling figure.

“Legolas, you must listen to me now. You can’t see Ada, please be silent, otherwise they will hear us and come back!”

“I don’t care!” Legolas shouted and struggled against the firm grip.

Galadhion drew his brother again at his chest pressing his face into the fabric to muffle the sound.

“Legolas, be still! You cannot see Ada right now.”

“Why?” was the muffled reply from the now violently shivering elfling. Legolas had stopped all movement only leaning heavily against his brother’s broad chest but the security he had always felt in his presence did not set in this time.

Galadhion took a deep breath.

“Because Ada is missing and those elves came to kill us.”

To be continued…………………….

A/N:

Characters and the name’s meanings:

Thranduil- King of Mirkwood

Elarinya- Queen of Mirkwood (morning star)-deceased

Galadhion (son of the tree) - Thranduil’s oldest son- Troop Commander of the forest defences

Saeron (wood walker) - Thranduil’s second son – Captain of the warriors defending the realm’s borders

Legolas (green leaf) - Thranduil’s youngest son, still an infant

Sinaht – Chief of the Home Guard and Galadhion´s best friend

Elion- Sinath´s infant son and Legolas´ best friend

Introduction:

Mirkwood is a name used for the large forest in Rhovanion, east of the Anduin in Middle-earth. It was called Mirkwood after falling under the influence of Sauron. Before that, it was known as Greenwood the Great.

Long before the beginning of the First Age, the Elves of the Great Journey travelled westward through the lands of Middle-earth.

Coming to the Great River Anduin and the high peaks of the Misty Mountains, some of the Elves of the clan of the Teleri fell away from the journey, and settled in the woodlands east of the Mountains. These were the original Silvan Elves, who lived on either side of the River.

At this time in their history, all of these people still lived close together, with some dwelling in the land that would later be called Loríen, and the others settling around the hill of Amon Lanc known as Dol Guldur in later days in the far south of Greenwood the Great.

The Silvan Elves dwelt in their twin woodland realms for many centuries, but in the Second Age, the emerging power of Sauron began to drive them apart. Oropher ruled the elves who dwelt in the Greenwood and he began to seek safety by moving his people northwards, away from Amon Lanc and away from the Silvan Elves who lived to the west of the Great River.

Oropher was of Sindarin origin and was the father of Thranduil and grandfather of Legolas. He had come among the Silvan Elves with only a handful of Sindar, soon merging with them.

The Silvan Elves accepted Oropher’s rule because he would help provide necessary protections for them and their beloved forests.  Although many were pleased with Oropher’s rule, not everyone was. 

Source: History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Appendix A - The Silvan Elves and their Speech

Source: the encyclopaedia of ARDA

Chapter 2:  to turn my world upside down

“Because Ada is missing and the elves came to kill us.”

Abruptly the sobs and struggles stopped and Legolas drew back again to look at his brother in shock.

He searched Galadhion’s eyes intently to determine if his brother was fooling him. Surely Galadhion would not say such terrible things just to annoy him, would he?

“What do you mean Ada is missing?” Legolas whispered, not far from crying now. He had lowered his voice considerably suddenly afraid too that the angry elves would show up again.

His young mind tried desperately to understand what his brother had told him. How could his beloved Ada be missing? Ada could handle everything, why was he not here right now?

Seeing what was going on in the child’s mind Galadhion sighed.

“Legolas I haven’t the time to explain all to you, but evil forces have taken control over the realm. Please don’t ask anymore. I barely have more information.”

Quickly Galadhion looked away, before Legolas searched his eyes again. This was only half of the horrible truth yet he would not frighten his little brother any further.

Before the elfling could ask any more questions he rose, grabbed the small hand and walked toward the door. He lifted Legolas over the broken splinters of the frame and peered along the corridor.

All was silent. Galadhion frowned. At this hour the palace normally bustled with all the noises caused by the elves doing their daily business.

When he was sure that no one was in sight, Galadhion grabbed the small hand tighter and ran down the corridor toward the main entrance.

Legolas was barely able to keep up with his brother’s long strikes. When they passed the door to the throne-room the brothers stopped. Galadhion´s frown deepened. The door to the great room was slightly ajar, something his father never tolerated.

Not releasing his grip Galdhion sneaked closer. Legolas followed easily. The Troop Commander saw Luindil and Galion, two of his father’s advisers and three other elves. Two of them were complete strangers to him, but the third he knew all to well. His stomach knotted as he saw one of them sitting on his father’s throne.

Galadhion looked down at his brother, as he felt the small hand tightened around his own and saw tears silently falling down the elfling’s cheeks. He lifted him up and whispered in his ear.

“We have to go.”

Legolas flung his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. He buried his face into his shoulder.

Carefully not to make any noise Galadhion stepped backward into a small corridor. At the end there was a seldom used side portal.

Half way down Galadhion stopped and looked back. All was silent. Just when he resumed walking he felt a hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tensed his muscles.

“Peace, Gal. Relax, it’s only me.”

Hearing the familiar voice the crown prince closed his eyes briefly in relief. In the shadow of an alcove stood Sinaht, chief of the home guard and his best friend.

“You scared me to death,” he grunted while Sinaht pulled them further into the alcove.

“I’m sorry, Gal, but you two have to leave the palace immediately. It would not help if they would catch two more members of the royal family.”

Galadhion shot his friend a warning glare while he inclined his head toward his brother but it was already too late.

“Sin, where is Ada? I want to see Ada now!” the elfling demanded. Galadhion was inclined to clamp his hand over the little one’s mouth again. Fortunately the elfling had not raised his voice. Sinaht swallowed after the reproachful look from his friend.

The crown prince sighed and stroked the back of the elfling in his arms comfortingly. “Legolas, listen to me, you must go with Sinaht now.”

Legolas jerked his head up and looked sharply at his brother. His tear streaked face paled. “No!” he whispered. “I will stay with you. I don’t want to go!”

He tightened the hold on his brother.

Over Galadhion’s shoulder he glanced at Sinaht apologetically. The captain was the father of his best friend Elion, but all here was so confusing and he simply wanted to stay with someone of his family.

Galadhion sighed again. He had known that this scene would come. “Legolas listen to me. We are trying to help Ada and therefore I need your help, and you help me best when you do what I say and go with Sinaht now.”

Legolas opened his mouth to protest but then considered his brother’s words. Of course he wanted to help his Ada! He hung his head and nodded. “I will help you.”

Galadhion pressed a kiss to his little brother’s forehead. Quickly he passed Legolas to Sinaht. “Thank you little one. You are very brave. I will look after you soon, I promise.”

Sinaht took the shivering child and wrapped a hand protectively around the little prince’s waist. “I will take good care of him,” Sinaht said and squeezed the arm of his friend comfortingly. The important thing now was to bring the prince to a safe place and out of reach.

Galadhion nodded gratefully and turned abruptly. He did not want to look into his brother’s frightened eyes. Sinaht would do all in his power to protect him. He had no doubt about that.

However before he could walk away Sinaht grabbed his arm. “I hope you know what you are doing, my friend. Please take no chances,” he said barely audible enough for Galadhion to hear.

Galadhion nodded. “I know but I must try to gather as much information as possible and I must find my father,” he whispered back just as softly. Legolas had buried his head into the captain’s shoulder.

Sinaht only nodded. He knew that Galadhion was right but that did not dampen the fear for his friend.

With grim faces, the two friends parted determinedly walking down the corridor into different directions and into different dangers.

……………………………………..

Back in the main corridor Galadhion tried to calm his furiously beating heart. He had to find a place to think undisturbed. When he crossed the door to a storeroom he quickly slipped inside. Leaning his forehead against the door he took deep calming breaths. He briefly closed his eyes in a vain hope of clearing his mind.

Many things had to be considered. At least his little brother had left the palace, yet that did nothing to make him relax.

Suddenly and unbidden the memory from the morning when his world had turned upside down assaulted his mind…..

A few hours earlier…..

Galadhion walked along the corridor that led toward the great hall. It was barely dawn, for him the most beautiful time of the day.

Knowing that his father was an early riser like him, he was already on his way for the daily morning briefing. He wanted to inform the King about the news from the patrols he had received the last evening.

Despite his bright mood he felt a nagging at the back of his mind he could not place. With a slight frown he noticed that, despite the early hour, it was much too quiet. The staff had to be up already but he could make out no noise coming from the kitchen just around the next corner or any of the other workrooms.

Dismissing the feeling with a shrug and assuming that he was just a bit earlier than usual he resumed his way down the long corridor toward the throne-room.

When he rounded the last bend, Thelian, his father’s herald, normally standing outside the great double-doors to question the visitor’s business and announce them to the King rounded the corner and nearly collided with the crown prince.

Just in time Galadhion managed to avoid an impact but the reaction he got from the elf startled him. After realizing with whom he had nearly collided Thelian looked at the crown prince in shock, as if he saw himself confronted with his worst enemy. All blood drained from the herald’s face and he made a wide arc around the son of Thranduil to run down the corridor at full speed.

Galadhion’s frown had changed into full worry. What had gotten in the normally kind and good-natured servant? Surely the near-collision had not evoked such anxiety and outright fear in the elf?

The uneasy feeling from earlier was back in full blow and now Galadhion did feel it clearly. Something was entirely amiss. The song around him had changed to a disharmony he had never experienced in this intensity before.

Quickening his pace he finally rounded the bend and was now a few steps away from the throne-room, when again something disturbing happened. Not only was the door slightly ajar, something to which his father sternly objected; Galadhion heard shouting voices drifting out.

Shouting? In all his many thousand of years he could count on one hand how often he had heard his father shout. The King was a very controlled and self-restrained elf and it took a lot to let him lose his composure.

Yet after stepping closer he realized that it was not the King who did the shouting rather the elves with him. Now Galadhion was at a loss. Who dared to shout at the King? Thanduil would never tolerate such behaviour at court.

And as far as Galadhion had been informed no one was scheduled so early in the morning. These wee hours were reserved for the advisors to inform the King of the last day’s occurrences and gave the ruler time to design his day.

Determinedly Galadhion closed the distance, yet he refrained from actually crossing the threshold. Now he was near enough to fully oversee the room without immediately being seen himself.

It was not the incredulous words that let him clamp his hand over his mouth in shock. Desperately he tried not to make a sound expressing his outrage at the scene he witnessed before him.

………………………………………..

The King of Mirkwood looked up from the report he was reading when the door to the throne-room opened. His two advisors, Galion and Luindil entered. He acknowledged their entry with a nod, pleased that they could start the day’s work so early. Many requests and petitions had already filled his schedule.

He raised an eyebrow when the two elves hovered near the door and made no attempt to take their usual seats at the great conference table. What was the meaning of this? He narrowed his eyes however when they did not even meet his eyes. The uneasiness that was rolling in waves from the two elves was nearly palpable.

Slowly Thranduil rose and stepped around his chair. Directing an irritated look at his councillors he tried to determine the reason for their odd behaviour.

Before however he could even demand an explanation the door opened again. Thranduil looked up and inhaled sharply. Instantly he knew the reason for his advisors distress.

In the doorway stood Thoran, a tall, dark haired elf with piercing dark eyes. The expression on his face could only be described as arrogant and challenging. Thranduil let the dismay he felt display on his face, yet he knew he had never made the slightest impression on this elf.

His anger increasing with this new affront the King slowly rounded the table. He made a conscious effort to rein in his temper. Thoran was dangerous. He seized every opportunity to antagonize the King. Yet he was also cunning. He made as much trouble as possible but he never crossed a line, at least not in public and Thranduil had never had a chance to act against him.

Many years ago the troubles had started. Thranduil did not even know where this elf had come from so suddenly. He had appeared in the King’s near vicinity never tiring of making Thranduil´s public life as difficult as possible.

Back then, Thranduil thought that Thoran was only a very ambitious elf and as King, he had to deal with such fellows occasionally. Now he knew that this elf pursued a dangerous goal.

Born Silvan and native to this wood he and his followers didn’t approve of the rule of a Sindar King. This group had existed ever since his father came to the Greenwood, but the few troublemakers had never really caused any distress, indeed had been rejected mildly.

The Silvan elves had ever profited from the rule of Oropher and later Thranduil and therefore no one had ever paid them much heed.

There would always be someone who objected to your leadership and Thranduil thought the same. You could never satisfy all. And therefore he never acted against them, not willing to stir any more resistance and unjust emotions.

Thranduil could clearly remember an argument he had had with Thoran not long ago:  “You claim to protect this forest but you have done nothing but retreat.” Thoran had said.

“You Sindar do not understand this. We Silvan want to protect our forest by staying. You run away and leave the trees and the land to be destroyed by the evil creatures. We will not move anymore.”

However, the actions against the King grew more frequent and bolder, from a few “forgotten” orders to openly rejected advice. Of course Thoran never uttered anything that Thranduil could use to discipline him.

Never could he find any proof that Thoran was conspiring against him. This elf was very clever and cautious and therefore Thranduil had no handle against him, until now.

It was obvious that Thoran was not here to be rejected and this time he didn’t hide his requirements. Thranduil had to admit that he had underestimated this elf and tolerated him much too long when he saw the determination in the other’s eyes.

When the King thought he had seen enough he was mistaken.  A second later the door opened again and three more elves stepped inside. He had never seen them before. Thranduil expression turned furious. Where were the warriors guarding the door? Now a line had been crossed.

“What do you think you are doing? “ Thranduil demanded directing his glare at Thoran. “I’m under the impression that everyone has to ask for permission to enter here, including you and your fellows!” He was not willing to grant Thoran time to react in any way. “Guards!” he cried. This had gone far enough. This had to stop now!

Thoran looked at him unimpressed. “My Lord,” he said with a clearly insulting tone. “I think you misjudge the situation. We no longer ask for permission, we simply ask you to cooperate with us or....“

“Or what?” Thranduil hissed hard pressed to not throw these elves from the room personally. He directed a quick look at the door. What had become of the guards?

“I think you are clever enough to know the answer. This is your last chance.”

The King’s jaw dropped. This was not only a rebellion but a threat to his life. With this, Thoran and his fellows had forfeited their lives already. Yet when Thranduil looked into Thoran’s eyes, he recognized the insane glint in those dark orbs. To gain his goal Thoran would kill without hesitation.

To be continued……………….

Chapter 3:  dangerous development

“My Lord,” he said with a clearly insulting tone. “I think you misjudge the situation. We no longer ask for permission, we simply ask you to cooperate with us or...“

Thranduil’s face turned into a mask. How dared they approach him in this manner? Their behaviour was open rebellion. Yet he must tread carefully. At the moment they had a clear advantage. Thoran had obviously made sure that the guards would not disturb them. How he had achieved this, Thranduil had no clue.

He had never dealt with such a situation before. How was he supposed to act? He could not look for assistance from his guards and his advisors did not look as if they would intervene either. This was disturbing him greatly but he would deal with this mystery later.

To his relief all four elves did not carry any weapons, at least none that he could see. He had no sword at his disposal either. For his conferences and at the hearing of petitions he had never needed one. He only wore a sword at official meetings with representatives from other races or realms.

Composing himself he regarded Thoran with a stony expression. He would again try to make the other see reason and call to the other’s rationality.

“Thoran, what is the meaning of this? You know what the consequences for such an act will be! Surrender now and I will reconsider how your crime will be answered!”

Thranduil had hoped that his words had an effect on the four elves, but he was disappointed.

Stepping closer Thoran returned the glare unimpressed. “Your Majesty, I think you still have not realized what happened. You are no longer in charge. We are here to accept your surrender.”

Thranduil clenched his fists. The time for arguing and reasoning was over. Thoran had made his position clear. There was no turning back now.

Thranduil took a deep breath. “I will never willingly surrender to a criminal like you, Thoran. If you are here to lay claim to the throne, then you will have to get past me first!”

“Well, that can be arranged,” Thoran answered with a disturbing smile. Waving his hand, the traitor gestured toward Thranduil’s advisors.

Thranduil swallowed. They would go this far? All right! Anticipating the worst but not used to backing down he took a defensive stance.

“Take him to the dungeons. Maybe a night in a cold cell will change his mind,” Thoran ordered with a dramatic gesture.

Thranduil directed his gaze at his advisor Galion, an elf he had known all his life. He had always served him unfailingly. He was a Silvan elf like Thoran but had never expressed any hard feelings against his King. He had never objected to the role of a Sindar King. Had this all been a façade? What had made his advisor turn against him now? Would he follow Thoran’s command?

To his relief Galion as well as Luindil looked more than uncomfortable. Uncertainty and something like fear could be seen in their eyes. Nevertheless the two advisors stepped forward, and approached the King.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. How had Thoran coerced these two to cooperate? That they were forced against their free will was plain to see. Yet the closer they came, the more unsteady their steps became.

It was one thing to disobey their King, but to arrest him required more courage than they had. After a few steps they stopped hesitantly with their eyes on the floor. Thranduil held his breath.

“Do what I say or you will share his fate!” Thoran snapped coldly.

Looking completely miserable now the two elves stood there frozen, unable to cross the line the King had drawn with his angry eyes and rigid stance.

Snorting, expressing that he had expected nothing else, Thoran turned to the three elves which had entered the great hall after him. He smirked at them.

“Take him,” he commanded. Thranduil’s head snapped around to face the new threat. These three seemed to have no problem with Thoran’s order. They approached the King immediately.

Thranduil ducked his head accepting that this would not happen without a fight.

Briefly he wondered how this could be possible. Would there be any sense in calling for help? What had become of his other advisors? And Galadhion? He should be here by now. What about the palace staff? Had no one noticed what was happening in the throne room?

A look at his advisors told him all he had to know. Thoran had threatened the elves with the only thing that would also make him surrender.

His only weakness: his family.

Thoran would use the always perfect threat: to harm someone dear to you.

His mind begun to race and fear struck him as he thought about his sons. What had happened to them? Had Thoran already acted against them? Suddenly his knees went week. Galadhion and Saeron were able to look after themselves but what of his youngest? What if Thoran had already harmed the very reason why he still struggled day after day against the darkness?

Had his sons been able to react in time or had Thoran taken them by surprise? Yet, when the three elves approached him he was forced to direct his thoughts to them.

He raised his fists and wondered if he was ready. Ready? How could he be ready? After all, it was not every day that you were attacked in your own home with nothing to defend yourself other than your bare hands.

Thranduil was well trained in hand-to hand-combat, but he knew if all four would fight him in earnest, he had no chance. But he would be damned if he would make this easy for them.

……………………………………..

Galion and Luindil stood routed to the spot their eyes wide with shock. They had never thought that Thoran would go this far and make his threat true. But what had they expected? That the King would surrender?

They lowered their eyes in shame, when Thranduil was attacked. They had already failed in their pledge to serve their King. In following Thoran’s command and even worse, in doing nothing to stop him, their fate was already sealed. Both knew that they had no other choice, but this changed nothing in the end.

If they had intervened now Thoran would have made his threat true and harmed his hostages. By not intervening they would be standing on the wrong side regardless how this dispute would end. Either way they were lost.

With detached expressions they watched what happened in front of them. Thoran’s followers had reached the King. Thranduil punched the first elf and dodged a hit from the second, but three were more then he could deal with by himself.

For several remarkable moments he stood his ground against the three trained warriors but the well-directed blows quickly took their toll and he was wrestled down to the floor. Soon his strength was failing under the ever increasing fierceness of the blows.

The only thing left to him was to protect his head and body with his arms to prevent serious or fatal injuries. With dread he registered that they did not care if he survived the attack.

After he had stopped fighting back one of the three elves bound his hands roughly at his back. Thranduil was able to catch a glimpse on Galion´s face. The eyes of the fair-haired elf pleaded for forgiveness and Thranduil knew that they were victims too. Thoran however stood there with a victorious grin plastered to his face.

“Do not be too sure of yourself, Thoran,” Thranduil hissed as he endured another hard punch against his already-bruised ribcage. He doubled over, blood dripping from his nose and split lip onto the floor.

Thoran only laughed when he gestured his fellow elves to take the King out of the room. Two of them grabbed the semi-conscious elf under his arms and pulled him out of the great hall.

Without care they dragged him down the many stairs to the cellar where the dungeons were located. Again Thranduil wondered where the whole palace staff had vanished to.

He could not remember when the last prisoner has been held here. Most of the cells served as storerooms.

With a brutal push he was shoved into one of the empty cells. With a loud creak the door was closed leaving him in darkness.

………………………………

With his hand still clasped tightly over his mouth to avoid letting out a cry of rage and frustration, Galadhion quickly left the open door. He retreated into an alcove further down the corridor.

The emotional part of him wanted to rush inside the throne-room and come to his father’s aid but the more rational part of his mind told him to stay back and explore how to come to his father’s aid without sharing the same fate.

Galadhion had never liked Thoran. He thought he was an arrogant, overly self-confident elf and had mistrusted him from the first minute he had appeared in their presence.

Nevertheless his father had cautioned him to act carefully. The King was not interested in stirring up any emotions between the elves native to this wood and Thranduil’s Sindar Elves.

Over the millennia all had gone well enough but one rebellious spirit could tip the balance. And this very thing had now happened.

He sighed. No one however, not even he himself had expected Thoran to act in this fashion. But the time for regrets was over now.

The crown prince’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the throne-room was banged open by a boot.

Again the urge to help his father became nearly overwhelming. With dread he observed how two unfamiliar elves were dragging the half-conscious King between them out of the room.

Galadhion wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of his father’s face without revealing his hiding spot. With worry he registered that his father wasn’t able to walk on his own. What had these bastards done to him? The red blotches on the King’s white tunic answered his question a moment later.

Galadhion clenched his fists. His mind was spinning while he was pressing back into the shadow. He felt that he was acting like a coward but what options were left to him? Intervening now would achieve him nothing. The only result would be to share his father’s fate and make the way free for Thoran. This would not happen as long as he drew breath, he swore silently to himself.

Within minutes his world had completely changed. As if he were the criminal, he must hide from view and was suddenly a stranger in his own home. There was only one word for this situation: revolution.

Calming his racing heart Galadhion waited until all of the elves had left the great hall. He needed time to think undisturbed. He had to find out how far this had already gone; who Thoran had dragged onto his side or threatened so they would not act against him.

He carefully left the alcove and looked left and right. All was silent and deserted. Without making a sound he hastened down the corridor toward a side entrance. First he must find his brother Saeron and....he suddenly stopped. Legolas!

Cold sweat was breaking out on his brow. First he had to bring his little brother to a safe place. But was there even a safe place any longer?

He had no idea how reckless the elves would be, but the behaviour against his father left little hope about how they would treat the other family members. Changing his direction he headed toward the family quarters.

While running down the corridor his thoughts were racing. He had to warn the warriors. He had to find out on which side the guards and warriors stood in this situation.

Thoran surely didn’t have all of them on his side, but this mission was a treacherous thing. Who could he trust anymore? A revolution could never be done without help from insiders. It was nearly impossible to guess those involved.

Too occupied with his thoughts he had not chance to avoid the collision with an elf when he rounded a bend. Wide-eyed he stared at the equally startled elf and breathed a sigh of relief the next moment.

“Saeron!” he whispered and grabbed his brother by his tunic-sleeve to drag him down the corridor with him. Struggling Saeron looked at him in bewilderment.

“What in the name of the Belain is going on here? Has everyone lost his mind this morning?” Saeron demanded his voice thundering along the deserted corridor.

Galadhion stopped and quickly covered his brother’s mouth. Shoving him into a recess he waited a moment before he removed his hand.

Saeron’s upset grow. “Ah, including you!” he joked, but when he saw the desperate expression on his brother’s face he quickly became serious.

“Galadhion what’s the matter?” he asked considerably softer. His brother was always much too stern and serious for his liking but this time something felt wrong.

Galadhion looked back and forth the corridor and when he was sure that no one was within earshot he turned back toward his brother.

“Thoran and his companions have taken control over the realm!” he whispered. He had decided to make it as blunt and quick as possible. There was no time for much explaining.

Saeron gasped and instantly stilled his struggling. He looked at his brother in shock. After some moments he clenched his fists.

“As I always said, Thoran is a rat!”

Galadhion nodded his head ruefully. Saeron had always warned against Thoran, but neither he nor his father had really thought that he could grow this dangerous. Now it had happened but now is was too late.

“Hey!” Saeron called and shook Galadhion out of his reverie. “What are you going to do now? What says father to this?”

Unwilling Galadion wrenched his arm out of his brother’s grasp and snorted at the jovial tone of his brother. Saeron had obviously misjudged the gravity of the situation.

“He didn’t really have a chance to argue,” he answered not able to avoid a sarcastic undertone. His brother made always light of everything. He wanted to adapt the world only to his wishes.

Saeron grabbed him by his shoulders. “What do you mean by that? Where is he?”

Galadhion sighed and looked at his younger sibling with sadness in his eyes and his voice was now filled with desperation, something not even Saeron could miss.

“They attacked him this morning in the throne-room and fought him down. Afterwards they dragged him out of the great hall and...” Galadhion trailed off.

“And?” Saeron hissed while unconsciously tightening his grip on his brother’s arm.

When he got no answer Saeron asked again. “Gal, did they hurt him?”

Galadhion could only nod. “Yes but I couldn’t see where they took him.”

Saeron released his grip when he recognized his brother wince.

“Who is ‘they’?” he asked in a dangerous calm tone.

Galadhion had expected this question. His brother might be a cheerful soul but he had a quick and sharp mind. “I saw Galion and Luindil and of course Thoran this morning but the other three were unfamiliar to me.”

“I will kill him!” Saeron stated and was about to turn.

This time Galadhion grabbed his brother’s arm hard in return. Anger was blazing from his green eyes. This behaviour was exactly what always infuriated him with Saeron, acting without thinking.

“Stop, Saeron, you will only make the situation worse.”

“Worse?” Saeron hissed while turning again back to face his brother. “How can this get any worse?”

Galadhion, quickly reaching the limit of his patience, sighed.

“Saeron, please, calm down and think first. You help no one if you run off and……. think of Legolas!”

Saeron paled and ceased his struggles altogether. In the heat of the argument he totally had forgotten about his little brother. Suddenly an icy fist grabbed at his heart. How far had this mess gone already?

“Where is he?  Saeron asked swallowing the lump rising up his throat.

Galadhion looked nervously over his shoulder expecting any time to be discovered.

“Still in his rooms, I hope. I’m on my way to fetch him. Saeron listen to me. You have to leave Mirkwood and inform Lord Elrond of Imladris!”

Shocked and surprised Saeron glanced sharply at his brother.

“My dear brother,” he said with this imposing tone Galadhion hated so much, “we have more than enough warriors to drive away these few rats. We don’t need any help from outside.”

Restraining his urge to punch this presumptuousness from his brother’s face Galadhion made a conscious effort to stay calm. As always, his brother was too agitated to think clearly. Saeron had always been short-tempered and impatient.

“Saeron, we don’t know how many of the warriors are on Thoran’s side and who we can trust anymore. This process to find out will take much time. I’m not sure that we can stop what havoc Thoran is able to create. The other Elven Realms have to be informed!”

Saeron slowly nodded despite being really convinced. Why should Lord Elrond or the rulers of Lothlórien be inclined to help them and how should this work anyway? Neither Rivendell nor Lothlórien had an army at their disposal, after all! And it would take much time to reach Rivendell, explain the situation, organize help and return.

Yet he considered his brothers words carefully. What other option did they have anyway? “I think you are right, but what of Ada? First we must help him.”

Galadhion nodded, relieved that his brother was relenting. “That we do! We cannot help him personally right now but I’m quite sure they need him alive.”

“Oh yes“, Saeron said sarcastically, “to use him against us as a hostage. Wonderful! I hope you are right with your assumption, because if they do him any harm they will only live to regret it. Please get Legolas out of here and take care of yourself. I will leave before it becomes impossible.”

Galadhion nodded and embraced his brother. “Be careful and take no chances!”

“Always, you know me,” Saeron replied and hurried away. Galadhion briefly closed his eyes. Oh yes, I know you, brother.

Galadhion prayed that this mission of his brother would not end in a disaster.

After Saeron had vanished from sight Galadhion left the alcove and quickly headed toward his little brother’s chambers.

To be continued…………………….

Chapter 4:  darkness, darkness everywhere

When Thranduil awoke he blinked in confusion when he felt that he was lying on a stone floor. The cold that was creeping into his bones made him shudder. He must have slipped into unconsciousness, but he didn’t really remember that. However, the memory that had eluded him momentarily came quickly back.

Thoran! The rebellious elf had turned into a full blown revolutionist and tried to claim the throne of Mirkwood by force. No, Thranduil corrected himself sarcastically. He hadn’t tried, he had already done it.  

Carefully he rose to his hands and knees and groaned when a sharp pain stabbed him down the right side of his chest. For a few minutes he remained in this ungraceful position in an attempt to swallow the nausea that was quickly rising up his throat. He had a few bruised and possibly cracked ribs then and most likely a concussion as well.

After the pain had subsided to a bearable level he crawled forward and sat with his back against the damp stone wall. Instantly the pain flared up again and he remained still until he could breathe more regularly.

He tried to see around him but the room had no window and the dim light filtering in from the corridor outside the cell provided no clue as to whether it was day or night. His senses told him that it was still night but he would not bet on it. There was no chance to assess his injuries but the amount of pain he was in told him enough. Thoran’s fellows had been rather rough and had not cared about how seriously they might have injured him.

This made him worry, not for himself but for his people and most of all for his family. Thoran needed him alive, at least for the time being, he was sure of that. But what of other elves who might only appear as a nuisance for Thoran? Would he go so far as to kill someone?

Anger flared in him. He had always been open to other opinions as any good ruler should be, but of course he could never satisfy everyone and even he had to take actions which were demanded by necessity rather then emotion or idle wishes. He had to look out for the welfare of a whole populace. Some individual demands, even his own, had to stand back for the well-being of all.

Had he failed in his rule? Had he stirred up so much unrest that a trouble-maker such as Thoran could get so much approval? His stomach knotted when he tried to imagine what probably had happened during the time he had lain here unconscious?

His heartbeat quickened when he thought about his sons. What of them? Had they managed to escape? Galadhion and Saeron were surely able to take care of themselves, but Legolas?

He clenched his fists in frustration. This was entirely his fault. He had looked away for much too long and had not realized how dangerous the situation had become. How could such an act have even been possible? Thoran must have had help; otherwise this could not have been successful.

Calming his thoughts, Thranduil directed his senses at his near surroundings but try as he might he could hear nothing at all. His initial frown turned into open worry. What had become of the palace staff? The whole dungeon level was normally a flurry of activity. Goods and supplies were constantly requested or transferred to the many storerooms.

Also, the opening to the underground river was always occupied. The exchange of goods via the river with Lake Town had to be organized. Where had the elves overseeing this vanished to?

He wondered if they did not expect him to make an escape attempt. But then Thranduil had to smirk. The heavy wooden doors made to keep people out rather than in, did fulfil their purpose nonetheless. They needed no one to guard the door. But was Thoran so sure of himself? Thranduil had only to shout loud enough to get some attention. Hadn’t he?

Groaning in frustration Thranduil folded his long legs to his chest and rested his head on his knees trying to conserve a bit of his body warmth. His worrying was accomplishing nothing. Without proper information all thoughts were futile.

With a sigh he closed his eyes. There was nothing better to do anyway. Before long however, the door opened and Thoran stepped inside. Thranduil jerked his head up and blinked at the light the torch in Thoran´s hand provided. The King tensed. How dangerous was this elf? How far would he go?

Before he had the chance to think any further, the same three elves that had imprisoned him pulled him up into a standing position.

With much effort he suppressed a cry of pain when he realized that not only his ribs were bruised. He momentarily closed his eyes to regain his composure. Then he stared coldly at Thoran who had stepped in front of him with his arms crossed and a wicked grin on his face.

“Poor mighty King,” he teased. “Have you changed your mind? Are you willing to cooperate now?”

Thranduil looked back with a blank expression on his face. What did Thoran expect to accomplish with this question? If he did know him as well as he claimed to then he should know that one night in a cell would surely do nothing to change his mind.

Thoran shook his head in an overdone gesture of exasperation after a few moments of silence. He stepped forward and grabbed the King by the collar of his tunic.

“No?” he cried mockingly. “What a pity! Oh, I am sure you will soon. Maybe we will bring one of your sons down here, and then you will see how quickly I get the right answer. Perhaps the lovely little fair-haired boy?”

Despite his best efforts Thranduil paled. Thankfully Thoran could not see it in the dimness. Was this only an empty threat, or had one or more of his sons really been captured?

Thranduil was fairly sure what Thoran wanted from him. Maybe the guards and warriors had separated into two groups; one group that supported Thoran out of conviction or fear, and the other group which was still loyal to their King.

Thoran could not act until the opposite group conceded.  Therefore he wanted to force him to order the rebellious elves to cooperate. This he knew he would never do even if it would be his death sentence.

Of course the situation would change if Thoran would use one of his sons against him.

When Thoran received no answer he snorted and turned. He sent a dangerous look over his shoulder. “I will give you one more night. If you will not cooperate then, you will regret it.”

Before Thranduil had any chance to react Thoran´s companions pushed him roughly back against the wall and hurried after their master.

Thranduil gasped as the air was pressed out of his lungs. He slid down the wall and tried to banish the stars that flashed in front of his eyes. He squeezed them shut for a moment before he struggled to a more comfortable position. The door closed and he was alone once more.

Alone with the darkness. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his concerns.

……………………………

For two days nothing happened. Thranduil was sure that at least 48 hours had gone by. No one had come to provide him with food or water. This he could tolerate but much worse was the suspense. He strained his senses again, but to no avail. No noise could be heard. This could not be. Thoran could not have scared everyone away.

Taking deep calming breaths he tried to suppress his anxiety as well as his growing anger. What was happening while he sat here in the dark? What had happened to his Kingdom? He felt nearly sick at the thought that the foul creatures, ever pressing against their borders would perceive that something was changing. They would instantly seize the opportunity.

The constant stabbing pain still radiating from his left side every time he took a breath did nothing to let him relax either. They must have hurt him more badly then he had thought at first; his healing ability should long have kicked in.

Again, he directed a desperate gaze into the gloomy dark. He had not even had a chance to look at the stars or the sunlight. The storeroom was located inside and did not face the outer wall, therefore it had no window. If nothing else would break him, not to be in contact with nature would affect him sooner rather then later.

Then without warning the door burst open and Thoran stood in the frame. Thranduil blinked at the light that shone into the cell.

Without hesitation Thoran rushed through the cell, his fellow elves, as always, on his heels. Stopping short in front of the seated King, Thoran bent down and grabbed Thranduil by the collar of his tunic.

With one jerk he pulled him to his feet. Again Thranduil suppressed a cry of pain. When he opened his eyes after momentarily squeezing then shut the King’s face was only inches away from Thoran’s. The rioter’s features were distorted with fury.

However before Thranduil could even think about why his opponent could be this furious Thoran dealt him a brutal blow which threw him back against the wall. The air was knocked out of his lungs and Thranduil coughed while trying to catch his breath. To his dismay, the coughing produced blood which splattered not only his but Thoran’s tunic as well.

Thoran did not so much as to raise an eyebrow while Thranduil swallow quickly to suppress another coughing fit. He was not willing to display any more weakness, yet to fight Thoran would be futile. The ever present three elves would nip any attack in the bud.

When Thranduil had regained his breath Thoran stepped forward and clenched a hand around the King´s neck. Thranduil stiffened. The grip was suffocating but left him enough room for breathing so that he would not faint.

He felt Thoran´s hot breath against his cheek when the tall elf leaned in closer. “My patience grows thin, Thranduil,” he hissed. “Order your troops back now!”

And something else seemed obvious. Thoran had not yet managed to capture one of his sons to blackmail him. He would surely have seized this opportunity by now, if possible.

The indifferent look Thranduil directed at Thoran brought the enraged elf over the edge. He released his bruising grip and punched his opponent full force into the stomach. Thranduil could do no more then crouch down to protect his already injured right side. The blows continued to rain down on him. After a while Thranduil only noticed them with a detached awareness.

Just when he was ready to embrace the welcoming pain-free darkness Thoran stopped and knelt down beside him, his face no longer contorted in rage. With a none-to-gentle grip he forced Thranduil to look at him.

“This can be easy or very difficult. It is entirely up to you. Cooperate and the torment ends now. Fight and this will go on until your spirit is broken. It is your decision.”

Mustering his last reserves Thranduil returned the gaze coolly. “I will never cooperate with you!” he spat between clenched teeth.

Snorting, Thoran release his hold and stood. With a dangerous gleam in his eyes he regarded the kneeling figure. Thranduil was so stubborn. The people of Mirkwood would only follow his rule if Thranduil supported him.

For millennia Thranduil had been able to hold evil at bay without the power of an elven ring. This had only been possible with the support of some of the best soldiers among all elves in Middle Earth. Those warriors would be dangerous if they decided to stay loyal to their King.

Only if Thranduil surrendered to the new authority could this be avoided. He only had to relent and abdicate. Then Thoran would grant him and his family freedom to leave.

“You will regret this decision, this I promise you,” Thoran hissed before he left the cell accompanied by his companions.

Thranduil simply remained lying down where he was. He did not have the strength to sit up again. Once more he was alone with only his worries for company.

To be continued…………………..

Chapter 5:  escape

Saeron walked at what he assumed was a leisurely pace toward the stables. He had to suppress the urge to run and to constantly look over his shoulder. Not to attract any attention was the premise now. His leaving had to go unnoticed.

It was odd. This was his home and he had to sneak out like a thief in the night. He clenched and unclenched his fists in rising frustration. Thoran had surprised them all. His father had long watched this ambitious elf’s actions but never had Thoran been careless enough to give the King a reason to intervene.

That was that made Thoran so dangerous. He was liked, had the ability to draw attention, was a master of deception and was intelligent and cunning.  Saeron had ever counselled caution against this fellow, but the King’s options were limited. He could not act against crimes Thoran had not yet committed.

Saeron grimaced; had not committed until now. His suspicions had been proven true. Now Thoran had committed treason but their hands were bound. Saeron’s anger rose up a notch. This upstart had the nerve to hold the King as a hostage. They had not seen their father for two days. The labyrinth under the palace was big enough to hide someone effectively.

The bond he shared with his father told him that he was alive, but he could clearly feel the great distress radiating from the King. He knew his father was strong of mind but everyone had a weak spot and a breaking point. Saeron had no intention of finding either and Thoran would be wise not to cross those lines either.

When Saeron crossed the threshold to the stable he looked left and right down the wide aisle and was relieved to find it empty.  Quickly he strode toward the stall of his horse and was greeted with a joyful whinny. Quickly he covered the soft nose with his hands to avoid further noises.

The stable master had to be around somewhere. How tangled was the web that Thoran had spun? Would the elf responsible for the horses let him leave or would he instantly raise the alarm? Saeron would take no chances. If his brother’s plan to regroup the warriors went ill, he would be his father’s only chance.

“Shht, my friend, be quiet. I need your help,” he whispered while he opened the stall-door fully. The horse looked at him with big eyes and tossed his head in understanding. As quietly as possible, Saeron led his steed out of the barn’s back door. He winced when the hooves clattered over the wooden planks.

Finally outside, flattened against the wall not facing the palace entrance, he quickly fastened his saddlebags. A heavy hand placed on his shoulder made Saeron freeze in place. He swallowed and held his breath. Slowly he turned; steeling himself.

“Up so early?” the stable master asked in a low voice. Saeron tensed. Calanon had been his friend since childhood but Calanon was a Silvan elf and his family had lived in this wood long before the Sindar elves had joined them. Never had this mattered to them, but now? Had the poison Thoran and his fellows were spreading already reached this far? Would or should he fight a friend?

Searching Calanon’s face Saeron visibly relaxed. Behind the lightly spoken words he could see deep concern and confusion in the other’s eyes. Before he could utter a word the stable master turned him around. “Go and make haste before someone notices you. I will hide your absence as long as possible.”

With a thankful nod that expressed more than words and a sigh Saeron mounted his horse in a fluid motion. He urged the white steed forward and quickly covered the distance to the nearby tree- line.

Thranduil´s second son breathed another sigh of relief when he ducked low over the neck of the beast and entered the dense forest. Only then did he stop and turn around. With narrowed eyes he looked back at the palace.

All was quiet…far too quiet for his taste. Although he did not notice anyone following him he felt quite uncomfortable. Thoran could ill afford to let him escape and warn any other elven realm about their predicament.

Even if there would be no help such as troops to drive the upstart away, the influence of other important elves was not to be underestimated. Thoran would only succeed when he kept his revolt hidden. To alert mightier powers of his betrayal would be most unwise. 

A chill ran down his spine as he suddenly was struck by a vision that he would never have another chance to see this view.

Quickly he banished these thoughts from his mind and turned his horse to head along the great northwest route toward the Misty Mountains. With tears in his eyes he gazed forward. Never look back, keep your head clear he reminded himself.

He never noticed the two figures following him.

………………………………

Saeron urged his mount forward intent on putting as much distance as possible between him and the palace. He knew it to be a great distance over the mountains but if he made haste he could reach his destiny in an acceptable amount of time.

Briefly he considered going to Lothlórien instead of Rivendell because there also dwelled allies who would probably be willing to help rescue his father and retrieve the kingdom from Thoran, yet he knew that his father was not very fond of Lord Celeborn’s wife and he respected the wish of the King not to get overly much involved with Galadriel.

The Lady of the Golden Wood might be involved anyway should Lord Elrond recommend contacting her however Saeron felt more comfortable speaking with Lord Elrond first. Rivendell was a safe distance away from Mirkwood and he hoped to get a clearer view on the events in his home while visiting the tranquil valley.

As loath as he was to leave his home like a coward; as eager was he to cross the considerable distance at top speed. With this in mind, he did not really realize how far he had pushed himself and his horse, until the poor animal stumbled from fatigue nearly throwing him off.

Shocked he slid from the horse’s shivering frame. With gut-clenching guilt he stroked the quivering flank and buried his face in the wet hair.

“I am so sorry, my friend, please forgive me,” he murmured while closing his eyes. Beast and elf stood there catching their breath. After Saeron had walked the horse slowly to cool him down the white stallion shook his mane and rubbed his nose into Saeron´s chest.

Saeron took the saddlebags off and led him to a nearby clearing. He sat down, unpacked a bit of lembas and let the horse roam free to drink and graze. The dark haired elf was tired but at the same time restless. He wanted nothing more than to go on but the horse needed the rest as desperately as he did.

Without bothering to roll out a bedroll he stretched out on the forest floor. Although he knew he would not find any sleep he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

A soft wet nose pressed against his cheek startled him. He blinked in confusion. He had managed to sleep after all.

He was alert instantly when he heard something. The pricked ears of his steed told him, that he had not imagined the sound. He was used to being in a forest at night but the noise he had heard was not nocturnal.

Slowly he rose to his feet but it was already too late. Before he could grab his sword from the ground two dark clad elves dropped from the trees. Both instantly seized him and pulled him to the ground.

While one of them pinned him there with a knee on his chest the other unsheathed a dagger from his belt. They must have followed him and in his haste he had failed to notice it, and their purpose was clear now. They had come to kill him.

Desperately he struggled to free himself and managed to push the one pinning him down off. A surprised cry escaped his attacker’s throat as he landed a kick to his knee. The other elf raised his hand to fling the dagger at him.

Watching the one with the dagger, Saeron was grabbed from behind from the other elf again. Expecting the impact of the dagger Saeron´s face went into a mask when he noticed a motion beside him.

His mount had risen on his hind legs and without further delay the horse’s hooves impacted hard on the elf’s skull with a sickening crack. The grip slackened but the jerk of the falling elf was strong enough to drag him to the ground with the unconscious elf. At least he could avoid being hit by the dagger.

Quickly untangling himself from the now slack grip Saeron scrambled to his feet only to be slammed against a tree by the other attacker. A searing pain in his upper arm made him cry out in pain. With tears blurring his vision he forcefully pushed the elf pinning him away.

Spinning around and without a second thought Saeron leapt on the back of his horse. He cried out again when his heavily bleeding arm was jarred. Saeron nearly tumbled back to the ground when another blinding pain shot up his leg.

Without bothering to look he knew that an arrow had hit him. His attacker was not giving up and was reacting extremely quickly. Without a command the white horse leaped forward with a mighty jump and ran into the forest. Saeron gripped the mane in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

When Saeron was sure that his attacker was not following him he stopped. For a few moments he simply rested his head against the animal’s neck and closed his eyes to gather some of his strength. The pain in his arm and leg was throbbing in rhythm with his hurried heartbeat.

He was not sure if he should dismount, because he doubted he would be able to remount again. But he had to treat his wounds and get rid of the arrow otherwise he would never reach Imladris.

He shifted his weight to the side of his uninjured leg and slowly slid from the horse’s back. He let out a cry of pain as he tried to grab the mane with his injured arm and fell to the ground.

His vision blurred when he hit the ground hard. In too much pain and too weak to rise again he remained on the ground with his horse standing guard. He knew that the trained stallion would protect him although not as useful as it would be when mounted by a fully-armed warrior.

After an undetermined length of time he pushed himself up from the ground while using all his willpower and the stallion for support.

Clinging to the horse’s side he directed them to a nearby thicket. When he was sure they were far enough from the path he let go and sank to the ground leaning his back against a tree trunk. He closed his eyes briefly until the pain had lessened.

Reluctantly opening them again he regarded his leg where the arrow was still embedded just above the knee. He grabbed the shaft and prayed that he would have enough strength to push the projectile through. The gaping wound on his arm did little to give him confidence.

In his haste to depart he had not wasted a thought about healing supplies much less a painkiller. Gritting his teeth he curled his fingers around the shaft and pushed hard, yet he only managed in snapping the shaft off.

Another pain filled cry left his mouth and he sank to the ground unconscious again. He awoke because of the constant touch of a silken nose on his cheek. He blinked in confusion and tried to focus his blurred vision. He sat up with a jerk and regretted this action instantly.

The throbbing pain in his arm and leg had not lessened at all. To his dismay his leggings were soaking wet. Judging by his dizziness he must have lost a large amount of blood.

Alerted by a shrill whinny he looked up and spoke soothingly to his agitated stallion. The horse tossed its head with a satisfied snort at his response.

He quickly loosened his belt and tied it tightly around his thigh just above the arrow wound. Then he struggled to his feet. He was careful not to put any weight on the leg but he realized instantly with a sinking heart that there would be no way for him to mount.

Sensing his dilemma the stallion trotted over and knelt in front of his master. Saeron smiled. This horse had been a gift from his father and he had raised the foal himself. Since then the beautiful animal had served him faithfully.

“Thank you, my friend, let us head for Imladris quickly,” he said softly while he mounted easily now. He gripped the mane with his good hand before he allowed the stallion to rise.

After many days of riding through the forest, along the Misty Mountains, up in the snow filled passes and down the mountainsides Saeron was left clinging precariously to his horse, only riding automatically now.

His eyes were fixed on the ground and he was no longer aware of his surroundings. His leg had no feeling left at all after blocking the blood flow and his arm was on fire.

Suddenly the white horse stopped.

He was too tired to even lift his head from the neck of his steed. Whatever threat the horse had sensed he was doomed to face it without the chance to defend himself.

To be continued……………..

Chapter 6:  found

Thelan looked up, alert. A quick glance at the stiff posture of his brother told him that he had indeed heard something. Their watch was nearly over but it was still too early for the relief.

However something was approaching the border of Imladris. There was no orc activity in the near surroundings of the valley and no sightings of the enemy of late, so the daily routine had been uneventful for some time.

He readied his bow and moved into a position where he could take full advantage of his aim while his brother dropped to the ground. With no guests expected the two border guards waited for what was coming through the thick underbrush. The serene attitude of the trees did not indicate something evil coming their way.

They did not have to wait long. Thelan narrowed his eyes and aimed his bow at the horse now came into sight. He lowered his weapon slightly however when he could not make out a rider.

When Calan stepped forward to intercept the beast Thelan could see that there was indeed a rider hanging low over the neck of the beautiful white stallion. Instantly he raised his bow again, ready to defend his brother.

Sensing that the elf blocking his path meant no harm the horse stopped, yet it danced nervously and twitched his ears. Calan held out his hand and let the stallion sniff his fingers. His wary eyes never left the unconscious body barely clinging to the side of the mount.

“What is it?” Thelan asked softly, the anxiousness getting the better of him. Calan held up his hand to silence his younger brother. He was careful not to make an agitated move lest the horse would bolt.

When the stallion seemed calm enough to suffer his presence Calan approached the stranger and lightly touched the other elf’s shoulder. With dismay he looked at the blood soaked sleeve and leggings. As expected, he got no response.

The elf was badly wounded and Calan wondered how he still had the strength to cling to the horse. He could not see the elf’s face but he was pretty sure that he was not from Imladris. Judging by the exhausted state of the horse and the appearance of the rider, the pair must have travelled a far distance without much rest and aid.

“Thelan, come down and help me,” he called and waited until his brother had appeared beside him. Calan pried the cramped fingers from the mane and carefully lowered the wounded elf to the ground. Thelan shoved the horse gently aside, although the stallion did not go far, watching them warily.

Thelan briefly concentrated on the trees and could still not sense any discontent coming from them. Nothing threatening was abroad. Satisfied he directed his attention at his brother.

“Where do you think he comes from?” he asked his older brother while he knelt down beside him. Calan shook his head while he studied the stranger’s face. He ripped the sleeve of the tunic open to inspect the wound on the elf’s upper arm.

“I do not know. I’ve never seen him before but I suspect he hails from Mirkwood.” Thelan only raised an eyebrow. He had never met a wood elf before. Where his brother got this clue from he had no idea.

Mirkwood was quite a far distance away and why would someone make this journey without proper provisions and suitable supplies? Yet something must have happened to this poor fellow, his wounds were bad enough to hint at dire circumstances.

Handing his brother his pouch containing the healing supplies Calan wound a thick bandage around the deep gash in the elf’s arm to staunch the blood still dripping from the wound. The elf did not look like he could lose much more blood.

After that Calan enlarged the rip on the elf’s leggings and inhaled sharply. Thelan leaned forward to see what had made his bother hiss. He swallowed. An arrow was still embedded in the thigh, the shaft broken just above the skin. A belt was bound tightly around the leg. Calan sighed. The condition of the stranger was bad and was getting worse with every minute.

Calan looked at his brother. “This is beyond my skill. I will take him to Master Elrond….” He held up his hand to silence his brother’s protest. “You will stay. The relief is due to appear shortly. Please explain what happened. I fear the poor fellow has not much time left.”

Accepting his brother’s request and knowing that they could not both abandon their post Thelan nodded. He also did not see any other options to help the elf further. Maybe Rivendell was the intended destination of the wood elf. “Make haste then and be careful.”

Calan nodded, relieved that he did not have to argue. He was not content leaving his brother alone but he had the comfort of knowing that the relief had to appear any minute now. Whistling for his horse Calan mounted and Thelan lifted the unconscious elf into his arms.

“Be careful yourself, little bother. I will see you in the morning.” Thelan nodded and slapped his brother’s horse lightly on the hind leg. The white stallion of the stranger followed at a close distance. When they had disappeared from sight after crossing the invisible barrier surrounding the valley Thelan leapt back up into the trees and resumed his watch.

.......................................................

The Lord of Rivendell rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to chase away the slight headache that had settled there since the afternoon. Being only half elven he was prone to such maladies from time to time.

It had been a long day of much paperwork, list after list had to be completed and reports needed looking at. He was not loath to do this work, but today despite his best efforts the mountain of paper on his desk seemed to grow rather than diminish.

With an irritated glance, he looked out the window and judged that it had to be nearly dawn. Like often happened he had forgotten time over his work. Now he looked forward to a long hot soak and a few hours of sleep.

He rose from behind his massive desk after he had closed the last document. Just when he had reached the door, he stopped in surprise when the sound of hurried hoof beats and raised voices drifted up from the courtyard below.

With a raised eyebrow he turned and stepped out onto the balcony. A group of elves, including his twin sons were gathered around an elf still sitting on his horse. The healer narrowed his eyes. The elf seemed to be one of the border guards and he could see that he was clutching a limp body in his arms.

Elrond sighed. The prospect of a hot bath had just vanished. As if reading his thoughts, Elladan looked up. The anxiousness in his son’s eyes made him swallow. He could not make out whom the unfortunate fellow was, but the mental plea from the older twin to hurry made him hasten down into the courtyard all thoughts of sleep forgotten.

At the front door, Glorfindel intercepted him. Elrond only raised an eyebrow at the disshelved appearance. The Vanya had obviously been fast asleep. The warrior acknowledged the glance with a shrug of his shoulders.

Both Elf-lords hastened outside where the crowd made way for them. Elladan and Elrohir had lowered the wounded elf to the ground. For the first time Elrond was able to get a proper look at the elf.

He took a sharp intake of breath when he regarded the blood soaked patches on the elf’s arm and leg. He could not discern if the elf was even alive just from his looks. His pallor was not even white but rather grey.

After kneeling down Elrond placed two fingers against the younger elf’s neck and registered the shallow, yet much too frantic heartbeat. Nothing surprising considering the great blood loss, he thought.

Looking at the elf’s face the Elf-lord frowned. He gently shoved the mass of tangled black hair aside and swiped some of the dirt covering the face away.

The surprised cry from Elrohir confirmed what he had already discovered. “Ada, this is…” Elrond only nodded. There, lying more dead then alive was none other then Prince Saeron, King Thranduil’s second son.

Without a word but with a very troubled expression on his face Glorfindel bent down and lifted the limp body into his arms. Elrond had briefly looked at the wounds and conveyed to his councillor that he could do nothing further out here.

Coming back to his feet Elrond turned toward his sons. “Please see to the horse and recover the Prince’s belongings. I want a full report on what happened when I’m finished with Saeron.”

After the twins had nodded and strode away Elrond turned to face Calan, still standing beside his mount. “Captain, thank you for delivering the wounded elf to me this quickly. You will make your report to my sons and may return to your post afterwards but only after you have taken some rest and refreshed yourself.”

Calan inclined his head. “I’m glad I could be of service.” Elrond nodded and while the group of elves dispersed, he quickly hurried into the healing ward.

………………………………….

After quickly throwing a working apron over his tunic and washing his hands, the Lord of Rivendell entered the healing room where Glorfindel had brought the injured elf. 

Some of his apprentices had already removed the elf’s clothing and cleaned off the worst of the dirt. Glorfindel still lingered nearby; determined not to leave until he could gather some information.

Elrond stepped up next to the table to take a close look at the limp body. The kind and pattern of the wounds sometimes told a story. Yet the important thing was to help improve the condition of the young elf, everything else had to wait.

He focused his attention solely on his patient. First he inspected the deep cut on the upper arm, which had thankfully stopped bleeding. However, this wound had to wait. First the arrow had to be removed if the youngster wanted to have full use of his leg again.

The arrowhead was deeply embedded into the thigh the shaft broken off just where it had pierced the skin. He had to cut it out then, he thought. Like the gash on the arm, the skin around the arrow looked angry, red, and inflamed. Proper treatment had been neglected for far too long.

What worried him most was the interrupted blood flow on the leg. It was a necessary treatment to avoid dying from blood loss, but it was also very difficult to treat afterwards. He could only hope that the leg was not damaged beyond repair.

Directing a resigned gaze at Glorfindel, Elrond checked the heartbeat again to be sure that the young elf was stable enough for the harsh treatment. Not content but reassured enough he slowly loosened the belt to allow a small amount of blood to flow again. Then he waited a few minutes. He repeated the action a few times until he could remove the belt entirely.

Elrond was grateful that the prince remained unconscious, since this procedure was extremely painful. With a small but sharp knife he made two small incisions to widen the wound. Being able to grasp the shaft now he carefully inserted an instrument, grasped the arrowhead with it, and pulled them out carefully. One of his apprentices quickly pressed a pad over the wound to stop the blood pouring forth.

With a frown the healer inspected the object. Glorfindel stiffened. The thoughtful expression on his Lord’s face was not lost on him. What was so special about this arrowhead? From his position he could not make out something uncommon, especially since the arrow was covered with blood.

He refrained from asking, knowing that Elrond did not appreciate being interrupted while he concentrated on his work. He would get his answer later. He noticed that Elrond had not just discarded the object as usual – most intriguing.

After Elrond had cleaned and stitched the wound, he directed his attention at the gash in the young elf’s upper arm. “What is it, Elrond?” Glorfindel asked with a low voice. The healer had again looked rather surprised at the wound. Glorfindel did not like this at all.

After further probing along the gash Elrond looked up. “Something is wrong with those wounds.” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes when the healer did not elaborate further. He stepped closer and looked intently at the long gash. He had seen many wounds in his long life and this one did not look any different to him. The tear was long, fine and rather deep.

Seeing the bewildered look on his friend’s face, Elrond relented. He took the arrowhead from the examination table, rubbed the blood off on his apron and handed it over. The warrior examined the object. It was smooth, sharp and evenly crafted. The precision of the workmanship was much too accurate for orcs or men to have made the item. 

When the realisation hit him, he looked up sharply. Elrond only nodded. “The cut is much too fine and deep to be caused by an orc dagger and the arrowhead is also not orc-made.”

Although guessing the answer already Glorfindfel could not help but ask; even if only for the benefit of the elves standing near looking at them expectantly. “Who do you think attacked him then?”

“Elves!” the healer answered without further ado. Glorfindel blew out his breath. Why would someone wish to kill King Thranduil´s son? Was it done to prevent him from reaching Rivendell? And why had he tried to come to the Valley in the first place? Glorfindel looked up frowning. “I will join your sons. Maybe we can learn more from the border guard. The twins must have had his report by now.”

Elrond only nodded. The discovery he just made disturbed him greatly but he refrained from jumping to any conclusion. Only Prince Saeron could tell them what had really happened.

“I will join you as soon as I’m finished here.” Glorfindel bowed and hurried from the room. He was curious to know what the guard had to report.

................................

When he reached Master Elrond’s study he silently opened the door and slipped in. He greeted the guard and the twins with a dip of his head.

“Elladan…Elrohir…  Captain I have a few questions of my own.” The twins did not so much as incline their heads while the border guard stiffened. Who was the stranger he and his brother had found that required the Troop Commander’s presence?

Seeing the reaction, Glorfindel smiled at the guard. “No need to worry, Captain, but our guest is prominent enough to investigate precisely.”

Calan relaxed only marginally. He did still not know who they had found and why a wounded elf was such a mystery. After all, orcs attacked every day. He had already told his Lord´s sons all he did now.

“Captain,” the older twin inquired to get the attention. “Please tell again how the meeting between you, your brother, and the injured elf happened.”

Calan looked straight at his Lord’s son aware that the Troop Commander and the younger twin were watching him intently.

“Our watch was nearly over, my Lord. My brother and I were already looking for the relief when a horse appeared beneath the trees. I stopped the beast and noticed the wounded elf. We cared for his wounds and while my brother remained, I made haste to bring him to Master Elrond. I feared that he would not last much longer without proper treatment. I’m sorry but there is not more to tell.”

“You did well, Captain. Did you discover where he came from?” Glorfindel asked with a kind voice seeing the nervousness of the guard.

Calan looked at his chief. Somehow he suspected that the Troop Commander already knew who the stranger was. “We guessed him to be from Mirkwood, my Lord. The poor elf and his beast were quite exhausted and it looked as if they had travelled far. The engraved leaves on his leather vest reminded me of some art I had seen in the Woodland Realm before,” he answered carefully, still not knowing where this questioning should lead.

Glorfindel nodded. “You have guessed right, Captain. Our wounded guest is Prince Saeron, King Thranduil´s second son.” Calan gasped. Now all the questioning made sense. He swallowed and looked up. He had not to wait long for the question he asked himself.

“Captain, have you any guess about who wounded the prince?” Glorfindel asked and Calan took an audible intake of breath. “No, my Lord, but it did not seem that he was attacked by orcs.”

Calan looked intently at his chief and ignored the surprised cries of his Lord’s sons. Glorfindel´s face was a mask. When the warrior stood, Calan rose as well.

“Thank you, Captain. Your information was very helpful. You are excused.” Inclining his head toward his superior and subsequently at his Lord’s sons Calan left the room.

............................

As soon as the door was closed, Elladan stepped in front of Glorfindel. “What did he mean with ‘it did not seem that he was attacked by orcs’?” he asked with a low voice. Elrohir had joined his brother and was as eager as Elladan to get an answer.

The warrior sighed. “Saeron was not attacked by orcs or men. The wounds stem undoubtedly from elven-made weapons.”

Elladan looked incredulous while Elrohir gasped. Glorfindel had come from the healing ward where their father had surely affirmed this.

The implications did not bode well. What was happening in Mirkwood?

To be continued……………………….

Chapter 7:  answers

Elladan slipped into the room where Saeron was resting. He silently closed the door behind him and stepped next to the bed. His father, sitting in a comfortable chair, looked up and smiled. “Ada, I’m here to sit with him. How does he fare?” 

The Elf-Lord’s expression grew thoughtful. The wounds of the young elf had stopped bleeding and looked acceptable considering the circumstances but Saeron was very weak and he had not awakened.

Even without words Elladan was aware that his friend was not out of the woods yet. A look at his father’s face conveyed as much. “He’s stable at the moment but we must have a close look at him. The utter exhaustion does not help much.” 

Elladan only nodded at his father’s words. If Saeron had already been wounded while leaving Mirkwood then he had pushed his body beyond endurance in travelling the long distance. This could very well affect his healing ability. 

Seeing that his father was reluctant to leave, Elladan directed the focus on another disturbing matter. “Elrohir reported that he found no additional clothing and no bedroll let alone any provisions with the horse. It seemed that Saeron practically fled his home. Ada this makes no sense.” 

To the great relief of the older twin the Elf-lord was finally rising. “You are right, Elladan, but he’s the only one who can solve this riddle,” he retorted with a nod toward the elf on the bed. 

“We will not send a message to King Thranduil then?” Elladan asked while looking sadly at the wood elf. Saeron and he had been friends since childhood; they were nearly the same age. 

Elrond shock his head. “No, not until I have spoken with him. I’ve a bad feeling considering the state in which he arrived here.” Elladan looked up with a frown. What was his father hinting at? What could possibly have happened in Mirkwood?

Fearing that he would further detain his father getting some rest Elladan remained silent. However just when the Elf-lord squeezed his son’s shoulder in comfort and was about to turn, a low moan could be heard from the bed.

Father and son stepped next the bed. Both waited if Saeron would regain consciousness. The Elf-lord sat down on the edge of the mattress and gently picked up the Prince’s cold hand.

He waited patiently while squeezing the fingers lightly to reassure the youngster that someone was nearby. Saeron moaned again but finally opened his eyes.

Seeing the confusion in the young elf’s eyes Elrond leaned forward. “Saeron, you are in Imladris. Calm down, you are safe now.”

The prince’s eyes briefly flickered to the other elf standing near the bed after he had recognized who had spoken to him. Elrond guessed that memory momentarily eluded the young elf.

“Saeron, you were on your way to Imladris and you have been badly injured but you are safe now.”

Saeron nodded and briefly closed his eyes. He had managed to reach Imladris after all. When his memory returned with a rush he opened his eyes startled. “Master Elrond...how...how long have I been here?”

The Elf-Lord placed a restraining hand on the dark-haired elf’s shoulder to prevent him from struggling too much.

“Peace, Saeron, you have only been here since yesterday. You must rest and grant your body time to recover.”

Saeron sank back onto the pillow with a near sob. Time was the only thing he did not have; an ironic concept for an elf. He had already lost too much time in coming here. He had no recollection how he had managed to cross the mountain and how he had reached the valley.

Opening his eyes again Saeron directed a pleading gaze at Elladan and looked then straight at the Elf-lord regarding at him with a worried gaze.

“Lord Elrond, I appreciate your concern, but I have to return home quickly before......,” he stopped. The nearly identical frowns that had appeared on the faces of the two elves made him swallow. They had no idea what was happening at his home.

Elrond did not need to be a mind reader to know that the young elf would not calm down until he had related what had brought him to Imladris. Although Elrond had wished for Saeron to rest first he clearly sensed that time was of essence for the young elf. Despite that, he was also anxious to learn what had happened in Mirkwood.

The bad feeling in his gut intensified when he saw the tears of frustration running down Saeron’s face. He knew Saeron since he was an elfling. He had nearly the same character traits as his oldest son. Like Elladan he was fierce and overprotective of his siblings and his family, often getting into trouble while speaking his heart and acting rash and imprudent.

But never had Elrond seen him this shaken and brought to tears by frustration. Taking a deep breath and against his better judgement the Elf-lord encouraged the young elf to tell his story – a story he was sure would distress them greatly if the indications were any hint.

“Saeron, I’m willing to hear you out, but you must promise me to calm down first. You nearly died two days ago and relapse is ever possible, child.”

Squeezing the pale hand in his, the Elf-Lord waited patiently until Saeron had relaxed and opened his eyes again. Nodding Saeron took a deep breath and begun to speak quietly.

“A few days ago“, he begun, “a revolution occurred in Mirkwood. An upstart named Thoran and his fellows captured my father, dragged him off and took control of the realm.”

Saeron stopped when he heard the gasp coming from Elladan who was not successful in hiding his shock. Elrond was more in control of his emotions, yet the distress he felt was equally plain to see on his face. Elrond had expected something bad but this was beyond his imagination.

Sadly some questions had answered themselves. To inform them Saeron was forced to flee his own home. To get away undetected had obviously not worked. This disturbed the healer the most. He had predicted the wounds had not stemmed from orcs. His own people had tried to kill the prince.

The Elf-Lord had dealt with many dangerous situations in the past, but a revolution was a treacherous thing. Such situations often ended bloody and left an uneasy feeling of distrust and disappointment in its wake. All elves had bitterly paid for their past sins but in Mirkwood history was repeating itself.

Elrond sighed. King Thranduil was a loved and respected ruler but the Lord of Imladris knew about the millennium-old strains between the Silvan and the Sindarin elves.

However he had never thought that it was that bad and that it would end in a revolution.

“I know what you are thinking!” his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the wounded youngster. “We got caught by surprise and we had never expected something like this would happen. We were mistaken.”

Elrond could clearly hear the frustration in the voice and he could sympathise with Saeron.

Seeing that his patient was getting more and more agitated with every passing minute, Elrond placed a comforting hand on the dark haired elf’s shoulder.

“Saeron, I’m sorry to hear this bad news, but you have to grant your body rest and…”

He had not a chance to finish his sentence. Saeron jerked upright, yet fell back with a cry when his heavily bandaged arm was jarred. Elladan had hastily rounded the bed to restrain his friend from doing more harm to himself.

“We have no time to lose…” Saeron sobbed utterly drained.

Sighing, the Elf-Lord rose and was now mixing a painkiller and a sedative to calm down the young elf. While Elladan was calming Thranduil´s son the healer poured the medicine into a glass and returned to the bed.

“Saeron, drink this,” he said while lifting the head of the young elf. Saeron had not the strength to struggle or protest further. “And while you rest we will discuss how to help you.”

Saeron was too worn out to even nod. Within minutes the drug did its work. After the Elf-lord had called for a healer to sit with Saeron he motioned for his son to leave the room with him.

In the corridor they met with Elrohir. The distressed expressions on both his father’s and his brother’s face alerted the younger twin. “Ada, what is it? Is something wrong with Saeron?” he asked fearing that his long time friend had not recovered as hoped.

The Elf-lord placed a hand on his youngest shoulder. “Saeron is fine. He got a bit agitated after he told us what happened. I gave him something to relax and he is sleeping now.”

Seeing another question forming Elrond held up his hand. “Elladan, Elrohir, please fetch Glorfindel and Erestor and come to my study.”

With this the healer turned determinedly and departed down the long corridor. Elrohir´s frown deepened but he knew it would be pointless to press for further information. He didn’t need to look at his brother to know that something drastic had occurred. The anxiousness coming through their bond told him as much.

…………………………………

Lord Erestor, chief councillor and head administrator of the Last Homely House closed the door to his Lord’s study and acknowledged the already gathered elves with a nod.

Although no one had officially informed him yet about the prince’s arrival he was already provided with sufficient details.

Elrond would undoubtedly deliver this information now but it did not hurt to gather some facts beforehand. However, what he could not learn so far was the reason why Prince Saeron arrived here more dead then alive. Hence he awaited his Lord’s announcements with some anticipation.

Of course he knew King Thranduil personally. He had visited the great forest often to deliver messages best conveyed personally. And he had made acquaintance with the King’s sons, at least with the two older ones; the youngest he had still to meet.

He could not imagine what had driven Prince Saeron to make the arduous journey to Imladris and why he had arrived in such a pitiful state. His information had said that the wounds the young prince had suffered were not caused by orcs or other foul creatures. He was eager to know the full story now.

When the Lord of Imladris cleared his throat all attention was directed at him. Glorfindel had provided Erestor with a goblet of wine. Erestor thanked him with a nod and made himself comfortable. This would be a longer meeting otherwise the warrior would not have bothered to open the wine. The twins had declined the offer and were sitting on the edge of their seats.

“Erestor, Glofindel, thank you for coming here this quickly. We need to discuss how to proceed. As you already know,” with this he directed a meaningful glance at this councillor which Erestor returned with an unreadable expression, “Prince Saeron, King Thranduil’s second son arrived here yesterday badly wounded. How he had managed to make this journey in his condition is beyond me.” Seeing the questioning gaze of Erestor, Elrond quickly added: “He had been already wounded while still in Mirkwood.”

Returning his glass with a loud clank to the little side table Erestor leaned forward, a deep frown on his face. With not so much restraint Elrohir had sprung up.

“What? Ada, you mean he was attacked by his own people?” There was so much incredulity in the younger twin’s voice that Elrond swallowed. He was after all shocked as much as his son was in getting this news.

Nodding at his son the Lord of Imladris continued. “Yes, that’s what Saeron reported to me. Two of his fellow elves had tried to kill him and prevent him from leaving Mirkwood or reaching Imladris.”

“But why?” was all a shocked Elrohir could utter. Erestor had leaned forward a bit more. “That’s the very question that would interest me also, my Lord,” he said.

Sighing and taking a sip of his own wine Elrond leaned back in his chair. “A few days ago a revolution occurred in Mirkwood. The Silvan-elves stood up against King Thranduil. An elf named Thoran has taken over command.”

Now Erestor also stood, his eyes narrowed to small slits. He knew of this Thoran. Many times while visiting Mirkwood he had discussed this ambiguous elf with the King but like Thranduil he had not seen a reason to act against him. Obviously they had been mistaken.

“Thranduil has surely acted adequately against this Thoran and….” seeing his Lord’s head-shake Erestor blanched. What in the name of the Valar had happened in Mirkwood?

“As far as Saeron reported Thoran has overpowered and captured King Thranduil and imprisoned him somewhere under the palace. Neither Galadhion nor Saeron has had any contact with their father nor do they know where he is,” Elladan filled in. Erestor was reminded that the older twin had helped his father in caring for the wounded prince.

A long silence followed this news. Finally Glorfindel rose and replaced his empty goblet.

“Which leads us to the ultimate question: What shall we do about this? We are hardly in any position to counter a revolution!”

To be continued……………………

Chapter 8:  conspirators

Sinaht breathed a sigh of relief when his cottage came into sight. He shifted the elfling in his arms. The little prince had fallen asleep on his shoulder. During the day Sinaht had hidden Legolas with the help of friends, because the danger of the child’s being seen was too great. It was already dark when he reached his home. He did not know how far Thoran’s arm was already reaching but he would take no chances. Using every available piece of cover on the way had taken some time to reach the glade.

Crouching behind a cluster of bushes he surveyed his surroundings. On first glance nothing had changed since his departure this morning. Yet he remained a while longer to observe. Only when he was sure that it looked alright did he cross the short distance to the back door of his house.

He raised his fist and knocked in the agreed-upon pattern. The door opened almost instantly. With an audible sigh, Isiwen, his wife, tugged him inside and closed the door behind him.

“Thank the Belain you’re back. Where have you been this long?” she asked, fear and relief colouring her voice. Careful not to wake the boy in his arms he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her lips. While leaning against him he could feel her body shiver.

“I will tell you but first we should bring this little one to bed.” Regarding the still sleeping boy in her husband’s arm she nodded. Legolas was like a second son to them. Their son and he were of the same age and the best of friends.

Carefully she lifted the small elfling in her arms and carried him down the corridor. Reaching a door she entered the room behind and placed the elfling on a large bed right beside her son Elion.

She waited a few moments but the fair haired elfling did not rouse. Tugging the blanket around the two sleeping forms she quietly closed the door and left the room.

Walking down the corridor she could hear soft murmur coming from the main room. Her husband had obviously greeted their guests. Many elves had gathered here during the day. Sinaht had used the day to spread the message that representatives of the elves, warrior and workers alike, who still stood loyal to the King should come to his home.

Isiwen’s heart was pounding so loudly that she feared anyone standing near her could hear it. She agreed with Sinaht’s position of standing against Thoran and supporting King Thranduil, but this situation was unnerving. However this ended it would change their lives forever.

Reaching the main room she took a moment to observe. Many good friends and families she knew since the coming to this forest had come. To her relief many warriors under Sinaht´s command had also found their way here. Sadly she looked at the children sleeping in their parents´ arms or resting in quickly provided sleeping places. They did not understand why their known world had changed. Isiwen sighed. The adults had difficulty understanding too.

Tonight they wanted to discuss how to bring the women and children to a safe place. After this was accomplished they would meet with other warriors who had removed themselves from Thoran’s grasp.

The atmosphere in the cottage was tense.  All were plagued by the same question: Were they doing the right thing? Were they going to be counted among the traitors now?

Isiwen shock her head angrily. Of course they were doing the right thing! Thoran was the criminal not they. King Thranduil was their only guarantee to hold the ever encroaching shadow at bay. A Silvan elf herself, she had never doubted that the King had only the well-being of all wood-elves in mind.

Isiwen sighed. They were stuck. The situation at the moment was nothing but confusing. Their lives had turned upside down from one moment to the other. The lack of information, or at least information that could be trusted was the worst.

Admiringly she looked at her husband standing there like a rock. The elves in this room looked to him for guidance and he had silently accepted without complaining, but she knew him better.

His outer calm was only a façade. He was nervous and unsure like the others, yet someone had to take the lead and to him it came naturally. He wasn’t the King’s troop commander for nothing.

Despite his own worries he did his best to answer the many questions fired at him, at least those that he had answers for. “You came from the palace, have you spoken with the King?” one of her husband’s fellow warrior’s asked.

Sinaht shook his head. “No, no one knows where the King is, not even Lord Galadhion. I met with him briefly to take over the care of the young prince. The situation is dangerous. There is no one you can trust.”

“What do you mean; no one knows where the King is? Thoran has surely not….” the warrior trailed off with narrowed eyes leaving the rest of the sentence to everyone’s guess. After a shocked silence all eyes were again directed at the Troop Commander. Isiwen joined her husband and pulled his arm towards her body, lending him her support. He smiled at her in gratitude.

“If you want to know if the King is still alive, then I cannot answer this question. There has been no sign of him. Lord Galadhion is still at the palace to gather more information.”

Sinaht closed his eyes briefly to shut out the incredulous gazes directed at him. They all desperately wanted to know that their King was alive. They must simply cling to hope in that regard.

After gasps of outrage and desperation the unnatural silence settled again over the little home. Isiwen looked from one face to the other and saw the fear written there while they pondered the consequences.

Their once safe existence had turned within hours into something threatening and frightening. The little ones in the room sensed the tension and began to wail. Quickly their mothers hushed them fearing someone outside could hear them.

“But if Thoran is holding the King captive, we have to do something Sinaht!” one captain cried. “How long will we sit here and wait? How long will we let this upstart act as he pleases? We should gather all the weapons we can and throw this disturber out of the King’s halls.”

Alarmed, Sinaht held up his hands as the fiery speech got more and more approval from the others. As incredulous as this situation was for him, they had to let caution rule.

“It’s not that easy. We know nothing about their numbers, their strength and their plans. We do not even know how many warriors will follow our lead. If there is but one who betrays us, all can end very badly. Therefore we must act and plan carefully…….which does not mean, that we will do nothing,” Sinaht added quickly when he saw the upcoming protest.

“Thoran is smart. We cannot overrun him by force alone. We must beat him with his own weapons. We will never let him know how many we are and what we will do next. We must let him feel safe and when he is unheeding, we must strike.”

“But first we must bring our families to safety and then arrange a gathering with all the warriors still loyal to the King. I will wait for whatever information Galadhion might gather. I only hope he can leave the palace undiscovered.”

The elves gathered pondered the troop commander’s words. They all knew that he was right, albeit many wanted to act instantly.

Sinaht swallowed when he thought about the mission his friend had assigned to himself. What had happened in the meantime? Had the crown prince managed to stay hidden and gather information or had they discovered him and dragged him off like his father?

With a desperate and angry sigh he sank into a nearby chair. He felt so helpless. This situation felt so unreal. Day by day he and his warriors fought the known enemy of orcs and spiders but now….now the enemy was unknown, diffuse, and shapeless.

He looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder and smiled at his wife. His family was the very reason to go on. When they heard a commotion from the little room at the back of their cottage, Isiwen squeezed her husband’s shoulder lightly and hurried into the back room.

Quietly she opened the door to her son’s bedroom with the faint hope that the boys were still asleep, but no such luck. Two pairs of sleepy eyes were directed at her.

“Nana, I’m hungry!” Elion pronounced while Legolas hopped to the floor. “I want to go home”, he announced while he padded toward her. Sighing Isiwen strode over to the large bed.

Sitting on the edge she padded the mattress left and right of her and waited until the elflings had seated themselves next to her. “Elion, Legolas, I will make you something to eat but you have to be very quiet. Please dress yourself in the meantime. The night is chill.”

While Elion’s eyes lit up and he instantly scampered up to fetch his tunic, Legolas did not move. Seeing what was to come, Isiwen quickly gathered the little boy in her arms.

“I’m sorry, little one, but you cannot go home right now. You must stay here for a while.” Freeing himself from her loving arms, Legolas stared wide eyed and unbelieving at the mother of his friend.

“Why?” he asked with wide eyes. “Why can’t I just go home?”

Isiwen closed her eyes briefly. How could she explain the complex situation to a child so small? How was he supposed to understand that a revolution had taken place and that his father was missing? How could he understand anything at all?

As the under lip began to tremble and the tears rolled down the pale cheeks Isiwen’s heart nearly broke. Legolas was a very smart elfling and should not be underestimated. Yet he had also a very tender heart and any bad news concerning his beloved father would do great damage to his soul. Quickly she gathered the lithe form again in her arms.

“That’s not easy to explain little one. But for now you are safer here.” Helpless at her hollow words Isiwen rocked the crying child gently. Sobbing now violently the little prince murmured barely audible: “But it is safest by my Adar, he can make all things right. Please, I want go home to my Adar!”

‘Not right now’, Isiwen thought, steeling her heart for the cruel moments that would follow. Still rocking the little boy, Isiwen looked up as her husband entered the room.

“Make them ready,” he whispered, “we have to depart immediately.”

Shocked, Isiwen looked at her husband. What had happened to warrant such a hasty departure? Sinaht only shook his head and quickly left the room.

To be continued………………………………

Chapter 9:  disturbing news

With a sigh Galadhion leaned back against the cool stone wall and took a deep breath. He had managed to sneak into his father’s library only minutes before Thoran’s companions had come here.

His heart had nearly missed a beat, when the door suddenly opened again and the two elves entered. ‘So much for finding a place to think undisturbed.’ At the last possible moment he had managed to squeeze in a small alcove that would hide him from view.

Now his heart was pounding so loud that he feared they would discover him any minute. Then he would share his father’s fate, if not worse. Nonetheless he was glad for the situation presenting itself. Maybe he could come by some news without risking too much.

In the last three hours he had succeeded in gathering some information. Thoran’s followers had spread over the whole palace, stationing themselves at strategic positions, yet the crown prince doubted that there were enough elves to effectively control the huge area.

The palace consisted of many twisted corridors, secret doors, long forgotten or unused passages and tunnels; even Galadhion and his family did not know all of them. Only the King himself was familiar with the entire area; after all, he had designed the palace. 

A small smile flittered over Galadhion´s fair face. He had led uncounted search parties, mostly consisting of the King and himself, trying to find his youngest brother, who had managed to get lost while playing. Since then, he could recount many of the places someone could hide and disappear never to be seen. Maybe this would come in handy now.

Galadhion wondered how Thoran had managed to subdue the palace staff and the numerous workers doing their daily business. It would have been impossible to penetrate the palace and overpower the King, without the help from insiders.

Knowing Thoran, Galadhion was almost sure that he had only succeeded by threatening them either with the King’s life or the lives of their loved ones. How many had cooperated freely Galadhion did not know. He would delay finding this out until later.

With satisfaction however, Galadhion learned that Thoran as yet had no control of the warriors. They, and most of the guards, had removed themselves from Thoran’s grasp and were waiting.

They had left the palace grounds and re-grouped at a place Thoran hopefully didn’t know. Back then it had been a gathering place while the Kingdom moved north. Galadhion had only to meet them there. The warriors would not act unless the King himself ordered them, or so he hoped. The important thing now was to get in touch with them.

They could ill afford to underestimate the danger of the situation. Thoran held the King captive to force the troops to surrender, otherwise, he threatened, Thranduil would be killed. Right now, Thoran and the King were in a stand-off, and that was a problem.

Galadhion knew his father. The King would never command the troops to surrender and the warriors would never follow Thoran, if he killed the King. For the moment Thoran’s hands were bound, but Galadhion knew him better and this brought fear to his heart.

Thoran never backed away from a challenge and he was unpredictable. The possibility that he would kill his father in a fit of rage was great and Galadhion could not take such a chance.

Shoving these disturbing thoughts into the back of his mind for now Galadhion listened what the two elves had to say. His dismay grew with every minute he listened, and so did his anger when he saw how unconcerned they moved around.

His father had founded this place by making many sacrifices - political and personal - and now this upstart had come here to turn everything upside down and claim it as his own.

`I will never allow that to happen,” Galadhion thought grimly as he listened to the next words said. This time his heart really missed a beat and his knees went weak.

“Are you sure the damned elf didn’t escape?” the one said to his companion.

“Thoran´s bloodhounds took care that he never reached his goal, be assured,” the other retorted and Galadhion could almost imagine the gleeful grimace on his face.

“I hope you are right. Thoran won’t take a failure kindly, as you know. He’s still angry that we haven’t found the crown prince yet.”

“Come let us raid the kitchen, I’m starving,” Galadhion heard them say.The words had hardly been spoken before the two elves had crossed the library and left through the other end. When the door had closed behind them Galadhion slid down the wall and sat there breathing hard.

He removed the hand he had clamped over his mouth to keep from letting out a cry of rage, when he had heard what one of the elves had said. Without doubt they had spoken about his brother Saeron.

What in the name of the Belain had they done to him? Quickly he searched the bond with his brother and took a relieved breath when he received a response. He frowned noticing the weakness in the connection, but this could well be blamed on the great distance between them.

But had Saeron really managed to leave Mirkwood or was the weakness caused by injury? Galadhion swallowed. Contrary to the claim from the two who had just left he knew that his brother was alive, but that was all he could say for sure.

He clenched his fists. If they had harmed his brother or his father then he would hunt them down and they would not escape their punishment.

Now he had to leave and contact the warriors. Only with their help he would be able to achieve something. After calming down Galadhion rose and straightened his back. He would not let them destroy his world and he would do everything in his power to throw these bastards out of his father’s halls.

He had lost his mother too early, as a result of his failure; he would not allow this to happen again. Granted, she had not waited for his arrival to reach her and escort her home. She had departed from the guards of Lothlórien alone, and was killed by orcs only minutes before he was able reach her. Even if not his failure he would always blame himself and something like this would never ever happen again.

………………………………………

Before he left the palace to join the warriors he had one more thing to do. He had to contact his father and let him know what was happening.

But he had no idea how to achieve this. He did not even know where his father was being held. His guess was, of course, the dungeons in the lower levels of the underground palace, but Thoran’s fellows would be concentrated there.

Following a side corridor that ran parallel to the main hallway Galadhion ran along using every crevice and alcove he passed to avoid being seen. He glimpsed a few members of the staff but refrained from calling out to them. He did not know if they were helping Thoran freely or were being blackmailed by him. Either way it was dangerous for him and for them.

He stopped his flight abruptly, seeing an elf armed with a sword blocking the entrance to the main hall. Holding his breath Galadhion stopped and waited to see if the other had heard him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Keeping his eyes glued to the back of the unfamiliar elf, the crown prince retraced his last steps remembering a small side tunnel a few steps back.

Rounding the corner while still stepping backwards he more sensed then felt the upcoming impact but it was already too late to avoid it. With a quick turn he whirled around, placed his hand over the other’s mouth, and dragged him down the small corridor out of earshot.

Having reached a safe distance, he stopped and stood there breathing hard, his heart pounding rapidly. The elf in his grip was struggling for air. With dismay he realized that this was because he had his hand tightly over the other’s mouth. He was also suddenly aware that the elf in his arms was a good deal smaller then he was.

Not entirely removing his hand he turned the elf around and looked into the frightened eyes of Liriel, one of the female elves responsible for the kitchen. When seeing who had dragged her so roughly down the corridor her eyes widened but her posture relaxed somewhat.

She made a brief bow. “My Lord, I’m so glad to see you, my…” Galadhion quickly placed his hand back over her mouth. The guard just around the corner could still easily hear them. Placing his finger over his lips he motioned her to be silent. Further down the corridor he glimpsed a door to a storeroom. He nodded at it and Liriel complied.

Stepping forward Galadhion grimaced when the hinges creaked while he opened the door. Quickly he gestured the cook inside and closed the door. He pressed his ear against the wood and listened carefully.

When he was sure that no one had discovered them he turned. The storeroom had only a little window but provided enough light to see each other. Stepping next to Liriel he took the hand of the slender women in his own. “Liriel, I’m sorry for dragging you in here like this but can you give me any information about the situation inside the palace?”

Looking at her Lord with wide eyes Liriel shook her head. “We do not even know what happened at all, my Lord! An Elf, Thoran he named himself, came into the kitchen a few days ago and declared that the kingdom was now under his rule and that we all had to cooperate.”

When Galadhion only nodded grimly she continued. “First, we were all confused and demanded an explanation but Thoran only laughed and recommended that we should follow his commands otherwise we would regret our decision.”

Liriel lowered her eyes and Galadhion took a deep breath. It was as he had feared. Thoran had made the loyal elves docile by threats. “What did he threaten you with?” he asked lifting the chin of the young elf.

Liriel swallowed and was close to tears now. “He has hidden my little son somewhere. He must have taken him from the nursery.  I cannot find him and Thoran threatened to kill him if I do not cooperate.”

Galadhion swallowed. It was as bad as he had guessed. Embracing the shivering frame, Galadhion had no words of comfort. What could he say anyway, that all would turn out well? How could he promise what he doubted himself?

When Liriel had composed herself, Galadhion released her and looked her in the eyes. “Liriel, do you know where my father is? Do you know where they are holding the King captive?”

To his surprise Liriel looked up at him and nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I’m in charge of providing him with food. I was just on my way to him.”

Galadhion blinked. It was just the chance he had hoped for. But then he frowned. Could he ask this of Liriel and endanger her by asking her to bring his father a message? But what other options did he have?

Feeling a hand on his arm he was ripped from his thoughts. Liriel looked up at him and smiled well aware of his thoughts. “My Lord, I will gladly transfer a message to the King. This is it what you want to ask of me, is it not?”

Galadhion nodded. “Liriel, that would be wonderful but do they not watch you closely?”

When the brown haired maiden lowered her eyes Galadhion’s hope vanished. As much as he wanted to seize this opportunity, he was uncomfortable with endangering the life of an elf, much less that of a woman who was not trained as a warrior.

However, the next gaze from the brown eyes directed at him startled him. “My Lord, I would do anything to act against this Thoran. If he has harmed my son, then he will regret it!”

The vehemence of the statement made Galadhion swallow hard. Although he could sympathize with the woman, he had to slow her down.

“Liriel, I understand your fears and I promise I will do everything possible to find your son but we must not forfeit the chance to get in contact with my father. Without him the hopes of so many others will be lost too.”

Liriel lowered her eyes again. She was being selfish. Many others were also hurting and she could not just think about herself, but this was so difficult.

“Liriel,” Galadhion rose her chin with his finger. “Have you seen my father? Have you had an opportunity to speak with him?”

The crown prince frowned when she shook her head. “No, my Lord, they always blindfold me and I’m not allowed to speak. I can only deliver the meal. They do not even open the door to the cell.”

“But….” she quickly added when Galadhion clenched his fists in frustration. “It’s the storeroom in the corridor leading straight to the river; the third door on the left.”

Galadhion nodded. This would have to suffice. Quickly he wrote a few lines on a piece of paper he ripped off from an old barrel of wine stored against the wall.

Liriel hid the paper in her sleeve after Galadhion had folded and handed it to her.

“Don’t worry, my Lord. This message will reach the King, I promise. Without another word she turned and before Galadhion could utter thanks she had closed the door.

“Let her be safe,” he thought and also left the store room.

To be continued………………………….

Chapter 10:  shadow and light

Waking was a slow process and as painful as the last time. Thranduil slowly opened his eyes and was again greeted by darkness. Had he slipped into unconsciousness again? This did not bode well.

With some effort he tried to rise onto one elbow to at least get his upper body up from the damp stone floor. Suddenly dizziness swept over him. Blinking a few times to steady himself, he slowly rose into a sitting position. Carefully he leaned his back against the stone behind him being careful of his still hurting right side.

To his dismay he could not tell if it was it day or night! How long had he been unconscious? He clenched his right fist in frustration and pounded it fiercely on the stone floor. However, he regretted this instantly. The motion jostled his broken ribs and the pain flared up again. ‘They should have already healed by now,’ he thought.

Taking deep breaths to get control over both his stupidity and his throbbing pain, he sat there motionless for some moments; long enough to ponder his miserable situation again.

What had happened while he was unconscious? The total lack of information would drive him mad. He was used to being informed, to getting information every time he demanded it. Information was vital it was the foundation of rule!

He still could not believe that Thoran had managed to overthrow him with so little effort. Had all the elves in Mirkwood surrendered so easily? Was Thoran’s influence so great that there was no resistance at all? Had he been so unaware for the last millennia that he had not seen this coming? If so, then his rule had failed. Utterly and deserved!

No! His rule could not have gone so awry. There were still many loyal to him! But where were they now? What of them? Why did they not resist? Where were the troops? His council members? His sons?

Questions followed questions and there were no answers.

He pounded his balled fist against the unyielding stone again heedless of the pain flaring up. He had to stop this! He would drive himself mad, a concept Thoran would appreciate.

He would not do him this favour and yet a very bad feeling began to spread in his stomach. Had Thoran killed all who opposed him?

Knowing that he would achieve nothing with his self-doubt he slowly forced himself to rise and began pacing the small room. Four feet back five feet forth.

Suddenly he felt hungry. When had he eaten last? He could not remember. Would they let him starve here?

In passing the door he stopped. His boot had nudged something on the floor. He bent down and touched a metal bowl. He grimaced, so much for starving. After a sniff at the unidentifiable contents, he kicked the bowl across the floor until it bounced off the opposite wall with a loud clank.

The sound made him frown. Something didn’t sound right. Something on the underside of the bowl had muffled the sound. Quickly he strode over to the bowl and turned it over unheeding of the contents dripping out.

Feeling along the bottom of the bowl he was surprised to find a piece of parchment sticking there. Carefully he removed the paper and rolled it between his fingertips.

His heart was suddenly pounding. With trembling fingers he folded the paper open and swore in frustration. In the darkness he could see nothing.

Returning to the door he crouched low and shoved the paper to the very edge of the door so that the dim light filtering in from the corridor could reach the parchment. Narrowing his eyes he tried to decipher the tiny letters written there. With the first word he could read his heart leaped with joy. 

“Adar,

Thoran has not yet complete control

The warriors have drawn back into the woods to regroup

Legolas is safe

Saeron is on his way to inform Lord Elrond

many things are in motion

many are still with you

do not despair, hold on”

Galadhion

Like a treasure Thranduil pressed the parchment to his chest. His sons at least were safe for the time being.

This short message had restored some of his confidence. Yet he was not prone to any illusions. This depicted the situation only for a given moment in time. Too much was in motion and fortune could quickly change for the worse.

He thought of Legolas. The boy must be frightened. He would not understand what was happening around him. And here he was, imprisoned and unable to hold his boy and reassure him that all would be well again. He snorted. Nothing would be as it once was. Regardless how this played out, the end would be bitter and would leave a foul after taste.

……………………………………………

The initial joy over the message ebbed away when nothing happened over the next two days. Thranduil could not hear any noises, neither close by nor farther away. There was no shuffling of feet, no hushed voices, and no one coming anywhere near his prison.

As much as he wanted to deny it the lack of water and food affected him. His throat was parched and he felt weak from the missing sustenance. How long could he stand this?

After another day in darkness he could barely swallow. This was a frightening concept for him. He had always hoped to die during a battle but not through the hands of his captors or, even worse, of thirst and hunger.

No! This would not happen. Where was his resolve? He had lived through much worse. During the siege of Barad-dûr on the fields of Dagorlad they had endured seven long years out in the cold, without proper provisions and bereft of the hope of ever succeeding.

Yet, what had changed the daily routine? Why was no one coming to bring him food? What had happened? Again he groaned while he tormented his brain with questions he could not hope to answer.

To save the last of his energy he lay down with nothing but his thin tunic between his skin and the cold floor. With nothing better to do, he thought of his youngest son and tried to concentrate all his love and strength on his bond with his child.

……………………………………

After a period of time he couldn’t quantify the door to his cell opened and Thoran stepped inside. After the long silence the sudden sound of the door banging open rang in his ears. His eyes were not adjusted to the light that Thoran’s torch spread. His eyes burned, Thranduil blinked rapidly.

“You think you are so clever, Thranduil,” Thoran said in a low and controlled voice. Not the aggressive and chill tone from earlier. Thranduil blinked in surprise. Something had changed.

Why? What was the cause of this? Was Thoran defeated or had he managed to succeed? Both options did not let him relax. Thoran would be even more dangerous when pushed against the wall.

Looking at the towering figure after his eyes had adjusted to the light, Thranduil waited for what Thoran would do or say next. There was nothing else that he could do anyway.

Doing his best not to let his weakness and pain show Thranduil returned a cool gaze. He was tired of this game now. His entire right side was on fire and merely thinking about his ribs caused him pain, so the time was ripe for a decision.

Before another moment had passed Thoran tossed something at his feet. At first the King did not look at the object. He held the gaze of this mad elf as long as possible. Only when Thoran looked down Thranduil directed his gaze at the bundle at his feet. It was a coarse linen sack bound with a leather throng at its top.

Thranduil did not move. What was this supposed to mean? With a raised eyebrow he regarded the tall elf again. Thoran took a deep breath.

“Say goodbye to your sons and make peace with your creator. You are no longer important to me.”

Without another word the traitor turned and slammed the door shut. The King was left in darkness again. Thranduil swallowed. What could be in this sack that was so important that Thoran brought it down here personally?

His throat felt drier then ever. Something important must have happened. Why did it no longer matter if he lived or died? He would not find out by sitting there any longer.

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the darkness again he carefully leaned forward and grabbed the sack. Again a piecing pain was stabbing down his side and he felt fresh blood on his filthy tunic. If he did not get healing soon then he would no longer have to worry about starvation.

Carefully taking a deep breath he opened the leather tie with trembling fingers and reached inside. And then he froze.

The first item he pulled out was a fine chain with a pendant hanging from it. He did not need any light, or indeed his eyes at all, to identify the object. His fingers had instantly made out what it was.

It belonged to Legolas. It was a beautifully crafted little butterfly made of mithril, the eyes made of two tiny rubies. His wife had given it to his son shortly after his fourth begetting day. Legolas had always loved the fragile beauties and had worn it ever since, never taking it off. And now it lay there in his hands, the chain broken.

Carefully placing the treasure beside him he reached into the sack again. He only other item he also knew by heart. It was a small dagger with its hilt in the shape of a horse’s head. It belonged to Saeron. He himself had given it to him on the day he had pledged himself as a warrior to the realm. His son was never without the valuable weapon.

If Thoran had acquired these items then something must have happened to his sons. They would never have given up their treasures willingly. Thoran must have managed to capture them. They were still alive but that was the only thing he could say for certain.

The distress that reached him through the bond with his children was great but he could not pinpoint what caused this distress.

Now it would not take long until Thoran would stand before him again and force him to cooperate. With his sons used as leverage he would have no choice but to comply.

His throat too dry to bring forth any sound of frustration he clutched both items to his chest and sank back to the ground.

To be continued…………………….

Chapter 11:  haste makes waste

…we are hardly in any position to counter a revolution!”

The Lord of Rivendell leaned back in his chair with a sound; Glorfindel was not sure if it was a sigh or a moan. Looking at his friend from across the room the warrior decided it was the latter.

Elrond had placed his head in both hands and was rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and a worried frown crossed his face. Performing the act of far-speaking was nothing new for either Elf-lord but this time it seemed the process had sapped the healer’s strength more than usual.

Rising from behind his desk Glorfindel crossed the room and perched on the edge of the huge desk his friend was sitting behind. He placed a cautious hand on the other’s shoulder. Elrond jerked and looked up as if just becoming aware of his presence.

Glorfindel’s frown deepened. The healer’s face was covered with sweat and his skin looked ashen. “Elrond are you alright?” Glorfindel asked softly, shifting his hand to the elf’s forearm in case the chair-back did not provide sufficient support.

After a few moments the healer’s eyes focused and Elrond nodded his head. For the sake of his friend he even forced a smile on his face although he knew that he could never fool the warrior.

While relaxing and leaning back some colour returned to the dark- haired elf’s face. Glorfindel removed his steadying hand and moved to an overstuffed chair in front of the desk. From a little side table within comfortable reach Glorfindel poured two goblets of wine.

Elrond took the glass with a thankful nod and briefly closed his eyes to attune his mind with the present again. Knowing that Elrond would never speak unless asked Glorfindel leaned forward. “How did Galadriel react? What did she say?” he asked without preamble.

Directing his gaze back to his friend a smile flittered over the Elf-Lord’s face. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “She already knew what has been happening in Mirkwood and she wondered why young Saeron suffered travelling the greater distance instead of coming directly to Lothlórien.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to smirk. Everyone knew about the animosity between the King of Mirkwood and the wife of Celeborn. This knowledge had surely been extended to the King’s children also. Galadriel of course knew this and so it was not a true question on her part.

The more interesting part however was how the Lady of Light had learned about the troubles in Mirkwood. Yet she was a ring-bearer and was supposed to know what was happening in the surroundings of her realm.

Not because he was a mind reader but due to the long years of close familiarity with his seneschal, Elrond knew what Glorfindel was pondering. “She is very worried about the events going on beyond her borders. But she had somehow seen it coming. She had even counselled Thranduil to keep a special eye on this Thoran. Sadly her warning remained unheeded and now it’s too late.”

Just when Glorfindel opened his mouth to respond a knock sounded at the door. Elrond raised an eyebrow. No visitor was scheduled but then everyone in this house was allowed to come to his office at any time. Glorfindel rose to answer the door. Elrond already had a pretty good idea about who wanted to visit them.

As expected, Saeron asked for permission to enter. Glorfindel opened the door wider and Elrond gestured for the young elf to enter. The healer narrowed his eyes when he noticed how pale the young elf looked and how unsteady he was on his feet. No wonder, he conceded, after having had only a few days time for his severe injuries to heal.

Glorfindel was only one step behind the youngster until Saeron had managed to sit down in the second chair before the desk. With a stern glare but a soft voice Elrond addressed the son of Thranduil after he had rounded his desk. “I cannot remember having given you permission to leave your bed, young one!” he said with a side-glance at the warrior who only shrugged his shoulders while taking back his seat.

For one second the young one seemed cowed but then the defiant chin, a feature of all the line of Thranduil, was raised and Saeron looked at the Elf lord determinedly. Elrond sighed. Had he expected anything different?

“Master Elrond, I’m sorry to go against your orders but I’m running out of time. Something has to be done immediately and I have to return home.”

Elrond held up his hand to stop the string of words. Saeron swallowed and lowered his eyes. He was still too worn out to act anything near his old self. Yet his thoughts were whirling constantly around his concerns about the situation at home.

Sitting on his desk the healer leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Saeron, the most important step for you now is to recover and…..”

The healer had no chance to finish his sentence. Saeron jerked upright. “No, my Lord! How can I sit here while my home is drowning in chaos? You can hardly ask this of me…..”

“Saeron, stop!”

The sharp command silenced the agitated youngster effectively. Glorfindel had risen to his feet again. Continuing in this way would achieve nothing. The young elf had to calm down first. However, this would only happen when he had recovered his health and regained some of his wits.

Staring at the warrior, Saeron’s gaze changed from irritated to ashamed. He stepped back in shock without thinking about his injured right leg, gasping as he put undue pressure on the still healing limb. His momentum overbalanced him and he tripped over the chair behind him.

Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel could react quickly enough, so he crashed to the floor, landing hard on one of the chair legs. Saeron cried out in pain as his right thigh connected with the wood.

An instant later Elrond was on his knees beside Saeron looking with dismay at the quickly spreading red stain on the wood elf’s legging. Quickly he stopped the youngster from rising. He did not have to remove the fabric to know what had happened.

With a sigh he looked at the pain-contorted face. “Do not put any more pressure on that leg.” Saeron could only nod. He was too occupied with breathing in and out and fighting down his threatening nausea.

Glorfindel had stepped around the chair and was now carefully lifting the dark haired elf into his arms. Saeron pressed his lips together in a vain attempt not to cry out again.

“Stupid child,” Glorfindel said softly and turned toward the door. Elrond opened it for him and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I will be along shortly.” Glorfindel nodded and headed toward the healing wing.

Elrond closed the door behind him and leaned his head against the doorframe for just a moment. Saeron was the son of his father; impulsive and never willing to waste any time. On the other hand he was injured, confused, and had been driven from his home like a criminal.

Making up his mind Elrond straightened and left his office. When he entered the sickroom he saw that his head healer had already removed the soiled leggings and cleaned the blood away. Judging by the relaxed expression on the young elf’s face Thalan had already given him something against the pain.

He nodded his approval and thanked the healer. When he stepped up to the examination table Saeron opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master Elrond. My reaction was not appropriate but I can hardly bear the anguish any longer.” Tears of pain and frustration began to fall down the pale cheeks. The Elf-lord nodded in sympathy and placed a comforting hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, imparting some healing energy and calm into the shivering body without his patient’s knowledge.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Saeron, but now you must rest.” Saeron closed his eyes. What other option was left to him? When the breaths indicated that the drug had worked Elrond took a closer look at the swollen thigh. The fall had reopened the stitches and tore some of the underlying muscle. This was not good and could hinder the young elf for a long time. But it could not be helped. Done was done.

He carefully stitched the muscle together and closed the reopened arrow wound. Again he wound a thick bandage around the thigh. After that the elf was placed in a bed and covered with a blanket.

“I will sit with him,” Thalan offered and lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. Elrond nodded and left the room quietly. Now they had to wait again and hope for the best.

The recovery of the young elf would be delayed further and this would not sit well with Saeron. Nor would the news Elrond had received so far.

…………………………………………….

Three days later Saeron had recovered enough to be allowed out of bed, although only for short periods of time. While the rest had done his body some good, his mind was still in turmoil and Elrond really feared for the sanity of the young elf.

He could no longer be placated and demanded a decision for better or worse so he would be able to leave as soon as possible. The healer knew that he could no longer delay the confrontation he had hoped to avoid.

For the past four hours Elrond had been participating in a heated discussion with Glorfindel, Erestor, and Galdor, an elf from the havens, who had arrived to bring greetings and news from Círdan. His arrival a few days earlier could not have been more fortunate now. Elrond had been able to inform other elves with power and influence in Middle earth about the happenings in Mirkwood. This however he had not shared with Saeron so far.

When his frustration level had nearly reached its peak, here Saeron was again, standing before his desk demanding to know what had been decided about the situation at his home.

Under any other circumstances the Lord of Rivendell would have rebuked the elf before him for his rude tone but he could very well understand the anguish Saeron must be feeling and so he tolerated the demanding attitude of the youth.

His tolerance did not extend to his administrator Erestor. Before Elrond could interfere Erestor had risen and glared at the son of Thranduil.

“I would advise you to rein in you loose tongue, young one. We are willing to help but you should let us decide how!”

Elrond closed his eyes. Even if silently agreeing with his councillor and knowing about the preparations Erestor already had done, he knew that now the tenuous hold Saeron had on his temper would snap.

And he did not have to wait long. The young elf whirled around and shot a dark glare at Erestor that would have made some lesser spirit reel. Not so Erestor. His face blank of any emotions the dark haired elf looked back without blinking.

“I hardly have the luxury to waste any more time and wait upon never-ending discussions. I do not know if it is even worthwhile to wait for help. Maybe there is no one at home who requires the help anymore.”

As though this was not bad enough Galdor also rose and before Elrond could interfere he too addressed the agitated Saeron.

“I can only agree with Lord Erestor. Interference into internal political matters would be quite unwise. We do not know the situation there and besides we can hardly strip our lands of our own warriors only to involve ourselves in a dispute the King of Mirkwood has with some of his own people.”

Swallowing, Saeron’s head snapped around, his eyes wide. For a few seconds he groped for words but restraint was not really a character trait the sons of Thranduil had.

“How dare you to speak like that about my father. You point this out as if my father has some quarrel with a few obstinate followers, as if this was merely child’s play.

I can assure you that the situation is far more dangerous than you can imagine, but in your arrogance you have hardly asked for any details. Thoran is very eager to ally with any dark forces only to gain some personal power.

Through his sacrifice my grandfather enabled all of you to survive, to huddle in your sheltered valleys being protected either by some magic elven rings or by being too far away from any real threat and what is our reward in a dire situation? Nothing! Endless discussions but no real will to help.

None of this matters anymore for me. As I feared I have wasted my time in coming here. My family may already be dead by now and I have sped up their destruction by not being by their side.”

Without another word or a gaze at anyone Saeron turned and left the room in a rush. The loud bang when the door was thrown shut echoed through the corridors.

The silence in the healer’s office afterwards was deafening. Galdor was still looking aghast at the spot where the wood elf had just stood, Erestor´s face was still expressionless and Glorfindel had closed his eyes.

Elrond did not have to look at the faces to know that the words left none of them untouched.

After some moments Glorfindel rose. “I will make sure that the boy is not doing anything stupid to himself or anyone else,” he said with a sigh. After a grateful nod from Elrond he left the room.

“And I will further ignore all troubles in the world and return to my desk!” Erestor snorted and left also. Elrond smiled. Erestor was Erestor.

That left only one upset mind to placate.

To be continued…………………..

Chapter 12:  in the dead of night

The procession trudged silently through the dark forest. Sinaht was looking over his shoulder for the hundredth time in a short while. Always he expected Thoran´s bloodhounds to appear behind them.

The group of women and children had left his cottage in the dead of the night after a sentry had warned them. An elf identified as a fellow of Thoran had come suspiciously near their house. Sinaht had not taken any chances.

Now their only defence consisted of a few male elves flanking them left and right; no real protection should any trained warrior or something worse decide to attack. All elves, male and female alike knew how to handle a weapon and defend themselves but with all the children in their midst and against a trained opponent they would stand no chance.

Their destination was a small clearing still within the inner ring of the border. It was long deserted now, but once it had been a gathering place for families during the time when the kingdom moved north. The many simple but sturdy huts should still be usable, and it should be a good place to abide for a while. Only a few elves, who had made the journey north, still knew the exact location.

Sinaht could not think of a better place at the moment and hoped that it would not easily come to the mind of the elves supporting Thoran. It was agreed that the warriors still loyal to the King would join them there.

Now however his greatest worry was to reach the place at all. He could not really believe that Thoran would be insane enough to attack women and children but he would not bet on it.

It had been hard enough to convince the little ones to leave the warmth of the cottage in the middle of night but now they could no longer be placated while being told that it was necessary to trudge through frightening dark trees along a path that not even the moonlight could reach at all points.

Some began to wail, others to cry and some wanted to be carried all the way. Sinaht swallowed while he listened to the noise the group made. The elflings still on their feet were not yet able to make good use of their inborn skill to walk soundlessly.

The women did their best to hush the children and carried them if necessary but an attentive follower would hear them anyway. Hearing the wail of another little one, Sinaht looked over his shoulder again.

He could discern nothing but an attacker would make no noise before the strike. Maybe their luck would serve them a bit longer. In answer to the questioning gaze of his wife walking right beside him he shook his head.

“I’m growing paranoid,” he whispered and directed a concerned gaze at the elfling in his wife’s arms. After an initial tantrum and many convincing words Legolas had ceased all struggles and protestation. In fact he had not stirred since Isiwen had picked him up after leaving the house. He was not sleeping and his eyes gazed sightless into the distance.

With a sigh Sinaht shifted his sleeping son in his arms and listened again into the darkness. All of the children were distressed but everyone had at least one parent close by. Legolas felt alone and not even his friend Elion could make him feel better.

After three more hours of walking Siondel called for a halt. It did not make any sense to go on. The women and children were tired and the men were edgy. A rest would hopefully do them some good.

After everyone had settled down and the women had cared for the children by sharing the meagre supplies they had brought with them the elflings went silent, most from exhaustion, others because of fear. Two elves Sinaht could spare circled the camp. The Troop Commander was leaning against a tree trunk. He did not have the stomach to settle down; his worries for their group were keeping his senses on alert.

He had delivered his son back into his wife’s arms and looked fondly at his little family. Elion was mastering this surprisingly well. He was sleeping soundly next to his mother. Isiwen seemed to have found some sort of relaxation herself after she had seen to the other families.

Sinaht’s smile however vanished when he looked at the prince sitting forlorn on a log near the center of the glade. He had refused the offer from Isiwen to snuggle up to her and she had given him some space for privacy but only after the assurance of her husband to keep an eye on him.

Reassured by a signal from the sentries that all was quiet so far Sinaht took a deep breath and left his spot. He walked over to the log and lowered himself next to the boy. “Are you hungry?” he asked while he retrieved a wrapped bundle from his pocket. Without looking up the fair haired elfling shook his head and continued staring at his feet.

Sinaht placed the bread beside him on the tree trunk and edged a bit closer. He knew very well why the boy was so down. After the death of his mother Legolas shared a strong bond with his father. Since that fateful day the child lived in fear of losing the other foundation in his life as well. Until now he had never been separated from his father for any length of time. This forceful parting had left the elfling traumatised.

But how could he make what was happening clear to a child when he did not grasp all implications himself? How could the boy understand why Thoran wanted to supplant his father? Although Sinaht wished he could reunite the prince with his father soon, he did not succumb to this illusion.

They stood only at the beginning. All was in motion and unclear and no one of them had ever experienced such a situation before. This conflict could well stretch long and end bloody.

However, before he could think on the consequences for them if the unthinkable happened and Thoran would succeed, he heard something.

The lembas forgotten Sinaht whistled softly to alert his cousin Threlan sitting a few feet away with his young wife in his arms. Threlan looked up and at a sign of Sinaht he came over and scooped the prince up in his arms. He brought him to the other children sitting with them.

The Troop Commander and the other male elves readied themselves. The women were busy collecting the children into the group’s centre to defend them with their bodies if necessary. Sinaht observed knives and other weapons suddenly appearing in the hands of the women. A grim expression appeared on his face. An attacker shouldn’t regard this group as defenceless.

Redirecting his senses toward the dark forest he listened intently. But try as he might he could not catch another noise. Had his overwrought mind fooled him, or was there indeed something or someone out there?

Exchanging a glance with Threlan he stepped further away from the clearing to draw, whoever was out there, away from the women and the children. Carefully he readied his bow and wondered how loud the creaking of the wood and the string appeared to be.

Being a realistic person he knew exactly that if they were attacked by Thoran’s forces he would surrender so as not to endanger the life of their families.

Already doubting his senses he almost jumped when an elf dropped from a tree and landed right in front of him. He drew his bowstring taut but relaxed quickly, when he recognized the one standing before him.

“Galadhion,” he breathed relieved and grabbed the Crown Prince’s forearm in greeting. “You could have announced yourself.”

Smiling apologetically Galadhion peered past the trees at the clearing. Sinaht gave the others a signal. Bows were unstrung and knives re-sheathed.

Sensing the unspoken question Sinaht stepped closer. “All went well so far. No one has followed us as far as I can tell. Your brother is safe, but very unhappy.”

Galadhion nodded and fought down the urge to comfort his little brother personally. He tore his gaze away from the group. “I couldn’t detect anything unusual on my way here either. Everything is far too quiet and that makes me nervous.”

“Maybe Thoran has overrated his influence and is running out of men?” Sinaht remarked out of an impulse and regretted his careless words instantly seeing the grimace on Galadhion´s face.

“He still holds the King captive and that’s serious enough for me. We should not make the mistake of underestimating him.”

Placing a hand on the Crown Prince’s shoulder Sinaht squeezed it in sympathy. “Forgive me, my prince. My words were thoughtless and only spoken out of hope.”

Galadhion swept the apology away with a flick of his hand. “Nothing to forgive, my friend. We are all unfamiliar with such a situation.”

Not seeing but rather sensing the sigh of the Troop Commander Galadhion quickly changed the subject. “I’ve checked the gathering place. Many warriors have arrived there already. They are preparing the huts. It seems safe enough. A few other families have also arrived.”

Sinaht only nodded. Maybe they could reach their destination after all. To supply the families there with the necessary items for survival would be hard enough. He took a deep breath before asking: “Could you gather any news from the palace?”

A chill ran down the warrior’s spine when the King’s eldest son briefly closed his eyes. What had happened at the palace? This reaction did not propose anything good.

Feeling a touch on his arm Galadhion redirected his attention at his friend. “I was able deliver a message, but could not speak with my father. I do not even know if he was able to read the message…..” The Crown Prince trailed off. Sinaht shied away from the thought to consider why the King should be unable to read the message, given that the note has actually reached him.

However before Sinaht could replay anything Galadhion continued. “Thoran is controlling the palace by using members of the staff as hostages. How complete this control is, I cannot say. A direct assault has to be considered very carefully.”

Nodding Sinaht stored the information for good use later, albeit this news did nothing to let him look ahead with much confidence. Seeing there was more plaguing his friend Sinaht asked carefully: “What’s there further, my friend?”

Galadhion lowered his eyes. “I heard two of Thoran´s fellows talk about Saeron. They said he did not make it.”

Sinaht narrowed his eyes. “But you can still feel him through your bond, can you not?” he asked. When Galadhion nodded Sinaht let out a sigh of relief. “He’s alive, yes, but our connection is very weak…”

Making up his mind Sinaht quickly embraced his friend not caring for the many eyes watching them. “We must cling to hope. Your brother is strong. Maybe he could escape after all!”

Only nodding Galadhion stepped back. “Thank you,” he said with a lot of gratitude in his voice. Sinaht smiled back. “Come, say hello to your brother.”

To his surprise Galadhion shook his head and stepped back further into the trees. “No, as desperately as I want this, he would not let me go again. I will meet him and you at the gathering place. I will make sure no one is behind you.”

Sinaht nodded while Galadhion retreated further into the trees. Just as the Troop Commander turned to return to the glade, a high pitched cry alerted both warriors and froze them in place.

Galadhion had whirled around before Sinaht even had the chance to identify who had uttered the cry. Seeing the Crown prince hastening to the middle of the clearing and kneeling beside his brother Sinaht swallowed. What had distressed Legolas this much? He observed that the child was crying hard and his whole body was shaking.

Sinaht ordered one of his fellows to take his place and resume the watch. With quick strides he covered the distance to the glade’s middle. They had to calm the child otherwise they did not have to worry about possible followers any more. Legolas would alert the other elflings and the parents would be hard pressed to hush them again. The cry had to have been heard back at the palace anyway.

Seeing that Galadhion was rocking his little brother back and forth and murmuring something he did not understand Sinaht waited a minute longer before he placed his hand on the Crown Prince’s shoulder.

Galadhion looked up and Sinaht could see the tears running down the elfling’s pale face his head lying on his brother’s shoulder.

“What is it, little one?” Sinaht asked while he stroked the fair hair of the child. While Galadhion had closed his eyes, Legolas’ blue eyes focused on him. Sinaht’s heart missed a beat at the soft but clearly spoken words. “Why do they hurt Ada?”

Sinaht swallowed. What could he possibly answer to that and why was the boy even asking such a question? He looked in the direction they had to go. The path ahead appeared much darker now.

To be continued…………………………..

Chapter 13:  a plan is forming

Without another word or gaze at anyone Saeron turned and left the room in a rush. The loud bang when the door was thrown shut echoed through the corridors……

Angrily wiping away the tears gathering in his eyes Saeron hurried down the corridor as quickly as his injured leg would allow him. He swallowed as he replayed the scene from a few minutes before in his head. With his rash and rude behaviour he had destroyed the only chance left for him to help his father.

Yet there was no more time to waste. With every additional day Thoran would be able to strengthen his position and the situation would get impossible for them to counter. He had lost so many days already, not knowing what was happening back home nearly drove him mad.

What sense did it make to stay here any longer? His hope for finding help had proven false and his coming here had been a mistake.

………………………………………………..

An hour later after seeing to his own chores Glorfindel finally found the time to fulfil his promise and look after Saeron. When he knocked on the door of wood elf’s room he was not surprised to get no answer. In his anger Saeron would not bid him enter or he would have fallen asleep drained from his outburst.

Making up his mind Glorfindel silently opened the door. Having expected nothing else he looked unimpressed at the empty bed but after a quick search of the room he frowned.

The room was not just unoccupied; it was deserted. No personal belongings could be seen anywhere. Saeron had not merely left his room to wander Imladris he had left for good, Glorfindel realised instantly and with dismay.

The Elf-Lord felt momentarily angry. Why had Saeron done this? Although he knew that the youngster was a hot spur he had not expected him to react this unreasonably.

An hour after Saeron had left Lord Elrond’s study so vehemently the Master of Imladris had achieved the concession that Galdor would return to Círdan and that they would confer how to best help even if they could not send a great troop of warriors for a potential fight.

During a telepathic conference with Galadriel she had assured him that she was also thinking about how to support King Thranduil in his struggle to get back his reign.

Imladris would not stand back in offering help. But now the one who could provide them with the necessary information about how to coordinate the allies had left in a rush.

Glorfindel’s initial anger was soon overcome with worry. Saeron was distressed and not in his right mind. Many terrible things could happen to the young prince if he attempted to return to his home in his present condition.

Knowing that he could achieve nothing here he quickly turned and stepped out into the corridor. There he nearly collided with Elrond attempting to enter the room.

“You can save your efforts, he’s not here,” Glorfindel answered the unasked question behind the raised eyebrow of his Lord.

At the tone of his Troop Commander Elrond frowned. Galdor wanted to speak with the woodland Prince again before he left.

“What do you mean with he’s not here?” Elrond asked although he already guessed the answer. Galdor’s desired meeting would not happen and this would not please the Elf-lord. Many hours of convincing on his part, about how dire the situation in Mirkwood was, would be for naught.

Like Glorfindel the Master of Imladris felt angry but a touch on his arm startled him out of his thoughts.

“We have to find him before something happens. He’s desperate, Elrond and alone. I will leave immediately.”

Elrond only nodded already worrying over the youngster’s well being. He was far from healed enough to attempt a return journey.

The important thing now was to find Saeron in time and channel the help efficiently. He would manage to convince Galdor to provide help anyway.

With a grateful nod Elrond sent the warrior on his way. If anyone could find and stop the hot headed Saeron then it would be Glorfindel.

……………………………………..

Without conscious thought Saeron urged his mount on and stopped only after the beast stumbled from exhaustion. Weary himself, he leaned low over the stallion’s neck and mumbled an apology.

First he had not believed his luck that no one had seen him leave the grounds of Imladris. The way to the stables was deserted as were the stables. It was easy to retrieve his horse and leave in the dawn.

But already while leaving he had felt his still lingering weakness increase. Angrily he had ignored the feeling and chided himself. Now however after having left the borders of the sheltered valley behind him his strength had suddenly deserted him.

The wound on his upper arm throbbed unmercifully, not to mention the arrow wound on his right leg. The injury had reopened again and blood was trickling down his leggings.

He did not dare to dismount fearing he would not be able to remount again. For long minutes he sat there trying to cope with his weakness and pain, momentarily at a loss for how to reach his home in his state.

Frustrated he closed his eyes. His coming here had been in vain. He would return home with bare hands, if at all. He had failed. Without noticing he slipped into a state of semi-consciousness.

From time to time he raised his head but he did not even have the strength to open his eyes for any length of time. Any attacker would have easy play with him. His stallion would defend him but the horse was not immune to arrows or a great number of assailants.

He did not know how much time had passed and he was unaware of the rider approaching him with great speed.

……………………………………….

Glorfindel urged his mount on determined to catch up with Saeron before he could reach the Misty Mountains. He was confident about this knowing the weakened state the young elf was in. Saeron was far from healed and Elrond had assured him that his strength would soon desert him.

Keeping that in mind Glorfindel did not slow down knowing that he could not be far behind now.

The landscape flying past in a flurry, Glorfindel reined in his mount sharply after a shrill whinny from Asfaloth. Catching his breath he looked to the right and spotted the errant elf just to the side of the path.

The tall warrior dismounted slowly, suppressing the urge to run to the elf he could see was barely clinging to his horse. The prancing horse was doing its best not to let the elf fall but it was only a matter of time.

First he had to make sure that no threat would surprise them. Asfaloth would warn him but it could not hurt to be careful because they had left the protected border of Imladris long behind.

When he was sure that no evil was lurking in the near distance Glorfindel crossed the distance to the nervous mount, reaching the beast just in time to catch the unconscious elf before he could hit the ground. The horse had finally lost the balancing act.

Carefully he lowered the prince to the ground noticing the growing stain of bright red blood on the upper leg. With practised movements Glorfindel retrieved the necessary items from his healing pouch and bound the reopened wound tightly.

He was no healer but a critical look at the wound told him that a simple bandage would only do for a short time. The wound had to be re-stitched again.

Deciding that speed was now of the essence, the warrior scooped the young elf into his arms after gathering his supplies. After mounting a kneeling Asfaloth he whistled for Saeron’s stallion and realised with satisfaction that the white stallion was following his hard pressed return to Imladris.

………………………………..

When Saeron awoke he felt strangely comfortable. He could not feel any pain and registered something soft underneath him. With some effort he opened his eyes and realised that he was lying in a bed back in his room at Rivendell, but what shocked him most was the expressionless face of the Master of Rivendell looking down at him.

He swallowed. Now he had truly managed to upset his host. Lowering his eyes he did not know what to say. Maybe it did not matter anymore.

“Saeron look at me!” Elrond said and his voice allowed no denial. Reluctantly the prince of Mirkwood raised his eyes and was surprised to see only worry and regret in the Elf-lord’s eyes.

“How often will you ruin my handiwork?” Elrond asked while he squeezed the hand of the young elf sympathetically.

Glorfindel leaning against the doorframe smiled inwardly. Regardless of what happened the dark haired Elf-Lord had always had a weak spot for the young ones.

Knowing that this was not really a question warranting an answer Saeron kept silent unsure of what to say anyway.

“Saeron“, Elrond began taking the cold hand into his, “I understand your anxiety and restlessness, I really do, but could you please muster some patience to give me a chance to consider all options? Many things need to be considered and this will take time.”

With a quivering lower lip Saeron could only nod, feeling like a naughty elfling being caught doing something incredibly stupid. Which was not so far from the mark, he thought sarcastically.

“I now how you ache to return home and how you fear for the welfare of your family but if we run headlong in this situation we will achieve nothing, maybe we will only make it worse.

I know the need for haste is dire but maybe you are willing to hear what has been achieved so far. In fact, the results of my efforts are satisfying.”

When Elrond had stopped, Saeron quickly lowered his eyes and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. After he had regained his composure he looked up again.

“Lord Elrond, I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of my imprudent behaviour. I have offended you and served my King poorly. I can only apologize.”

Squeezing the youth’s hand again Elrond smiled. ”No offence taken, Saeron. We can only guess what you are going through. But we need your help now to coordinate our assistance, of course only after you have rested and recovered.”

Smiling a little Saeron shook the gloominess from his mind. Maybe he could still achieve something that would help his home?

“I’m an idiot,” he whispered trying to find a comfortable position.

“That you are...sometimes!” a voice spoke firmly from the vicinity of the door. Saeron only now recognized Glorfindel standing there with a smile on his face.

“But I think we should try again. As soon as you have rested I will pester you with a thousand questions,” the tall warrior said smiling.

“Thank you,” was all Saeron could reply.

“You are welcome,” Elrond answered and squeezed the wood elf’s shoulder. After the Elf-lords had left his room Saeron took a deep breath and drifted into sleep.

.........................................

Three weeks later Saeron had recovered sufficiently for Lord Elrond to consider letting the young elf make his return journey. His twin sons would accompany the prince to get a first impression of the situation in Mirkwood.

Depending on this report the healer would decide how to provide the most effective help. A host of warriors were standing ready to be called upon if the situation warranted it. Either they would head into the great forest to support the King’s troops or they would secure the passes in case Thoran’s fellows decided to flee over the mountains.

The Lady of the Golden Wood had promised, in a message brought by a carrier pigeon, that she would amass the warriors guarding her realm on the northern and eastern borders and keep them ready if the need of Mirkwood troops for more warriors should arise. She would also take care that no escapees would get past the Anduin or reach the mountains.

The shipwright from the grey havens could promise no warriors but he would send diplomats to offer advice in the aftermath dealing with the wounds undoubtedly left after such a crisis.

Saeron had provided the Lord of Imladris with as much information as he could give. Quickly it became apparent however that he himself knew little of the whole situation. Much could have happened during his absence.

All was ready now to return home. The young prince took his leave of the sheltered valley after expressing his thanks to all who had promised to support his father. His heart was a bit lighter than three weeks earlier but his thoughts were still troubled. What would he face when he returned?

With the twin sons of Elrond riding left and right of him, Saeron urged his mount forward his anxiousness nearly unbearable.

To be continued……

Chapter 14:  a plan is failing

Thoran was beside himself with fury. Nothing had gone according to plan. For days now he had been stuck here in these blasted halls of stone beneath the earth and was receiving only bad news. Yes, he had managed to lock up King Thranduil but that was the only important thing he had achieved so far.

He had used the element of surprise and that had served him well, yet he had not managed to subdue the warriors with his threats against their ruler; in fact they had completely removed themselves from his grasp. And he had a lot of difficulty forcing the palace staff into obedience. Only through constant blackmail and threats was he able to hold them in check.

Again he was waiting for his scouts to bring him news from outside the palace walls. To ward off the slowly passing time he wandered the halls of the huge area having some difficulty avoiding getting lost in the many twisting corridors leading in all directions. He could not help himself; he had to admire the beautifully structured building. While looking at the high ceiling with the sunlight streaming in you never had the impression of being underground.

Many times he had been in the capital while representing the southern settlements and of course had he often been in the palace during those matters, but never had he looked around like these days when he could do so undisturbed and unobserved.

However his rapture of this place quickly made way for his anger. He had misjudged the general attitude of the elves – Silvan or Sindar – towards King Thranduil.

Even if many elves did not approve of the King’s politics, this was obviously not reason enough to openly rebel against him. During the last years the King had ordered giving up more and more ground in the south and retreating ever further north from the growing shadow festering at Dol Guldur.

The settlers in the south had increasingly been attacked by hordes of orcs and wargs now freely roaming around the black hill. Many settlements could not be rescued when attacked directly and often the devastation was so complete that nothing remained of the 0settlements or the inhabitants. 

Thranduil had reasoned that there were not enough warriors to repel the ever growing number of orcs and simultaneously protect each settlement efficiently. The number of warriors was hardly enough to protect and guard the borders. The patrols were already much too wide spread to guarantee overall protection.

The only solution was to abandon the settlements and move the dwellings nearer to the stronghold within the circle of the Home Guard or at least near enough to be sufficiently protected by the border patrols.

Many elves, especially those residing farthest south had openly complained to him and even pressed him to act. They demanded their right to stay and fight for their homes. They wanted to organize a Home Guard of their own to fight off any evil threatening their settlements.

King Thranduil had not seriously considered their proposal, knowing how pointless the sacrificed lives would be. Yet the village leaders would hear nothing of this, stubbornly demanding their right to care for their families and homesteads.

The King had stopped these endless, and from his point of view fruitless, discussions with his decision to move the settlements north beyond the mountains to have a better strategic position to ward off their enemy.

Those who objected were free to stay but would receive no further protection from the patrols. This had inflamed the rage of the elves living in the south of the former Greenwood the Great all their lives even before the coming of their first king, Oropher. They were not willing to leave and no convincing from the King could move their hearts and minds.

Having become their voice of protest, and a Silvan elf himself, Thoran was sure of their support and had started this endeavour with the hope of influencing the Silvan elves at the capitol too. Many reports from fellow travellers from the King’s halls had even encouraged him to take this step.

So he had assumed that the predominant part of the elves here in the capital was as discontented as those in the south, and there he had erred greatly.

Although many were displeased with the decision of their King to give up the south, they now lived far away from these dangerous places in relative safety and had thus traded their way of life for a false promise of protection.

If he had not known better he would think now that these conspiratorial reports were faked to lure him out; maybe sent from the King himself to urge him to openly commit treason.

He knew that he had long been a focus of the King’s spies, but he was not stupid enough to openly speak against the King and to give him reason to accuse him of betrayal.

Had the King seen through his plot now and acted on foresight? His heart pounding he had jumped up from the throne he had been sitting on. Yet Thranduil would not have been this unprepared had he suspected anything he reasoned and calmed down again.

But, where were his supporters now? He had conspirators here, of course but he had been required to subdue or threaten too many elves into assisting him. Many from the south, sharing his opinion, had followed him and had made his coup possible but without the full support of all Silvan elves here in the capital he would not succeed. The native elves of this forest had lost their sting.

Shortly said, he did not have the numbers. He could hold the palace and its surroundings under control, he held enough hostages of the staff, the guards and even the warriors to ward off a direct assault, but this would not be enough either.

He had hoped to start a conflagration and come to the capital as a liberator but now he was only a usurper struggling to hold his position. He had not managed to motivate or convince the Silvan elves here of his ideas to not give up the south. Many had turned away and stood loyal to the Sindar upstart.

But if they thought he would give up so easily he would teach them a lesson. And all who stood against him should well remember his most prominent prisoner. If he didn’t succeed then the King would never see the daylight again.

Yet this prisoner infuriated him the most. He had attacked him mentally and physically day and night over many weeks now, had beaten him senseless, taunted him, let him have hope only to destroy it hours later, and had nearly let him starve but nothing had broken him so far. This had needed too much time already. For many weeks he had achieved nothing important. The longer he had to struggle to regain the upper hand the less likely it would be that he succeeded.

Nevertheless this treatment was taking its toll on his opponent. Thoran saw the signs clearly. Maybe in time he could break this stubborn Sindar elf. But again time was his problem and the capitulation of the King would solve nothing.

This did not end the stand off he faced. Too many warriors had slipped from his grasp. They were gathering somewhere to regroup and strike back, of that he was sure.

He grinned evilly. When they would try this they would experience a lesson they would not soon forget. He would sell his skin as dear as possible and many he kept here would die with him.

As he had come so far with his musings he realised that he had long accepted that he could never reach his goal to replace Thranduil. Too many, even many of the Silvan elves, had grown fond of their Sindar King. This he had also not considered.

But one thing he knew. If he could not achieve his goal then Thranduil would not succeed either and if necessary he would kill him with his own hands.

Before this, he would love to continue tormenting his captive. If he could only get hold of one of the King’s blasted sons. Thranduil would be so much more willing to cooperate then. Maybe he would surrender in the end, would abdicate in his favour.

The King’s victory would be a defeat if one of his sons had to pay for his stubbornness. On the other hand, where would the Kingdom stand without its King, its rightful King?

Thoran smiled again. Thranduil was not the rightful King. A Sindar elf could never stand above the much greater number of Silvan elves. They had lived long in this forest, long before even the moon and the sun had appeared. They had always lived in peace, not caring about the troubles of the world. Thranduil had to be removed. Then the world in its turn would forget about the elves in this forest.

Not realising how ridiculous his thoughts had become and that evil had long infiltrated their once peaceful forest, Thoran smiled to himself. Without Thranduil they could return to the life they had before any Sindar elf had appeared in the forest. Maybe they could even come to an agreement with the leader at Dol Gûldur?

Yes, that would work. Ignore them and they will ignore you.

Content with himself he sat back on the throne and thought about his next actions. He would make one last attempt to ‘convince’ the warriors to accept him as their new leader.

He had to make an example. And this time he would not make an idle threat.

To be continued……………………………

Chapter 15:  a line crossed

With a troubled heart Sinaht looked again into the sky to judge the night hour. They had to move on if they wanted to reach the gathering place at the agreed time. He directed his gaze at the middle of the clearing where the group had spend the last hours and smiled sadly.

Curling closely against his older brother, the youngest prince of Mirkwood had a firm hold on Galadhion, even in his sleep. After his outburst and their tearful reunion Galadhion had needed a lot of time and much convincing to calm the child down again. He had done his best to reassure the boy but had been unsuccessful in getting the young child to leave him alone for long.

What worried Sinaht most though was that neither he nor Galadhion were able to draw from the elfling why he was convinced that his father was hurt.  Legolas had never elaborated further then his initial disturbing statement. They did not even know if the King’s hurt was bodily or if his torment was of a mental nature.

Anyway in whatever manner they tortured the King, Sinaht was worried about the fact that Legolas has learned of this at all. The chief of the Home Guard knew his King as a very self-restrained elf ever determined to mask his feelings. He would never let anyone, least of all his youngest son, witness his feelings.

Yet exactly this had happened and this did not bode well. Was their resistance for naught in the end? What if Thoran killed King Thranduil? What victory would they have then?

When the dawn was heralding the new day Sinaht rose and joined the Crown prince. Galadhion was studying a map. He did this with one hand while the other was stroking the fair hair of the elfling sleeping beside him.

Galadhion looked up and nodded at the unvoiced request of his father’s warrior. With great care and with the hope that the boy would sleep on until the preparations for continuing their journey were completed, he begun untangling himself from his brother’s hold.

However at the unavoidable jostling and with the first noise the awakening camp was making, Legolas opened his eyes. He looked fearfully at his brother attempting to stride away to talk to the sentries.

“Galadhion?” he asked while scrambling to his feet. However, before he could cling to his brother, Isiwen, Sinaht’s wife caught the boy up in her arms. “Good morning, little one. I see you have slept some. That’s good. Come with me and join the other children. We are having some breakfast.”

Sinaht nodded toward his wife and sent his thanks through their bond. The immediate return of her love did much to straighten his shoulders. Legolas was about to protest but the reassuring wink from his brother and the loving arms still around him convinced him to go with the mother of his best friend.

Sinaht took a deep breath and was about to join Galadhion and the group of sentries, when they heard the sound of hoof beats coming through the underbrush.

Galadhion whirled around and readied his bow. Although they could discern that elves were nearing it would not hurt to be careful. Sinaht gave his wife a sign and she urged the other woman and children in the back of the clearing behind some fallen logs.

Sinaht and Galadhion along with the other warriors lined up shoulder to shoulder and awaited the oncoming riders. When the first elf came into sight Sinaht narrowed his eyes. He instantly recognized Galion, one of his lieutenants.

Behind the officer rode another warrior, one of the southern border guards, Sinaht hoped he was remembering correctly, although the elf’s name eluded him at the moment. He did not even think about the odd combination of a border guard riding with a warrior of the Home Guard. Normally their routines rarely allowed them to work together.

Galadhion and the sentries had also recognized who was racing towards them yet their eyes were kept alert, focused on the oncoming elves, their bows not yet relaxed. However when it seemed obvious that the two riders were not being chased down the path and that their group was not being threatened the few defenders lowered their bows and waited for the lieutenant to dismount.

After acknowledging his prince with a hasty bow Galion stepped in front of his superior. “My Lord, I bring grave tidings.” With this he retrieved a parchment from his pouch on his belt. The other warrior had dismounted as well and was speaking comfortingly to the heavily breathing beasts. When the guard lowered his eyes Sinaht frowned but grabbed the parchment and opened the ribbon holding it rolled up. He held it sideways so that Galadhion, who had stepped next to him, could read over his shoulder.

The gasp that escaped Sinaht and the grunt from the Crown Prince did not cause the messenger to look up. He was aware of the parchment’s contents did not have to look into the eyes of his chief and the Crown prince to know what had shocked them.

Galadhion took the letter from Sinaht´s hand and re-read it:

Commander Sinaht,

Since your King is unwilling to order his errant warriors back and you are also unwilling to surrender your troops to serve under my command time and again, I’ve decided to remind you who IS in command now. Where the elf path crosses the river I’ve left something that will hopefully make you change your mind. When you read this it will already be too late to rescue the two poor souls who have paid for your crimes. If you have any contact with the King’s missing sons then I’m sure you will forward my message.

Thoran

His face a stony mask, Galadhion looked up when Sinaht addressed the messenger. “Galion, I guess you have already been there. Tell us what you saw.”

The guard swallowed but straightened his shoulders. Commander Sinaht had indirectly hinted at the fact that although the letter was addressed to him, it had obviously been opened beforehand.

“My Lord, the parchment was given to my father through a messenger and while not knowing your exact whereabouts and presuming that it could be something important, he opened the letter,” he said feeling the need to explain.

Sinaht only nodded and waved the remark away. Galion’s father Thalan was one of the four commanders assigned to oversee sections of the great forest.  He was a long time friend, as were the other three, and a most trusted confidant who received his orders directly from him or the King. Given the circumstances and Thalan’s fears, it was forgivable that he opened the letter, even though it had not been addressed to him.

“Continue!” he ordered with barely restrained patience. The young elf did not even blink at the strained tone of his chief.

“My father ordered the warriors at hand to depart immediately for the appointed place. With me there were six members of the northern section including Meldiron. We reached the clearing by nightfall.”

Sinaht nodded again. Meldiron was the commander of the western section. Then he clenched his jaw. He would surely not like what the young elf had to report next.

And he was proven right. The young warrior was not able to hold his gaze any longer. With lowered eyes he continued.

“When we entered the clearing we saw instantly what Thoran had meant with his threat. Bound to two huge trees were the bodies of Threlan and Erelas….”

The gasp from Galadhion interrupted the monotone flood of words. Threlan was the son of Meldiron and Erelas was the son of Sadron, commander of the eastern section. Thoran had knowingly chosen two elves who were close relations of warriors who held key positions under King Thranduil’s reign. How he had managed this was not important now.

After looking at the Crown Prince with a heavy sigh Sinaht directed his gaze back at the lieutenant.

“Please continue Galion.” 

“We had no chance to ascertain if they were still alive because we were instantly attacked by two giant spiders hovering behind the trees. We made quick work of the beasts, yet we also discovered that they had already feasted. What we had not seen from the distance was all the more obvious when we hurried over to check on the prisoners. The spiders had sucked them out alive. They were barely recognizable. Thank the Belain they had already heeded the call of Mandos before we arrived.”

Sinaht did not even blink. He had suffered many cruelties during the war against Sauron and the long years of siege at Barad-Dûr Yet, back then you could always justify the death of comrades because of the nature of war and so protect your soul from getting wounded too deeply.

But there was no such justification for such an act and Thoran had clearly crossed a line now.

Galadhion, on the other hand, did swallow hard to hold his emotions in check. Sinaht knew that the Crown prince was a friend of the two young elves and that the message had hit him hard.

Then everyone who had doubted Galadhion’s firmness was suddenly disappointed. Galadhion was with every fibre a son of his father and his next words showed this clearly.

“Galion, thank you for your report. I will depart immediately and meet with the four section commanders. Thoran wants a war and he will get one.”

The lieutenant bowed hastily while the prince was already turning away. “As you wish my Lord. The Commanders have already arrived at the gathering place.”

Galadhion nodded while facing his friend. “Sinaht please break camp immediately and lead the woman and children quickly toward the agreed place. I will ride ahead of you and make sure that all is ready.”

“Galion, Ralan,” he addressed the two guards; “you will accompany this group and increase their protection!”

Before anyone had a chance to reply Galadhion had swung up on Galion’s horse and vanished into the trees. Sinaht shook his head. Although it was already morning he was not comfortable that Galadhion had taken no guard with him. The crown prince however was more then capable of taking care of himself and speed was now of the essence Thoran had to be stopped.

With a sigh Sinaht turned, already thinking hard about how he could explain the hasty departure of his older brother to a little, frightened boy.

To be continued……………….

Thalan – commander of the north section of Mirkwood

Sadron - commander of the east section of Mirkwood

Lathron - commander of the south section of Mirkwood

Meldrion – commander of the west section of Mirkwood

Chapter 16:  return

Elladan directed a quick glance at Elrohir riding next to him. The twin brothers and the Prince had just crossed the border into Mirkwood, and as always the older twin felt the oppressive atmosphere of the great forest immediately.

He had difficulty understanding how the wood elves could endure the twilight produced by the ever growing shadow that spread inexorably from the fortress of the Necromancer. Yet, it was their home and they would never give it up, even though they had already lost their freedom to roam freely through the once peaceful green forest.

Now, with the vague idea what had happened to the regime here, the forest seemed even more oppressive then ever. In contrast to his brother, Elrohir appeared unaffected. But Elladan knew better. He clearly sensed the same uneasiness coming through their bond.

When Saeron reined in his mount the twins followed swiftly, with no more than a whispered word to their beasts. The Prince had closed his eyes and was listening.

Knowing that the wood elves were much finer attuned with the trees and the creatures around them, the brothers did not even try to overhear the dialog their friend was holding. Instead they directed their senses outward to detect any threats.

After a few moments Saeron opened his eyes and looked into the expectant faces of his friends. Elladan could not contain his impatience any longer. “What have you learned, my friend?” he whispered his eyes never leaving their surroundings.

“The trees are not warning of an immediate threat, yet there is great unrest and discontent. Something upsetting has happened, apart from the fact that Thoran has taken the rule of this realm by force, that is!”

Elrohir directed an uneasy glance at his brother. Even if he was not satisfied with this vague statement he knew from experience that it was futile to ask for more tangible details. The information Saeron was getting from the trees was always on an empathic level, never anything specific.

Nonetheless he would not make the mistake of ignoring any warning from the ancient sentries. Even if he could not commune with the trees in the way every wood elf could, he knew about the connection and this bond had saved them from harm many times.

However before the three young elves could decide what direction to take next, Saeron jerked his head up and stared into the dark path ahead. Elladan knew that Saeron could no more see through the darkness that he could, but again he had the support of the trees to compensate his inability to pierce the gloom.

The twin brothers were readying their bows assuming that something or someone was coming their way. The still relaxed posture of his friend however made Elladan frown. Whatever was approaching seemed to mean no harm.

His assumption was confirmed a second later when Saeron held up his hand. “Stay your weapons, my friends. Members of the border guard are nearing. They are on our side.”

Elrohir nodded and unstrung his bow while Elladan followed the request more reluctantly. Saeron had been away for over six weeks and many unforeseeable things could have happened.

Regardless he would not complicate the situation further, yet he would remain cautious. After all, they had their mission; to observe and judge the current situation in King Thranduil’s realm. His father’s decision to send warriors over the mountains would depend on their evaluation.

A moment later four elves dropped from the trees just in front of Saeron. Although he had half-expected this Elladan was startled by their sudden appearance and had some difficulty holding his equally startled mount still. Elrohir swore softly under his breath.

Saeron had not blinked nor had his mount moved an inch. The great stallion had even lowered his head was being indulged with a tender stroking of his nose from the elf standing in front of him. All three elves dismounted, yet kept their horses close by.

“My Prince, we are glad that you have returned and…not alone as we see,” the elf still stroking the muzzle of Saeron´s stallion said with a bow and a flick of his eyes toward the Imladrin elves. With a fluid motion he turned and inclined his head. “I also greet the sons of Elrond. Welcome to our realm even if the hour of our meeting is not so fortunate.”

Elladan and Elrohir acknowledged the greeting with a tip of their heads and the traditional words. “We thank you for the welcome. May the light shine on your path even if that light is now obscured.”

The elf standing before them radiated serenity and calm that caused the older twin to doubt that he was a simple member of the Border Guard. Saeron’s next words confirmed his assumption.

“Elladan, Elrohir, I would like to introduce Lathron, commander of the southern section of Mirkwood.

While the elf bowed again Elladan raised an eyebrow. He knew that Mirkwood was divided into four defensive sections, each commanded by a single commander who got his orders directly from the Troop Commander, Saeron’s brother Galadhion, or the King himself.

The Southern Section was considered to be the most dangerous of the four divisions because Dol Guldûr was located there. If Lathron was now leading this small group of warriors himself, through the outer regions of Mirkwood and far away from his usual territory, something profound must have happened to the well organized structure of this realm.

“My Lord, we are at your service. My father sends his greetings,” Elrohir retorted quickly after an uncomfortable silence. Although he knew what thoughts occupied his brother’s mind he could not refrain from sending an annoyed gaze at his silent sibling. Long ago he had accepted Elladan as their spokesperson.

Saeron however seemed not to have noticed the exchange or ignored it and addressed Lathron again. “Commander, please give me a short overview of what has been happening. Has there been any news of my father?” he asked while doing a great effort to mask his feelings. He had been away for over six weeks now and so much could have changed or happened in the meantime.

Saeron did not miss the flick of the Commander’s eyes toward the twin brothers standing at a respectable distance yet near enough to be able to hear every word.

“Commander, you can speak openly. Lord Elrond has granted us his full support. A troop of warriors is standing ready to aid us if necessary. They need only be summoned,” the prince added and let no room for an argument.

Lathron noticed Saeron’s tone immediately and snapped back to attention. Even if Saeron was not his Troop Commander he was a son of his King and his orders had to be followed without question.

“As you command, my Lord,” he said with a neutral tone, “but we should leave the path and retreat to a more…secluded spot. There is much to report.”

Only nodding, Saeron motioned for the twin brothers to follow the already retreating guards, while he brought up the rear. He was anxious to know what had happened while he was away.

……………………………

After gathering in a small clearing well off the path, and starting a small, smokeless fire, the elves sat down. Two of the warriors had returned to their posts in the trees to guard their prince and his guests. To a casual observer the scene could have been mistaken for a relaxed group around the fire, but in reality, it was anything but. The elves were neither relaxed nor were their tales merry ones to share.

After the sentries had confirmed that all was quiet Lathron begun to report what had happened while the prince had been away. Elladan and Elrohir listened intently their uneasiness growing with every additional word from the warrior.

“The Troop Commander and Chief of the Home Guard were able to gather many of the women and children and brought them safely to the old gathering place,” he began. 

Saeron nodded grimly.  So far their actions had agreed with what Galadhion and he had formulated before he had left for Imladris.  For the benefit of the twins Lathron had the grace to use names and point out details the brothers were not familiar with.

“In the meantime we established a defensible position and daily more refugees still loyal to our King arrive.” Saeron did not have to ask how difficult it must have been to supply so many elves with bare essentials. Yet with every day the risk increased that Thoran would detect them or send a spy amongst them and the atmosphere in the camp was accordingly tense.

When Lathron paused to take a sip of the tea they had boiled over the fire Saeron took a deep breath. “Any news of the King?” he asked. He could barely contain his anxiety any longer.

The twin brothers avoided the gaze of their friend because they could well sympathize with him and even the stern face of Lathron softened.

“Your brother was able to deliver a message to the King, although we do not know if it reached him.” Saeron only nodded. His father was alive but that was all he could say for sure. Thranduil would never transfer any discomfort through the bond he shared with his children. So he could not judge the state his father was in. Knowing Thoran he would surely made the imprisonment as trying as possible.

Saeron clenched his fists. He was used to action, to looking his opponent in the eyes. This cat and mouse game was wrecking his nerves.

“Is there any information about how the situation presents itself at the palace? How many followers does Thoran have around him?” Saeron asked determined to bring his focus back.

“Again the only reliable information came from your brother as sparse as it is. Thoran’s fellows are spread all over the palace but they cannot be enough to cover the whole area, yet he must have some benefit we do not know of…..”

Saeron narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” he interrupted in a carefully neutral tone. The foreboding let Saeron’s innards knot. Thoran was mad and unpredictable. Even Elladan and Elrohir had stiffened. How could this elf control as huge an area as the palace grounds without enough men? What foulness did they have to consider?

“Two days ago we attempted an assault against the palace to test the real strength of Thoran,” Lathron continued evenly but Saeron could catch the flashing of the Commander’s eyes for a fleeting moment. He swallowed. The strained tone of the Commander predicted nothing pleasant and the word choice “attempt” disturbed him greatly.

After refilling his cup Lathron continued. “Some of our warriors had barely crossed the bridge in front of the palace when the doors opened and an ellith appeared on the steps; one of the kitchen servants I have learned. She begged us not to attack because Thoran was holding all elflings within the palace as hostage and would kill them if we set one foot inside.”

Lathron had barely finished his last word when Saeron sprung up. “What?” he cried heedless of the annoyed gazes the sentries on the trees were giving him.

“Has he now completely lost his mind?” the prince asked again although in a much quieter voice. Knowing that he would not get an answer he clenched his fists in frustration. Elladan and Elrohir had also risen in shock and looked aghast at the section commander.

This was incredulous but it made one thing clear for them. Thoran was not worth negotiating with. He had already crossed a line of no return; there was no longer a basis to consider this elf a reasonable opponent. He was mad and had to be handled like the criminal he was.

Yet they did not have the right to judge or act in any way. The decisions had to come from their friend and the responsible elves at this realm. Yet another thing had become clear. Thoran could not be stopped with a great number of warriors. He had to be defeated with his own weapons.

To be continued…………….

Chapter 17:  despair

Now it had happened. He could no longer tell if it was day or night, if hours or days had gone by. He had lost track of time. Time was an endless blur while sitting and waiting for something, anything, to happen. With his back propped against the damp stone wall Thranduil wondered if he was awake or if this was merely an endless nightmare.

The acrid smell that invaded his nostrils reminded him that he was indeed awake, or could you register such odours while you were sleeping? It had been days since anyone had come to his dark prison and he had no other choice than to heed nature’s call in one corner of the cell. Not that there was much to dispel.  Yet his body was surprisingly still working, even after days without food and water.

He had even gotten accustomed in some way to the pain in his side every time he took a breath or moved. He was nearly sure that a broken rib had punctured his lung and he wondered why he had not bled to death. The injury allowed him only to inhale small amounts of air without passing out. Every movement caused blinding pain and made him dizzy.

Not that moving around was making much sense. If he had a breath to spare he would have laughed out loud. Even if the door would stand open he would not be able to walk out on his own as long as the bone was not set right.

This was so ridiculous. He had endured many worse hardships in his life. He struggled every day to protect the great forest from the ever growing number of foul creatures roaming around its borders. The dark tower of Dol Guldûr was a sting right to his heart.

Even his childhood had been ripped from him after the destruction of his home in Doriath first through the hands of the dwarves and finally some years later during the assault from the sons of Fëanor.

After the flight from the hidden kingdom toward Lindon he had never called a place home until his father had led his family away from the great city of High King Gil-Galad over the mountains into the land of Rhovanion.

There he had beheld for the first time the forest which would become his new home and had been so ever since. Yet the peaceful existence there did not last long after Sauron had returned to his fortress in Dol Guldûr. Over the years the great forest had even changed its name, from Eryn Galen – great Greenwood- to Taur-nu-Fuin – Mirkwood. Yet the wood elves remained and fought to retain every piece of ground of their beloved home even if it demanded much sacrifice.

And he had made many sacrifices, both personal and political, to guarantee the survival of the elves in this part of Middle earth. He had done this with conviction and without complaint, knowing that he acted for the benefit of his people.

But now he was not so sure of that. The very elves he had dedicated his life to protect had rebelled against him.

He angrily shook his head. The agitators were only a few; a little group around Thoran, blinded by his false promises. But then why was no one coming down here to tear open this dammed door? Why had Thoran not been overpowered by now?

When his vision begun to blur he knew that he had to calm down again and take slow, careful breaths. He slowly inhaled and exhaled to dispel the dizziness. This had become second nature during the many days and nights he had endured here.

After a while he had found the rhythm that prevented the worst pain. With his head on his raised knees he sat in the only position that would allow him to sleep short periods of time without agony.

When the wheezing sound of his lungs had stilled to a nearly normal noise he became aware of another sound he had not heard before. Carefully he lifted his head and listened.

On the corridor outside he could hear shuffling feet and hushed voices. As much as the pounding of the blood in his ears allowed him, he strained his senses to hear what was being said. The voices sounded impatient and angry.

Thranduil frowned. Someone was forcing others down the corridor. What was the meaning of this? The angry commands hinted that those being pushed were not happy to be there.

His heart began to pound harder in his chest. Had other elves been captured and were now being brought down here? Without conscious thought he rose when he heard a painful cry. He froze. If he was not very much mistaken, it had been the cry of a child.

Again the fear that one of his sons could be among the captured flared up. Thoran had confronted him with the tokens he had acquired from his sons earlier but until now he had not come again to demand some decision from him. Had it been an empty threat? But it made no difference if one his sons or any other children had been captured. He would not accept any elfling in the hands of this criminal.

His right arm wound around his torso holding it tightly. He used his left arm to feel along the wall toward the door. The anxiety let him partially suppress the pain. After reaching the door he pressed his ear against the wood. Its cool surface was soothing to his flushed face and he was now able to make out individual words.

He narrowed his eyes. Someone was in fact herding elflings down the corridor. Some of the children were crying, others complaining and one obviously brave child even protested. A loud slap however silenced the elfling effectively.

Thranduil balled his fists. Whose children were these and why were they being brought down here into the storerooms?

Then he laughed a mirthless laugh. What a ridiculous question. Thoran had found the perfect means to secure his position and prevent an attack. No one outside, warrior or citizen, would dare to strike against the palace. No elf would risk endangering the little ones.

Now Thoran had made the one step that would forever separate him from elven society, regardless how this would end. Thranduil had long pondered how he would handle Thoran when all this was over; if it if it ended in his favour, that is. But now Thoran had made his decision for him. He would never again have a place in any elven society on Middle earth.

When another loud command silenced the last of the crying children the King hold his breath. For some minutes nothing could be heard until a loud bang indicated that a heavy door had been slammed shut. Because he could no longer hear any voices of the children he guessed that they had been imprisoned in a storeroom similar to his own.

For a second he pondered pounding against the stone wall to let the little ones know that he was here and they were not alone but quickly he reasoned that it would be futile. The stones were much too thick. He would only exhaust himself and achieve nothing. His condition wouldn’t allow such an action anyway.

Yet he remained at the door when another sound could be heard. Fist he could not identify what caused it but after the third massive object had been moved past his door he was sure of what was happening. Someone was rolling the huge barrels they used to transport goods from the palace to Esgaroth down the corridor.

He narrowed his eyes. Why was Thoran bringing the great oak barrels down here? What purpose would they serve? Ten more barrels rolled past his door before someone opened the door to the storeroom where the elflings were held and began rolling the barrels inside.

The King could only hear the shrieking of the frightened children while they crowded into one corner of the room to make room for the barrels.

Thranduil’s blood ran cold. What was Thoran planning? He balled his fists in anger as again some slaps could be heard that silenced the elflings. This made no sense. The children were secure enough in the store room. He had no means to break free and surely no child could either. What were the barrels for?

He could no longer sit here and do nothing. While the elves passed his door to get back upstairs, he pounded his fist against the wood, ignoring the up flaring pain.

“Open the door at once!” he cried as loud as his tormented lungs would allow him. To his surprise the door was pushed open so quickly that he had no chance to get out of the way. He was shoved back and impacted hard with the wall behind him.

He could not prevent sliding to the floor when the stabbing pain exploded again in his right side. Panting hard to dispel the dizziness and get rid of the stars dancing before his eyes, he lifted his head.

An elf he had never seen before and a second one close behind him stood in the open doorway. “Look, our King is still alive. He is tougher then Thoran expected. This will really not please him!” the one in front sneered.

Thranduil suppressed the impulse to respond because he simply had no breath to spare. Rising to his knees and then to a standing position he fixed the elves with his green eyes. “What are you planning to do with the children? Let them go! They have nothing to do with this!” he demanded with a barely restrained voice.

As if really pondering his demand the elf closest to him hesitated before he stepped even closer. Near enough that Thranduil could feel the other’s breath, the two tall elves glared at one another.

“You are very much mistaken, your Majesty. They have everything to do with it and they will have to bear the consequences of your failure.”

Thranduil swallowed not sure what this statement meant. But before he could retort anything he was interrupted. “Spare your breath, Thranduil. As Thoran said, you are no longer important to us. We are punishing the children for the stunt your warriors attempted a few days ago.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. What was this elf speaking about? Had his warriors tried to attack the palace? What had happened?

His thoughts raced. How could he stop this madness? How were they going to “punish” the children? That thought alone caused his gut to cringe.

The elf seemed to read his thoughts for he stepped again closer.

“This is your last chance, Thranduil! Abdicate and call your warriors back or the next generation of wood elves will have no future!”

Thranduil paled which his opponent could fortunately not see in the dimness. Thoran did not only mean to use the children as hostages he would kill them if the situation changed for the worse for him.

The elf was mad. It no longer made sense to think of him as a reasonable counterpart. He had to be removed by any means necessary.

“Well?” the elf only standing inches away from him demanded.

Thranduil lowered his head and closed his eyes. He could not do this. Help now had to come from outside. He hoped that Thoran would not put his threat in practice immediately. Thranduil could only hope to buy some time.

When the King did not give an answer, the elf laughed and turned.

“That's what I thought!”

The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

To be continued…………………………..

Chapter 18:  reunion

After several hours the twin sons of Elrond, King Thranduil´s second son Prince Saeron, and Lathron, the southern section commander neared the clearing where the warriors had retreated to regroup.

Lathron had reached the gathering point as fast as the three riders while moving through the trees. Elladan recognized this feat with wonder and not a small amount of envy. Even if they could not allow the horses as much speed as they would have on open land they had made good time, yet the warrior did not have any trouble following, he didn’t even seem to be out of breath.

The twins had once attempted to run along the trees with Saeron and had learned with surprise that the trees formed their branches to create regular paths upon which the wood elves could move without fear of falling.

His brother Elrohir had trusted that the trees would do him the same favour and nearly broke his neck when he tumbled from the branch of a large oak.

‘So much for racing through the trees if you aren’t a wood elf,’ they had thought. Since then the Imladris elves preferred to stay close to the ground or on the back of their horses when moving through the forest.

When they dismounted Lathron was already waiting for them with a raised eyebrow. Elladan ignored the jibe; however before he had finished his thought he felt a blade pressed to his throat.

He froze and even refrained from swallowing. His brother whirled around sensing his distress immediately. Quicker then a mortal eye could have followed Elrohir had notched an arrow to his bow and was now aiming the projectile at the elf threatening Elladan. Saeron had also turned quickly at seeing his friend readying his weapon. Lathron had not moved an inch. He was watching the scene with detachment.

“Galion!” Saeron said calmly, yet with an unmistakable undertone that clearly displayed his irritation. “Lower your weapon, at once!”

The elf addressed as Galion hesitated only for a second, but then he lowered his blade and stepped back. Elrohir followed the elf´s every movement with his bow and unstrung it after Galion had sheathed his dagger.

Elladan did not even look over his shoulder while he directed a displeased gaze at the prince. “Thank you for the friendly welcome,” he muttered while massaging his neck where the blade had left a red mark.

Saeron had stepped past Elladan and was now standing before Galion. “What is the meaning of this? These are the sons of Lord Elrond! You reaction shames us!”

Galion had raised his chin in a defiant gesture but then lowered his eyes. Lathron had stepped behind his prince. Feeling the tension and disapprovement radiating from the King’s son in waves he placed a placating hand on the young elf’s shoulder.

“Please, do not be too harsh with Galion. He has already seen the madness of our opponent.”

When Saeron looked at Lathron questioningly, the section commander indicated this story would be told later. Accepting this for the time being Saeron turned to face the twins. Elrohir had already inspected his brother’s neck but found nothing to worry about.

“I apologise for…..” Saeron begun, but Elladan only waved the apology aside. “Do not worry about it” he muttered, “but please let us enter the clearing before anyone mistakes us for orcs.”

Saeron smiled. Elladan was smart enough to guess that the tension was credited to the unwonted situation. As good a friend as the brothers were with the sons of King Thranduil the wood elves had never made a secret of their dislike of the Noldor.

Yet Saeron had known Elladan for many years and the heir of Lord Elrond was not one to hold a grudge for long. Together with the brothers, and followed by Galion and Lathron, he entered the clearing where their appearance had already attracted attention.

Saeron had no chance to greet the elves rushing toward him before a high pitched cry sounded from above him. He looked up and was hard pressed to catch the elfling jumping into his arms.

“Saeron, you are back,” Legolas cried his eyes sparkling. “We walked all night, but I was not afraid. Gal is here also, yet Ada is not. Where is he, Saeron? Where have you been?”

Only the need for air stopped the flood of words and questions and Saeron had to blink at the disapproving expression on his little brother’s face. Legolas was a perfect copy of his father, even the deep furrow between his eyebrows, always appearing when troubled, resembled Thranduil greatly.

Despite the tension still manifest within the twin brothers they had to smile at the inquisitive elfling. ‘So this is the King’s youngest son,’ Elladan transferred to his brother via mind speech and Elrohir only nodded. They had yet to meet officially.

“Well...,” Saeron begun while directing an imploring gaze at Galadhion, already striding toward them. Legolas would not be easily deterred and Saeron did not know what his older brother had told the boy.

Legolas did not let his brother off the hook. “I had to accomplish a mission for Ada,” Saeron said carefully neutral. “We all want to help, Ada, do we not, little brother?” Contemplating that the answer had only partially satisfied him, Legolas nodded thinly. Elladan had to clear his throat to hide a laugh and Saeron directed a glare at the brothers.

Galadhion had meanwhile reached the group and while Lathron and Galion inclined their heads to pay their respect. Saeron handed Legolas over to the Troop Commander.

“Welcome back, Saeron,” he greeted his brother warmly and squeezed Saeron´s arm in sympathy. “You have achieved your goal and brought support as I see. On behalf of the King I welcome the sons of Elrond to Mirkwood.”

Elladan and Elrohir inclined their heads and Galadhion did not miss the glance exchanged between his brother and the twins. There was a story to be told and he would not miss hearing it.

“Come join us at the fire,” Galadhion said while pointing to the middle of the clearing where a respectable fire was burning. “I’ll be with you shortly to exchange news.”

Galadhion set Legolas on his feet and encouraged the boy to run ahead before he turned and gave some orders to Lathron and Galion. Saeron and the twins followed the elfling already calling them to sit next to him on the logs arranged around the fire.

As soon as Elrohir was sitting down the elfling scrambled into his lap and gazed intently at the stranger. “Hello, I’m Legolas. Are you a friend of my brother Saeron?” he asked with the same earnest face he had used earlier on his brother.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. This one had a strong will and was a son of the King and no mistake. “Yes, little one, my brother and I are friends to your brothers. We are here to help them.”

With a critical eye the elfling observed the elf sitting next to the one whose lap he was occupying. This one had a strangely similar appearance. But before he could ask why his Ada should be in need of any help he was lifted out of the lap by Isiwen, the mother of his friend Elion.

“Come, sweetling, I’ve baked some cakes for you children. You surely want some, do you not?” she asked while setting the elfling back on his feet.

Only hesitating briefly Legolas nodded and jumping out of her arms; raced toward the other children already indulging in the sweets. Saeron mouthed a ‘thank you’ toward Isiwen and smiled until his brother was out of earshot.

After Galadhion had come over and taken a seat beside his brother he looked thoughtfully at the twins. “I’d not expected to see you here in Mirkwood, but I’m grateful for your coming and that you have accompanied my brother back,” he began while he handed cups of tea around.

Elladan and Elrohir accepted the hot beverage with a thankful nod while Saeron declined, his gaze not leaving the ground around his feet. Galadhion frowned. Since their arrival Saeron had avoided his eyes. With an inquiring gaze the Troop Commander looked at Elladan and the older twin steeled himself. Now the story how Saeron had arrived at Imladris and how the initial unfortunate negotiations had started had to be told.

Galadhion was not one to be fooled easily and so his question was right to the point and as always sharp minded. “Is there anything I should know, little brother?” he said in a much too sweet voice although even Elladan cringed at the steel in the words. Saeron bristled at the tone but was smart enough to not rile Galadhion any further.

Elladan knew about the sometimes strained relationship between the brothers; it was not easy to have an older brother who was not only heir to the throne but also your commanding officer. The pointed reminder that he was the younger did nothing to let Saeron relax.

When the silence between the elves begun to stretch uncomfortably Elrohir cleared his throat and looked straight at the Troop Commander. “My Lord, Prince Saeron arrived at Imladris six weeks ago and brought my father word of the unfortunate events here in Mirkwood!”

Galadhion’s head snapped up at the formal tone and he realized at once that his harsh words were perhaps inappropriate. After all, Saeron had risked his life to bring help to the much pressed elves in Mirkwood and the presence of the twins was testimony that his mission had been successful.

Directing his gaze at his brother Galadhion waited until Saeron had raised his eyes. “Saeron, I’m sorry, my words were spoken in haste. Please accept my apology.”

When Saeron only nodded, Galadhion redirected his gaze at the twins. “Please continue, I’m eager to learn what my brother achieved and what we can expect from your presence here.”

As was their wont Elladan took the lead after an approving nod from Saeron. Galadhion did not interrupt Elladan’s tale a single time, rather he listened attentively. However his shock at the information that his brother had nearly died before reaching Imladris and the dismay over the tedious negotiations with the other elven realms was plain to see on his face.

However when Elladan had ended he let out a breath and looked approvingly at Saeron. “You did well brother and I assure you that the two elves that tried to kill you will answer for their crime.”

Saeron nodded. “One of them might already be dead, Arroch kicked him hard. The other may have returned after I escaped.” Galadhion took a deep breath. As much as he wanted to punish the elves that had tried to kill his brother he had to refrain from doing so at least for the time being. They had much more pressing matters calling for their attention.

After the full tale had been told Galadhion begun to inform his brother and the twins what had happened meanwhile in the King’s realm. Saeron could hardly fight down his anger when he learned that they still had no contract with his father. The report about the elves that had been murdered by the great spiders through the treachery of Thoran made him gasp incredulously. But he sprang up enraged when Galdhion told them about the failed attack against the palace due to the vile act of Thoran using elflings as hostages.

When Saeron had calmed down, Elladan looked at the Troop Commander, with a troubled expression on his face. “The situation is complex and this Thoran is more dangerous than we expected. He’s unpredictable and has moved far away from any acceptable behaviour. We will not achieve anything with reasonable arguments, I fear.”

Galadhion nodded sadly. Yes, Elladan and he had come to the same conclusion. Thoran had to be removed by any means necessary. The point of no return was long past.

Seeing the frown on Elrohir’s face Galadhion raised his eyebrow to encourage the younger twin to share his thoughts.

“As much as the situation here is unclear and in need of investigation, I do not see how we would achieve a victory by increasing the number of warriors that you already have. I don’t see how Imladris can help by sending more warriors.”

Galadhion did not blink when he answered. “You are right, Elrohir. We can only beat Thoran with cunning and by using his own weapons against him. Yet we have another problem.”

As if on cue a sentry came running into the clearing. He rushed straight toward Galadhion, acting unaware of the Troop Commander’s guests. He made a hasty bow and did not wait to be given permission to speak.

“My Lord, I’m coming directly from the southern border. Orcs are massing there. We do not know when they will strike but when they do and all is indicating that it will be soon then the settlements still occupied, will be lost.”

Galadhion had slowly risen as had the twins. He directed a pained gaze at the brothers. “When taking command Thoran had ordered all warriors guarding the southern borders to retreat. He is convinced that when we no longer fight against Sauron he will stop his advances and ignore the settlements. Thoran is of the opinion that Sauron will stay at Dol Guldûr when he is no longer provoked.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Elrohir cried. “Sauron will seize the opportunity immediately.”

Galadhion nodded. “Yes, and the settlers, who have still not followed my father’s orders to retreat, will have no means to repel an attack. Although many warriors have not followed Thoran’s command, enough have left the South that now too few remain to stand against a large band of orcs. The settlements will be lost anyway.”

Elladan had placed a sympathetic hand on his friend’s arm. “I understand your predicament, Galadhion but I’m not entirely sure what you expect from us. How can we help you with this?”

Galadhion looked from on twin to the other. “As you said before; Thoran we cannot defeat with greater numbers, but with the orcs we need as many warriors as possible to strengthen the group that is still remaining there and fighting for their rightful King!”

Elladan and Elrohir nodded simultaneously. “We will send a messenger bird to Imladris. Father will send the warriors on their way within two days.”

Galadhion heaved a deep breath. “They will be late anyway.”

To be continued…………………….

Chapter 19:  breaking free

Thranduil pressed his ear against the door but try as he might he could not hear anything. He estimated that three days had passed since Thoran’s last appearance.

To his surprise the pain in his right side had lessened but he was not sure that this was a good sign. His entire torso felt somewhat numb. Even the manner of pain had changed. The piercing pain, which had initially only appeared when he was moving or breathing deeply had changed to a dull permanent ache tormenting him even when he was sitting still.

However a day ago someone had brought him food -- a delicious meal no less. This was surely not Thoran’s doing and Thranduil thanked his benefactor silently. He had been asleep or unconscious and had missed the opportunity to get in contact with a possible ally. Even a fresh tunic had been shoved underneath the door at some time. It was not one of his own, but it fit him nonetheless. Again, he had missed contacting this possible ally.

The hearty sustenance and the fresh water had done him good and restored some of his hope. The clean tunic felt heavenly against his still filthy skin. The blood stained, torn and repulsive one was ripe for disposal, nothing else.

As worried as he was about the fact that he had missed someone who was not in league with Thoran twice, he had other thoughts that plagued his mind awake or asleep.

What had become of the children Thoran had imprisoned two doors further down the corridor? Thranduil could not say how many had been gathered, but he was sure that it had been at least ten. Since the door had been closed behind them he had not heard any sound from them; no crying, no calling, no sign that they were even there! How had Thoran managed to silence them? Thranduil had not even finished this train of thought when an icy hand was gripping his heart hindering his restricted breathing even more.

Thoran could not have killed the children? Thranduil closed his eyes. Not even Thoran would go that far! The pain in his heart intensified because he could not answer this question with a clear: ‘No!’

Panting hard the King was sliding down the wall not caring that the fresh tunic was getting torn and soiled. For hours he had tried to get in contact with the elflings, he had shouted and had beat against the stone wall until his hands were bleeding but he had gotten no response. Either the children were dead or no longer there.

When the desperation threatened to drown him he did something he had not done in a long time. The King of Mirkwood opened his senses and channelled his entire mind’s power to flee his hroa and get in touch with his people, with the trees and with the living nature all around these unyielding stone walls. While shutting out his conscious perception he intensified the trance until he was able to cast off all earthly fetters.

First all was blurred and somewhat diffuse. But the more he concentrated his spirit, the more the shapes of trees and stones, of animals and leaves, and of grass and water became clear.

He could nearly smell the freshness of the meadow in the great clearing not a league east from the palace. He could almost feel the spray of water from the underground river where it left the crevice under the palace and rushed westward. He was aware of the earth beneath his bare feet when he walked along the woodland path.

And suddenly it happened. He could again hear the music; the ever present background noise that only elves could perceive, the very essence of their existence.

With growing vigour he indulged in the intense feeling he had missed for so long and almost forgotten. He was able to breathe in deeply without feeling the piercing pain that had been plaguing him now for over eight weeks. He felt no hunger, no thirst and his skin soaked up the rays of the sun while his mind soared over the roof of the great trees.

His mind soaked up the energy greedily and he dove back into the sheltering forest to inhale the intense scent of the trees, the leaves, the bark and the earth.

Hovering over the limbs of a magnificent oak he narrowed his focus and searched for the fea of his people. He didn’t have to search long. The various feelings that beat against his mind made him reel back at first. It was not their multitude, but their intensity that shocked him.

The predominant emotions were those of great uncertainty, fear and hate. Those feelings were unusual for his people. Long ago the wood elves had learned to live with the shadow that was encroaching into their land. True hate was a rare feeling among the firstborn.

Thranduil of course realized that these feelings were aimed at Thoran and he directed calming thoughts throughout his forest, stenghtening the confidence of his people. Yet he did not want to weaken their resolution to stand against the elves who had stirred so much unrest. He was intent upon ripping away the shock and lethargy, and strengthening their resilience and hope.

Of course this was not a message that his people would understand like spoken words, yet he transferred his strength and his hope to withstand the enemy. In his weakened state, he could not make the contact as intensive as he wished, nor reach as far as he had hoped, yet the connection would be sufficient enough to leave an imprint on a spirit here and there.

His fea’s expedition outside was like consuming a drug. He felt intoxicated by the time his body demanded his spirit back which was still confined in the black prison of the storeroom. For one second before he lost consciousness he felt content. Should he never leave this prison alive he had, for a last time, felt his beloved trees and had been able to get in contact with some of his people.

…………………………………………………

Prince Galadhion had sent two scouts to accompany the guard who had brought the message that orcs were gathering in the south. An hour ago they had come back to report. Great numbers of the foul beings around the dark tower was nothing unusual but the scouts reported clearly that the orcs were gathering systematically to march against the settlements in the south. This was new.

Usually orc attacks were uncoordinated and dilettantish. Now their strategy was plain to see. They had quickly recognized that the patrol schedules had changed. Whatever power directed them had reacted quickly and drawn the right conclusions. The orcs would take full advantage of the elves’ predicament.

Even though the former attacks were ragged the elves had suffered great losses throughout the years. Yet the orcs would now assail them with a great number, and without the usual levels of border guards ranged against them, the settlements in the south would be lost.

Three days ago Elladan of Imladris had sent a messenger bird toward his home requesting his father to send the warriors waiting at the borders of the sheltered valley. As grateful as he was for this offer and help, Galadhion was realistic enough to know that the help would never arrive in time to assist any efforts.

He could only hope to hold the orcs in check for as long as possible until help arrived. Therefore he had to send all the warriors he had at his disposal into the south. Fortunately most of the warriors and guards had withdrawn from Thoran’s grasp and gathered here in the forest, but it was not nearly the full contingent that Galadhion could usually command.

Additionally, it was a motley crew of many different segments of Mirkwood’s warriors; members of the Home Guard, as well as members from all four border sections. Galadhion was thankful for every one of them, but it was nothing compared to the organized and specialized units he was accustomed to working with.

Their troops were incomplete. Yet the forest was great and there must have been other gathering places such as this where the warriors would assemble. Or so he hoped. He took a deep breath when he thought about the elves which had followed Thoran willingly. Their number was not that great, yet they were a force to be reckoned with and by no means could be underestimated.

In case of a confrontation they would have to fight against their own kin and this he feared the most. Family members and friends would have to fight against one another for their conviction and this was the worst thing he could imagine.

Their first concern however was to stop the orcs or at least prevent a massacre. Galadhion hoped that the settlers would now see reason and retreat further north immediately. He would lead this mission himself and he hoped that they would not arrive too late.

He had already transferred the command over the warriors and elves here to Saeron and assembled as many members of the border guards as he could without thinning the protectors of the woman and children too much. He grimaced while he let his gaze wander over the group. The elves left behind would be easy prey for any attacker, whether they had a few more warriors or not.

Just as he was about to mount his stallion Legolas come running across the clearing, ducking under the nervous prancing horses to reach him. Galadhion swallowed and bent down to catch the blond elfling. When Legolas was secure in his arms he directed an irritated glare at Isiwen trying to catch the fleet-footed elfling.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but in one unwatched moment he slipped away,” she said while she stopped and made a hasty bow. Galadhion had not missed her slightly accusing undertone. He softened his gaze at her and instead directed a stern look at his brother.

“Legolas, you are supposed to behave and follow Isiwen’s…..”

“But, Gal, listen!” Legolas demanded while pointing into the trees. “Can you not hear it?” The Troop Commander closed his mouth and had already forgotten what he had wanted to say.

He directed his gaze at the trees. The leaves were rustling against each other and the branches swayed as if they were in a strong breeze. Yet there was no wind which could cause this. Galadhion directed his gaze at the sky above the clearing. There was not one cloud.

His let his astounded gaze wander over the clearing. Every elf, adult or child had risen and was listening to the trees. The breeze ruffled the long and unbound hair of the elflings. Warriors and citizens alike stood there amazed.

Suddenly two little hands enveloped his face. He directed his gaze at his brother, still in his arms. “Gal,” Legolas whispered. “Open your senses. Listen!”

As if a switch had been turned on, Galadhion staggered back against the tree behind him when a strong emotion swept over him. He needed a moment to realize that the sound did not come from outside, but from within.

He swallowed at the intensity of the feeling. There were no words but emotions, loving feelings that enveloped his fea and strengthened his resolve and hope. A look at the sparkling eyes of his little brother confirmed that he was not dreaming.

Legolas nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s Ada, it’s Ada!” the elfling cried and fat tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Galadhion could only nod. Yes, their father had somehow managed to get in contact with them, yet when he looked around he could see that the message was not limited to their family. All of the elves had received it. Galadhion could only stare. His father rarely displayed his power by using some of the magic still dominant within the elves of old.

And Galadhion was sure that this message had been sent throughout the whole forest. It was just what the elves of Mirkwood had needed; a beacon lighted to show them that there was still hope.

When someone touched his shoulder Galadhion nearly jumped. Legolas had snuggled against his chest and had closed his eyes contently.

“You should leave,” Saeron said softly and opened his arms to receive the sleepy elfling. “You cannot get a better signal!”

Galadhion nodded still drunk from the emotional sweep a few minutes before. Now all had passed. The trees were as still as before and no sound could be heard. Everyone in the clearing was still thinking about the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Galadhion was sad that the moment had passed and the contact had ceased. Yet he knew now that his father was strong enough to encourage his people to fight on.

He could never have achieved with words what his father had just accomplished. He kissed the brow of his little brother now secure in Saeron’s arms and clasped arms with him.

“I will leave now, brother. I wish you luck with your endeavour.”

“As do I, Galadhion. Please come back to us,” Saeron retorted while he set Legolas back on his feet, but not without clasping his little hand firmly.

Galadhion nodded and looked carefully at the elfling looking back at him with bright eyes. No tears this time, no tantrum? He heaved a deep breath.

Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Surreptitiously he stole glances at the faces of the warriors accompanying him. Their gazes were directed towards the south, their expressions grim and resolute.

‘Thank you, Ada!’ Galadhion thought while he spurred his horse forward. Saeron and Legolas waved their brother goodbye.

‘May the Belain watch over your path,’ Saeron prayed as he picked up the elfling and returned to the clearing. His mission would be as dangerous as that of his brother, yet he would undertake it with the same resolve. Now it was high time to strike back!

To be continued………………..

Chapter 20:  playing cat and mouse

Saeron held up his hand to signal his fellows to keep their cover. He and thirty warriors had managed to sneak up to the palace. They hid behind some bushes just in front of the bridge over the underground river which left the palace just beneath the entrance gate.

They had needed hours to skirt around the guards Thoran had posted around the palace but now that they had reached their goal something was not right.

Saeron narrowed his eyes and again scanned their surroundings. He started when Galion placed a hand on his shoulder. Galion was the son of Thalan, commander of the north section and his best friend.

“What is it?” the brown haired elf whispered.

Saeron placed a finger over his lips and both elves moved back further into the bushes.

“What do you see?” Saeron asked while he again looked at the palace entrance.

Galion followed the gaze of his prince and shook his head.

“Nothing!” he whispered and looked at Saeron irritated.

“Exactly!” Saeron answered, and the irritation on Galion’s face increased. Saeron sighed.

“Is it not odd that there is no guard in sight? Not even at the entrance?”

Now it was Galion’s turn to narrow his eyes. Saeron was right. Even though they had seen many guards around the palace as they sneaked in, there were none to be seen directly at the entrance. In fact he could see no guard at all.

“What is the meaning of this?” Galion whispered.

Saeron shrugged his shoulders. Thoran was a wily fox. He did nothing without reason. He would surely not ‘forget’ to post a watch, so why was there no look-out on guard?

Yet when the men began to get anxious Saeron still gave the signal to infiltrate the palace. They had come here to get into the palace, preferably without a fight or using force. Yet they would not shy away from the challenge, no matter what dirty tricks Thoran might come up with.

Without making any noise the warriors led by Saeron left their hiding place and ran along the bridge toward the great gates. Saeron heaved a great sigh of relief when he saw that they still stood open. At some time his father must have released the spell holding them closed.

Saeron hoped that his father had done this willingly and not because Thoran had forced him or that he no longer had control over that magic.

Initially Saeron was not sure if this was a good sign but now he was glad that the heavy stone gates stood open. Had they been closed, no power in this world could have managed to break them open or release the spell.

Sneaking past the gates Saeron stepped into the courtyard, at all times expecting hidden guards to come forth. Yet nothing happened. The courtyard was deserted. Quickly he crossed the open space and ran up the many steps leading up to the entrance.

He did not look back but was sure that the warriors were following him. The warm breath on the back of his neck confirmed that Galion was right behind him.

Carefully he stepped inside the palace and into the hallway through another open doorway. Now all the hair on his neck stood on end. Again no guards and no members of the staff could be seen.

Even if it was now clear that Thoran wanted to lure them into a trap Saeron motioned all warriors inside and made some gestures and signs. He had told the warriors that they should not wander too far apart. Only as a closed group would they stand a chance against an assault from Thoran’s fellows. That this attack would come he had no doubt. Thoran had retreated into some crevice and was waiting for his chance.

Yet they had also to search the rooms. If possible they wanted to free his father and search for the children Thoran was holding hostage. Even if Thorn had threatened to kill the elflings Saeron hoped that they could somehow talk sense into this mad elf or at least prevent his carrying out his threat.

But where was Thoran hiding? Saeron grimaced. Thoran was no coward, yet would he risk getting caught? The empty palace was telling another story. Thoran had not cleared the space, had he?

Saeron shook his head at this thought earning a bewildered look from Galion. No, this rioter would not give up. He would fight until his last breath.

“He is here somewhere, do not doubt that,” Galion whispered and Saeron smiled. Galion had quickly interpreted his gesture. He loved this elf like a brother, sometimes more then his brother Galadhion. Galion understood him. They had been friends since early childhood.

When one of the warriors whistled softly Saeron turned and hastened through the great hall toward the elf. He was standing in front of the double doors leading to the throne room. Even these doors stood open, an unusual sight.

No one was permitted into this room until summoned or when his father held court or received petitions. Even Saeron and his brothers had to be announced if they wanted to speak with their father. He had always found this odd but he had never known it differently.

Saeron peeked around the door into the great room but could detect nothing unusual; yet again no elf could be seen. This part of the palace normally bustled with activity; this silence and emptiness was unnerving.

Saeron closed the doors and had two warriors take up a post in front of the entrance. They would make sure that no one would sneak in and surprise them and they could observe the palace entrance easily. Saeron was not planning on being surprised behind his back.

Just when he wanted to give the signal to search the palace further they heard the noise of running feet coming down a side corridor. Without delay the warriors retreated behind pillars, hid in alcoves or ducked behind furniture.

Saeron and Galion flattened themselves to the left and right against the wall where the corridor met the hall. While the warriors had drawn their bows Galion and Saeron made themselves ready to catch whoever was coming down the corridor.

When the elf entered the hallway the two friends sprang forward and wrestled the elf down while landing almost on top of him. Saeron grabbed the wrists while Galion slung his arm around the neck and pressed a hand over the other’s mouth.

From the beginning something had felt odd and now Saeron looked into the frightened eyes of a young woman. It took a moment for him to register that they had managed to overpower a woman and were now holding her down with a more than uncomfortable grip.

On first impulse Saeron released her wrists but Galion did not loosen his hold. After an irritated look from his prince Galion shook his head. “She could be a follower of Thoran, Saeron!” the young warrior whispered and Saeron nodded.

He stood and helped the woman up, yet Galion did not let her out of his grip. Saeron motioned for the warriors to lower their weapons. He could not see any of them, but he knew they were there. As long as he was interrogating the capture woman they would watch their surroundings.

He directed his gaze back at the woman.

“Who are you? I’m….”

“Prince Saeron. I know, and I’m no follower of Thoran,” the young woman replied and directed an irritated gaze a Galion. “Would you be so kind as to release me?” she asked with a slightly quivering voice.

After a nod from Saeron Galion released her but did not let her out of his sight. The girl straightened her skirt. Saeron conceded that he had to trust his knowledge of human nature. This situation was becoming more and more unnerving.

Rising her lowered head with a finger under her chin he tried a smile. “”Please accept my apology, lady. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

A sob suddenly shook the slender woman and Saeron’s guilt increased. He took her by the arm and directed her toward a small couch just around the corner. Normally visitors waited here for an audience. Still moving stiffly the girl sank into the cushions.

“I’m Liriel, daughter of Daeron, the head cook,” she answered the prince’s former question. Saeron narrowed his eyes his suspicion not entirely dampened.

“What has become of the staff? Why are you able to walk freely?” he asked and was not able to suppress some impatience. How much longer could they stay here without being discovered?

Raising her eyes Liriel looked first at Galion and then back at Saeron.

“Thoran is holding most of them captive in the dining hall. A few were able to leave the palace; others are hiding within these walls.”

Saeron nodded. It was just as he had guessed. No wonder no one had crossed their way so far.

Crouching down in front of the young woman Saeron took both of her hands in his. “Liriel, again I apologise, but now we need your help. Can you answer some questions for me?”

When the brown haired woman suddenly giggled Saeron raised an eyebrow. Turning serious again Liriel looked up. “Do you know that your brother caught me in a similar fashion a few weeks ago and he asked me much the same?”

Saeron frowned. Yes, Galadhion had told him of a woman he had met at the palace. “You are the one that was able to contact my father, right?” he asked and Liriel nodded.

“Not contact, my Lord. I was only able to deliver a meal and the message your brother gave me.”

Saeron nodded and rose. “Nonetheless you know where my father is being held and can tell us the way. We are here to free him and wrest the palace from this Thoran.”

When Liriel lowered her eyes anew, Saeron frowned. “I will tell you all I know, but ….” Saeron sighed and crouched again down to be at eye level with the girl.

“Liriel?” he asked and waited until her eyes did meet his again.

“Thoran has captured all of the children from the nursery and all he could grab on his way. He has imprisoned them somewhere under the palace. He has threatened us with their lives. That’s the reason why all inhabitants in the palace complied. My son is one of them. I haven’t seen him for days.”

Her words were drowned in tears. Saeron leaned forward and embrace the shivering frame. After the sobs had ceased he drew back and looked again into her red rimmed eyes.

“Liriel, we were already informed about the elflings and I promise you we will do everything possible to not endanger them. Nonetheless it is time to free the King and rid the palace of Thoran. Will you tell us where the King is being held?”

After Liriel had told where she had delivered the meal the last time Saeron thanked her and motioned a warrior over to take care of her.

When Liriel was out of earshot Saeron rallied the warriors around him. He was enough of a realist to know that Thoran would show himself sooner or later. He would not risk losing his precious pawn. The deeper they would go towards the dungeons the more probable they would encounter fellows of Thoran or even the traitor himself.

And there were still those that did support Thoran out of conviction. It would be very hard to distinguish the followers from the threatened. Everyone could be pretend to belong to the other’s group.

Saeron was more determined then ever to finally get his hands around the neck of this elf and make him answer for his crimes.

To be continued………………………..

Chapter 21:  won and yet lost

Saeron held up his hand when he had reached the bottom of the steps. He peered along the corridor leading to the dungeons of the underground palace.

For as long as he could remember these “dungeons” had been used only as storerooms. Never had any prisoner suffered here. Many tales revolved around the dungeons of King Thranduil and told of the fates of unfortunate prisoners that had vanished here. Such stories were nothing but a pack of lies.

Yet the King had never done much to dispel such reports. He deemed it an appropriate method to hold all too curious investigators at bay.

Twenty warriors had followed Saeron down here, while the remaining ten warriors secured the palace hall and the entrance to the cellar. Saeron would not risk being surprised on two fronts.

Any minute now he expected to be attacked. Somewhere this mangy dog had to be hiding. Saeron had only taken two steps into the corridor when he saw that an elf was blocking his path with a raised sword. Saeron raised his sword in defence but hesitated when he recognised his counterpart.

“Luindil?” he asked annoyed while he lowered his sword, yet he did not entirely drop it. The chief advisor of his father however did not look surprised; in fact, he seemed to have awaited them.

“My Lord,” Luindil said with a thin voice. “Please turn around and go no further. I beg you to heed this warning.”

Saeron narrowed his eyes. His father’s councillor appeared extremely uncomfortable. What was Thoran thinking to achieve by sending one elf to stop them?

Feeling Galion at his back and knowing the warriors crowding the corridor behind him Saeron saw no real threat in the single elf blocking his path.

Looking back at the face of Luindil, Saeron took a deep breath. “You know I cannot do this. Clear the way, Luindil!”

Without making any new attempt to stop them, Luindil stepped aside and lowered his sword. Saeron passed by him without looking at the advisor again. Luindil kept his eyes downcast.

His senses on high alert now, Saeron walked further down the corridor the grip on his sword firm. “Where is he?” Galion whispered and Saeron snorted. If Thoran had retreated into the wide tunnels beneath the palace then he would be able to hide without a chance for them to ever find him. But what would this achieve?

Saeron was sure that Thoran was waiting for his chance. At the end of the corridor Saeron and his men entered a wide circular area from which tunnels spread out in all directions.

The prince looked around but again could detect nothing out of the ordinary. “Where are you hiding, you bastard?” he growled softly while the warriors streamed into the open space securing the many tunnel entrances. The tunnel just opposite where they had entered led to the storerooms where Liriel had indicated the King and children were being held.

Saeron made a quick decision. Ordering four warriors to remain in the staging area he signalled for the others to follow him down the corridor which would end directly at the underground river. He was no longer willing to wait until Thoran decided to come out of the hole he had crawled into.

When he had reached the storeroom where Liriel had said his father was imprisoned he stopped with a pounding heart. There was still no sign of Thoran. This could not be true. Could it be this simple? To just come here, break open the door and release his father? Saeron narrowed his eyes. All of the hair on his neck stood on end again.

Signalling Galion and the men to watch the corridor Saeron placed his ear against the door of the storeroom and listened intently, but try as he might he could hear nothing. Although it was absolutely quiet in the corridor, the wooden door was thick and so it was plausible that no noise could be heard from the inside.

Out of impulse he tried the door handle and grimaced when he found that the door was locked. Yet what had he expected? More feeling then seeing Galion rolling his eyes Saeron stepped back and raised the hilt of his sword. With a mighty blow he broke the handle away and the door swung open. The broken handle clattered onto the stone floor with a loud clank.

Saeron did not care. He was eager to finally engage Thoran; the sooner the better. Saeron hesitated to step across the threshold. The room behind the door lay in absolute darkness. He swallowed. “I’m right behind you,” Galion whispered and Saeron took a deep breath.

The prince stepped over the threshold and stopped just inside the room to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. He stood, deliberately blocking the entrance. He did not know what condition his father would be in and he was not willing to expose the King to curious eyes, even if these eyes belonged to his sworn and loyal warriors.

At first Saeron could see nothing when his gaze wandered around the room. At the opposite wall he could make out a heap of light fabric crumpled on the floor.

Saeron swallowed and stepped further into the room. At the back of his mind he recognized that the warriors kept their distance out of respect and he was grateful for that.

The room was still too dark to make out anything. He took another few steps his eyes fixed on the spot on the floor. His heart was pounding loudly and he moved as if he was controlled by another. He stepped nearer.

“Adar?” he called softly but the sound exploded into the silence. The fear about why he was getting no answer suddenly ripped all restraint from him and with quick strides Saeron crossed the distance and sank to his knees just in front of the heap of clothing.

Now he could see that the heap only consisted of a rumpled and dirty linen tunic. As glad as he was to not find his father lying there, he was shocked nonetheless.

The tunic was undoubtedly that of his father. He recognized the little golden leaves embroidered around the collar. His mother had made it long ago. What made his outstretched hand tremble however was the great stain of blood on the right side of the garment; in fact the tunic was soaked with blood all over.

A hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder, making him jump. “Saeron?” Galion asked not taking his eyes from the fabric Saeron was holding. Slowly Saeron came back to his feet and looked with burning eyes at his friend. ”Where is he?” Saeron whispered his throat already hoarse from the acrid stench in the room.

Saeron had trouble imagining how someone could hold out for long in this dreadful place. Judging by the bloodied tunic in his hand his father had been injured badly. He swallowed and the cold fear crept back up his spine. His father was not here but that did not guarantee that he was out of danger. He was still alive, that he could judge, but he could tell nothing more then that.

Taking his prince by the arm Galion dragged Saeron back toward the door. “Come out of here,” he said. Galion send a last look around to make sure that they had not overseen anything. Back in the corridor Saeron leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Where was his father?

Saeron had nothing to explain to the waiting warriors. A look at his face did spoke volumes. “Maybe Thoran expected us and took the King to another cellar?” Lathron, commander of south Mirkwood suggested but without much conviction.

Saeron nodded and accepted the offered comfort. Although he could sense his father’s presence; their bond was greatly diminished. If his father was down here then his condition was dangerously weakened.

Opening his eyes and straightening his shoulders Saeron stepped back from the wall. “The King is down here. Let us continue to search for him but first we will try to find and release the children.” Saeron’s voice betrayed his anxiousness. What if the next room they looked at revealed another disaster?

He swallowed while he thought about the little ones. Had they been required to abide under similar circumstances? He could hardly bring himself to think about that.

With determined strides he followed the corridor until he reached the next door. Liriel had told him that the elflings were held in the room next to his father’s prison.

Again the warriors secured the corridor and again he placed an ear on the door. This time he did not even try the handle. As before, he could hear nothing. He frowned. He had been told that more then ten children were being held here. It was impossible that they would produce no noise at all.

“Watch out, please clear the door!” he called out loud enough for every elfling to hear inside. He would not risk injuring any of the children by breaking the door. When he deemed to have waited long enough he raised his sword hilt and broke the door handle away.

When he had expected a sound from inside – either surprise or fright – he was again disappointed. As before only darkness and silence greeted him.

Directing a worried gaze at Galion he stepped over the threshold. This time the warriors did not hold back. They were both curious and anxious to free the little ones.

Yet they stopped when Saeron inhaled sharply. Galion, just behind his prince, stepped up to look over Saeron´s shoulder.

What he saw froze the blood in his veins. Toys were set in regular intervals aligned against each of the four walls. Saeron did not move, only his fists clenched and unclenched. What perverse game was Thoran playing? What had he done to the children?

Where he could tell that his father was somewhere near he had absolutely no idea where Thoran had taken the children. His mind did not even make the attempt to think about the possibility that the children were no longer alive.

With quick strides he crossed the room and picked up a stuffed rabbit sitting there forlorn and bereft of its owner. His brother had a similar one but at least the youngest prince of Mirkwood was in a place of safety, or so he hoped with all his heart.

Stuffing the cuddly toy in his tunic pocket he turned and left the room, quickly passing the warriors which had also come into the storeroom. He would no longer waste any time here.

Thoran had designed the conditions but Saeron was no longer willing to grant any mercy to this mad elf. He would not rest until he had laid hand on this bastard.

When all of the warriors had re-emerged from the room Saeron settled the rabbit in his pocket and gave the signal to depart. He would find his father and the children even if had he to turn over every stone in the palace and he was determined to return the stuffed animal to its owner.

To be continued………………………

Chapter 22:  hope against hope

Followed by the warriors, Saeron run down the corridor. He knew these tunnels well. He had often played here while still an elfling and frequently had been scolded by his father for doing this. This tunnel ended directly at the underground river. The river ran swiftly in a deep channel and it could be very dangerous for an elfling to fall into, possibly resulting in drowning.

With Galion still on his heels, Saeron no longer cared if they made any noise. It was high time to confront Thoran and his henchman. Saeron did still not understand why his father’s political opponent had not already shown himself. Maybe Thoran had accepted his defeat, recognized his miscalculation and run off? Saeron snorted. No, this was not like Thoran. Even if he had seen his disadvantage he would fight this off until his last breath.

Saeron had no doubt that he was down here. The missing children and King indicated this clearly. And here he would meet his fate; Saeron would make sure of that.

When they could hear the rushing of the river Saeron increased his speed to finally reach the spot where the tunnel widened into a great hall. There the elves had built a wooden platform where they loaded goods into the barrels they wanted to send towards Esgaroth.

Saeron did not know why this place called to him so urgently all of a sudden but he did not care. If their fate should be decided there it would be so. Saeron did not know what he had expected when rounding the last corner obscuring his view of the river, but the sight that greeted him now froze him in his tracks.

Thoran was standing there with a sneer on his face but what shocked him most was the sight of his father. The King was standing not an arms length away from Thoran, barely able to hold himself upright. He had one arm braced against the stone wall while the other arm was clutched tightly around his torso.

Saeron noted one other detail. His father was not bound nor did Thoran display any weapons, at least none that Saeron could see on at first glance. After a quick look around Saeron saw no other elves save Thoran and his father. Where had Thoran´s fellows disappeared to?

This situation seemed so highly unreal that it made Saeron hesitate. The warriors behind him had also stopped in stunned silence. Like he, they had expected a fight or confrontation of some sort.

But it was not the situation that made Saeron narrow his eyes. Rather it was the words his father uttered as soon as he and the warriors had rounded the corner.

“Saeron stop and turn around. Take your men and leave this place immediately. That is an order!”

Saeron stepped back involuntarily. He knew an order when he heard one, yet the look from his father’s eyes betrayed the hard words.

His brain denied accepting the order. Why should they turn? He had fifteen warriors here, Thoran was alone – why should they not arrest him?

Confused, Saeron looked back at his father and the King’s pleading eyes struck his heart. What charade was Thoran playing? Saeron had the bad feeling that he was overlooking something important.

And then many things happened at once. Thranduil lost his precarious balance and crumbled to the floor. Out of reflex two warriors hastened over to help their King back on his feet.

Saeron stood transfixed, as Thoran’s shrill laughter grew louder, grating on everyone’s nerves. Only now did Saeron recognize that Thoran was holding a thick rope. The prince’s eyes followed the rope and he saw at least ten barrels bound to one another, bobbing on the surface of the water.

“As I have predicted, my King, they will not listen to you. Now you all will pay for not accepting the sensible course,” Thoran cried and raised his hand.

Saeron shook his head. He was not willing to listen any longer to the absurd babble of this mad elf. Even when Thoran released the rope and the barrels were swept away by the river he only ordered two of the warriors to capture Thoran and make sure that he did not escape.

Now he had time to go to his father but the angry voice of Thranduil again stopped him. The King had untangled himself from the many helping hands and was again standing unaided. While Saeron had only eyes for the quickly spreading red stain on his father’s tunic the King’s eyes were fixed on the barrels which were quickly drifting out of sight.

The warriors looked confused their eyes moving between their King and the prince. Saeron took a deep breath. His father was wounded and confused, yes, but why were the barrels so important to him? The lost goods, whatever the barrels were holding could be replaced.

“Adar, what?” was the only thing he was able to say when the glare from the green eyes of the King hit him.

“Saeron! The children!” the King cried. “The children are in the barrels!”

The air around him in the underground cavern suddenly seemed solid. Saeron gasped at his father’s words and then found himself unable to inhale.

His consciousness needed precious moments to register what his ears had heard. The children were in the barrels? Why would…? An angry shout from one of the warriors returned his slow-motion responses to their normal levels.

While some warriors were still standing, supporting the King, the two guards that had secured Thoran were pressing the elf face first into the dirt drowning out the sound of his unbearable laughter.

Saeron did not lose any more time. He turned and with a mighty leap he sprang onto the wooden platform in a desperate attempt to catch the cut rope as it slithered over the planks. Yet it was already too late. The rope smacked into the river and the barrels were swiftly borne away.

With an angry cry Saeron leaped after the barrels into the river. All his attempts to reach the rope were proving futile, the river was too swift and the distance already too great.

He swam, following the river until it cleared the rock and came back to open space. Before he was out of sight he had seen the warriors, except those making sure that Thoran was secured, turn and run back up the corridor. At his first chance he climbed back onto shore. He looked toward the gate entrance expecting his fellows to appear there any minute.

When they did, he intercepted them on the way to the stables. With only a glance at one another Saeron and ten warriors ran into the stables and into the first boxes they could reach. Speed was now of the essence. It did not matter who owned the horses they borrowed.

Barely mounted they thundered at top speed out of the stables straight down toward the river. Saeron nearly choked on his anguish. How could Thoran be so cruel? The space in the barrels was cramped and sticky and they were by no means waterproof. If the children did not suffocate they might drown. He could not even think of how frightened they had to be.

Tree branches lashed into his face while he raced between the tall trees along the river in a mad dash. He could already see the bound barrels bouncing up and down in the swift running current.

While the river was simply following its natural course, the elves fought against the uneven terrain. Some of the warriors had already crossed the river at the palace’s bridge and now were racing along the opposite bank hoping to get ahead of the barrels until……

Saeron blanched. The waterfall!

A few miles from the palace the river discharged into a waterfall, not a high one, rather one consisting of many terraces, but surely enough to possibly kill the children. Well packed goods could survive the hard ride but never the children, if they even were still alive.

Saeron urged his horse onward. He had to get even with the barrels to have at least a minor chance to dive into the water and grab them, yet he had no idea how he would be able to achieve this. How could he manage to secure the rope if he even would be able to catch the wet string?

While he tormented his mind about the right course of action he heard one of the warriors whistle and looked across. Galion was more than twenty feet ahead of him and was already swinging a rope over his head.

Saeron dug his heels into the side of the already panting and sweating beast. The big horse made a mighty leap almost throwing him from its back. After finding his balance again the prince was now even with Galion, Saeron gave the signal and his friend cast the rope across to him.

Saeron leaped from the horse and skidded down to the river. He grabbed the rope and dug his heels into the mud trying to create a rope fence, yet it was already too late. The barrels rushed onwards and missed his rope entirely.

Saeron cried out in frustration. He flung the rope away and dived into the water. Galion collected the rope and swung back onto his beast. He swore loudly under his breath, yet he sent a worried gaze at the river. What chance did Saeron have to reach the barrels and stop them before they reached the rocks?

While Galion spurred his horse on to again get ahead of the barrels Saeron came back to the surface and swam with all his strength, getting closer to the barrels. Yet they lurched from one point to the other, thrown uncontrollably to and fro. Worried, Saeron eyed the many protruding rocks. It was a miracle that no barrel had already been hit.

Just at this moment his shin connected hard with a submerged rock. He cried out and his gaze momentarily blurred with pain, yet the coldness of the river quickly brought his senses back. The impact however had changed his direction, throwing him atop of one barrel.

Quickly he grabbed the rope tying the barrels together and placed his flushed face for one second against the wooden surface. He could hear nothing from the inside, yet the river’s noise was drowning out all other sounds, or so he hoped.

Just as he had found some sense of balance he heard another whistle and one of the warriors frantically pointed ahead. Saeron turned his head and swallowed. The waterfall was only seconds away.

With a desperate gaze he directed his eyes back to the shore and saw Galion again swinging his rope. Saeron grabbed the rope he was clinging to with one hand and while he stretched out the other hand he instructed Galion to throw the rope.

The rope flew true and landed in the water just next to his fingers. He grabbed the end and quickly tried to tie it to the barrels. He only hoped that Galion would be able to keep his speed otherwise the rope would be ripped from his grasp along with his arm.

He swallowed when his wet and cold fingers were not able to form a knot. He fumbled desperately, his lungs burning and his leg throbbing from hip to toe.

Just then the first barrel connected hard with a big rock at the brink of the waterfall. Suddenly the rope Galion had thrown was drawn taut. Saeron was first thrown against the barrel and then smacked in the face with full force from the strained cord. Instantly his world went black.

To be continued…………………………..

Chapter 23:  death is too much mercy

Thoran did not resist when one of the warriors pressed him into the dirt. He knew that he had pushed his luck and lost. This insight had not just come to him; he had recognized it for days.

He still stood entirely true to his conviction, yet here in the capital the circumstances had changed. In the dangerous south, where constant threat and death were an everyday occurrence it was easy to find minds whose thinking were similar to his own.  Yet here, far away and in relative safety, those hot-headed thoughts had quickly cooled.

In the settlements around his own, many agreed that it was wrong to desert the south and would even argue openly against the King. However, here the overwhelming presence of Thranduil tied their tongues against better judgement.

He had misjudged how far his fellows would go. Also, considering the many reports he had received before he had come to the north; he had expected many more elves would be ready to follow his lead.

He had met enough like-minded elves around the palace to bring his plans to fruition, yet the total refusal of the warriors to join in with his plans had surprised him. Many of the warriors were of Silvan origin but even most of them had denied him fealty.

Yet, all had gone well at the beginning until he had imprisoned the King. Then the indecisive ones had suddenly turned away and even the adamant followers had questioned his tactic. What should he have done? Drink tea with the King and bid him to abdicate? Thranduil had not listened to him in the past why should he have done so now?

Now he had to pay the price for his arrogance and overestimation.  Many of his followers would also pay for their support of him. Thranduil would not take the act of high treason lightly. Elves did not practice the death penalty, but Thoran was sure Thranduil would find a way to make his life miserable for the rest of his days.

Knowing that he could not achieve anything right now he complied and waited for his chance. They were all so naïve. He would feign his defeat and then when the attention had diminished he would strike again. He could no longer reach his goal but he would make the triumph of Thranduil a bitter one.

……………………………………..

Thranduil was panting hard, his hand still pressed against the wall for support. After the barrels were out of sight he had closed his eyes momentarily and prayed that Saeron would be able to rescue the children in time. He knew how marginal the chance was. The river was running swiftly and not far from the palace it cascaded down into the stone terraces. The children would probably not survive this if they even were alive that long.

As much as he worried about the children he also worried about his son. Saeron was impulsive and reckless. He loved testing his limits and had paid many a hard price for his imprudence. The ironic aspect of this endeavour was that Saeron would need all his courage and more to rescue the elflings. Saeron would undoubtedly do this, therefore Thranduil´s heart was filled with fear the minute he saw his son leap after the barrels.

After the stabbing pain in his side had lessened enough to allow him to breathe without passing out he opened his eyes and looked at Thoran who was being held down by one of the warriors. His first impulse was to punch the smug grin from his face. But this feeling had changed into cold indifference. He was as guilty as Thoran. He had ignored the many signs that this elf was a bit too ambitious for much too long. He had not listened to others around him warning him to be watchful.

When the elf had unexpectedly appeared this morning in the door of his cell, Thranduil had instantly known that a decision had been made. Thoran did not even look at him, he only motioned his two followers to hoist him up and before he could blink he was squeezed between them and being dragged down the corridor.

Thranduil was determined to suppress any sound of pain the rough handling was causing him. His efforts to walk unaided did not work however; instead he was just trying not to pass out. He was sure that Thoran had now decided to get rid of him. Whether he had succeeded and no longer had need of him, or if he had capitulated and was now disposing of him out of frustration, he did not know. But it did not matter. The result for him would be the same in the end.

Thoran did not drag him toward the underground river for no reason. With minimal effort he could push him into the swiftly running water and, injured as he was, he knew he would only have a minor chance of survival. Thranduil briefly closed his eyes, sure that his captors would drag him wherever they wanted him to be.

He felt for his bond with his children and was dismayed when he realized that he could not get into contact with Galadhion and Legolas. But he instantly felt Saeron. His second son had to be near, and if he would place a bet on it, he was already inside the palace.

Carefully inhaling deeply he opened his eyes and some hope returned to his heart. Maybe Thoran had not yet succeeded. That he had achieved his goal Thranduil doubted anyway – the distress that was reaching him from all around was too great. Both Elves and nature were in an uproar, and this seemed to indicate that Thoran´s plans had not worked.  Yet, a cornered animal was all the more dangerous.

Cursing his helplessness, Thranduil thought hard about how he could support his son and his fellows already entering the palace. Thoran would not expect a reaction from him but he would be dammed if he let this bastard walk his halls as he pleased.

However when he and the three elves had reached the end of the corridor Thranduil narrowed his eyes. He knew this place well and his foreboding had not betrayed him. This was the cavern where the underground river could be charged with goods and where many necessary things were stored for the winter.

Would it end thus? Would Thoran push him into the river and be done with it? He doubted that anyone would be able to react quickly enough to come to his aid.

Yet Thoran did not direct him toward the river but instead pushed him against the opposite wall where his captors simply released him without warning. With much effort he prevented himself from falling to the ground but not without letting out an involuntary cry of pain. Thoran did not even look at him as he crossed the room toward the wooden platform where goods were heaved into the water.

Only now Thranduil saw that at least ten barrels were already on the water bound together and bouncing there up and down with the current. Only a long, strong rope bound to the balustrade kept them contained. Thoran unwound the rope and had some difficulty holding the water jarred barrels under control. He turned his head and looked long at Thranduil. His despicable grin was back on his face.

Thranduil´s thoughts raced. Why was Thoran grinning so evilly? The barrels were valuable, yes, but nothing that could not be replaced, and surely nothing that if released would move him to any decision.

His eyes travelled again to the barrels and then he heard it! Faint and barely recognizable sounds could be heard above the roaring of the river. He heard sounds of crying intermingling with pounding and hammering. Thranduil’s heart constricted. Were the sounds coming from the barrels - from inside the barrels?

Setting his face in a mask he directed his gaze at Thoran. The elf momentarily stopped grinning and swallowed when the cold look hit him, yet his confidence quickly returned.

Raising his chin high Thoran returned the cold stare. “That’s the price you are now paying for not listening to me, your Majesty!” he sneered and in this instant the river quieted as if it wanted to give the King a chance to hear the horror of what was happening. Thranduil could now clearly make out the voices of many children crying and pleading, screaming, or simply whimpering, overcome with fear.

Thranduil let out a cry of rage. No! Thoran was mad! He had crowded the little ones in the barrels and was now attempting to drown them in the river – no, not attempting, he was already doing it! He could not suppress his horror at this event and it was clearly reflected on his face.

Yet before either of the two elves could react they both looked up at the sound of running feet approaching. Thranduil and Thoran alike fixed their gaze upon the tunnel entrance, yet for different reasons. While Thranduil hoped for help at the last minute, Thoran’s face froze.

Thranduil had already known who was coming down the corridor but just as quickly as he had recognized this he knew that Saeron would come too late. Thoran had only to release the rope.

As he had feared, when Saeron rounded the corner Thoran raised his hand. Thranduil cried out, “Saeron stop and turn around. Take your men and leave this place. That is an order!” If Saeron obeyed him, it might placate Thoran and save the children.

His son stopped at the sharp command and incomprehension was written all over his face. “Adar, what?” was the only thing he was able to say. With now pleading eyes he tried to hold his son back, as much as he wished him to interfere.

“Saeron! The children!” he cried desperately. “The children are in the barrels!”

……………………………..

Thranduil had known that his warning had come too late. Just as he had uttered the warning Thoran had released the rope.

Now the barrels were lost, the children were dead, and he too was maybe losing a son this night. The fact that Thoran was under custody now gave him no satisfaction. The damage was already done and regardless of what he would do with the traitor it would not bring the children or his son back.

Again he extended his senses out to connect with one of his sons but again he could feel nothing that satisfied him. He knew that his physical condition was the cause for his inability to feel his bond with his sons, yet the fear that all three could be harmed nearly stole his breath. Saeron was in grave danger; that he could feel as clearly as if he was seeing it with his own eyes.

When the paralyzing silence and inactivity after the shock had passed, raised voices echoed through the cavern. “Your orders, my Lord?” one of the guards holding Thoran down asked.

The King straightened. “Remove him from my sight and make sure that he does not escape.” The guards only nodded and dragged Thoran away.

Immediately two warriors took up positions to the left and right of their King, ignoring his annoyed looks as they each grabbed an elbow. They gently, yet determinedly, guided their King toward the room’s exit.

“I can walk on my own,” Thranduil muttered even if he was very glad for the support. Knowing their King, the guards only smiled and ignored the words. Thoran was led away and Thranduil did not even turn when the door to the storeroom, which was again being used as a cell, banged shut with a hollow sound.

He would think about Thoran later, now he could not leave the lower level of the palace quickly enough. He had to determine how his sons fared, especially Saeron. His inner self was in too much turmoil to allow for steady non-emotional responses.

Mounting the stairs however taxed his meagre strength more then he was willing to admit.  He was again panting hard when he finally reached the top, by now very glad for the firm grips on his arms. His vision was beginning to blur and again he cursed his weakness.

Much to his dismay Thornil, the head healer of the palace awaited him with a more-than-worried look on his face. He had no time for this now, too much had to be achieved. Yet at the same time he knew that he was betraying himself. In his actual condition he would achieve nothing; he could not even stand without aid.

The narrowed eyes of Thornil challenged him to deny his need but Thranduil was experienced enough to refrain from questioning the healer. In fact, he knew that in a few more minutes he would disgrace himself by falling flat on his face. He could already feel fresh blood dripping down his right side.

Thornil only waved two additional healers over, signalling them to accompany the injured King toward the healing rooms.

“I cannot go to the infirmary now!” Thranduil tried again to protest. “Saeron is…” Further words died on his lips when a hand was placed on his arm. Thranduil looked up and into the worried face of Luindil, his councillor. Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Luindil had helped Thoran to arrest him, yet the blank mask of his advisor’s face looking back at him made him swallow his comment. He would deal with all this later.

“My Lord, if you will allow, I will gather what news I can about Prince Saeron and your other sons.” Thranduil made a split second decision. “You must inform me as quickly as possible.” Luindil bowed and left and no one saw the grimace on his face. Only semi-conscious now, Thranduil made no further protest when the healers guided him toward the healing chambers.

To be continued……………………

Chapter 24:  courage born out of despair

The Troop Commander held up his hand signalling the warriors behind him to stop their advance. Three days ago he, the twin sons of Elrond and thirty warriors had arrived in the south not a league away from the looming dark fortress of Dol Gûldur.

As feared, even though they had ridden hard to cover the great distance into the south, orcs had already attacked the settlement nearest the fortress. Even battle hardened and tough warriors had looked unbelieving at the massacre the orcs had wrought among the elves of the little village.

The settlers had fought bravely, yet they had lost and they had lost all. The orcs had made no distinction between killing male or female, children or livestock. They had simply flooded the little settlement like a dark and rank cloud and had left nothing but death in their wake.

With a stony mask Galadhion had taken in the tragedy. He had no words available to express his grief. So, without much ado, he and his fellows had helped the elves of neighbouring settlements collect the dead to give them a proper funeral. The pyres had flared long into the night, a bright blazing of silent lament.

Galadhion had not yet talked to the leaders of the other settlements; there was not much to say anyway. This was the exact scenario his father had predicted would befall the elves of the south if they would not move their homesteads north.

The woodland realm did not have enough warriors to safeguard their borders without gaps; much less to protect settlements spread so far from one another. Protection could only be given, if not granted, within the ring of the Home Guard territory. This ring however was around the palace in the north, not here in the south.

In his blindness Thoran had urged the settlers to stay in the south and fight for their land. He was sure the settlers were trained enough to protect their homes against the orcs on their own. While attending the funerals Galadhion remembered these presumptuous declarations and he shook his head angrily. He was training warriors day after day and not even these specialists in warfare were always able to repel the foul hordes daily invading their home.

The settlers had now paid the highest price for their stubbornness. The King would be devastated when he was informed of the events. Although he had done all he could to convince the settlers to leave the south and resettle in the relative safety of the north, the wood elves had always rejected the King’s request.

Galadhion had initially intended to talk again to the settlers after this tragedy but he had swallowed his appeal the moment he had looked into their defiant faces. Instead, he was forced into making a decree. As much as he despaired over the lost lives, he was unable to convince the thick-headed wood dwellers otherwise. And as much as he could understand the wish of these elves to not leave their homes, he was unable to understand why they were inclined to pay for their homes with blood again and again.

But he was here to prevent another massacre like that of three days ago, with or without the consent of the settlers. This he had made clear a few minutes ago with his speech. The most endangered settlements had to be cleared at once and the settlers had to move to more secure spots or dwell with kinsmen further north until the situation in the south had been cleared or at least stabilised.

Feeling that the Crown Prince/Troop Commander was not open to any further conversation the settlers conceded, but not without many complaints among themselves. Galadhion had no stomach for any additional comments now after a scout had brought the message that another large group of orcs was gathering to march.

Sitting around a bonfire Galadhion and the warriors as well as the twin brothers were discussing strategies about how to best and most effectively use their humble number of warriors to confront the orcs.

While thinking hard and again discarding a plan Galdhion looked up at the odd feeling of being watched. While looking at the twins seated opposite him he recognised that their eyes were indeed directed at him yet they were not really looking at him. Instead their eyes were glazed over like in sleep.

Galadhion smiled. The twins were not sleeping; they were conversing with one another via mind speech. Galadhion was used to this, yet the other warriors around the fire were looking bewildered seeing the blank faces of the Imladris elves.

From one second to the other the eyes regained their brightness and Galadhion knew they had finished their debate. “Any suggestion we should be aware of?” he asked softly and smiled again at the raised eyebrow of Elladan a clear sign that he had been discovered at something he was sure no one would notice.

Instead, his brother Elrohir shook his head with an equal smile, yet there was no mirth in his eyes. “We have just debated how fortunate it would be if we had more warriors at hand. But under the best of circumstances our warriors will take another week to arrive.”

Galadhion nodded. `And only, if they have already departed` he thought grimly.

“They have!” Elladan answered with conviction and this time Galadhion raised an eyebrow. Had the dark-haired elf read his thoughts? But then his troubles were easy to guess without being a mind reader. How Elladan knew that the warriors of his home were already on their way he did not know, but he refrained from asking.

Galadhion gathered the leaders of their group around him to issue orders about how they would launch the first attack against the orcs. They harboured no hope of winning with their numbers, so they had to ambush them and to play tricks. Yet these were orcs and Galadhion had no qualms in ordering his warriors to kill these beasts whenever they could and by any means possible.

The settlers had withdrawn themselves from the planning and Galadhion had not pressed them to attend. They had much to think about he guessed, yet he knew the real reason behind their denial. Just as in the past, they held the King responsible for the death of their families.

Even if Galadhion and his group succeeded, which was more than unlikely, the problem would continue until no living elf was left in the south. Galadhion had no time to consider the wrong-headed illusions of the settlers. He would do his best to repel the orcs but he would not succeed in the end. The south was lost, but the inhabitants did not see it.

……………………………….

Galadhion rubbed his temples wearily. His feet felt leaden and his body ached everywhere. Today they had managed to drive back a large band of orcs and had prevented the destruction of a deserted settlement, yet not without losses.

They had lost three warriors, two of the Home Guard and one Border guard. Elrohir had taken an arrow to his shoulder but despite losing a large amount of blood the wound was not life threatening. It was painful, however, and the younger twin would not be available to fight for at least three or four days.

They had been fighting a strategy of attack and retreat for several weeks now. Their numbers were too small to achieve a breakthrough. Only while fighting with all they had to give could the group around Galadhion still hold their position, but their strength and reserves were failing and it was only a matter of time before they would be completely overrun. They could only delay the orcs from overrunning the southern lands but they couldn’t prevent it. If they didn’t get reinforcements soon, no warriors would return from the south.

…………………………………….

“We are ready!”

Galadhion looked up and nodded at Lathron. He had just a fierce debate with the younger twin. Although he had been pale and swaying slightly while standing before him, Elrohir had declared that he intended to join the fight this day. Galadhion sighed after receiving a shrug from Elladan.

The twin sons were Lords in their own right and equal in rank to himself. He had no authority to order them, although in his role as Troop Commander, he could forbid it. He knew further that Elladan would only be half as effective without his brother beside him, even though with a not fully recovered Elrohir he would still be hampered. Yet the brothers had declared that they were ready to fight and so he had conceded. They had to look after themselves. He had no warriors to spare.

This day would decide their fate anyway. Today they would either be able to repel the orcs or die trying. If the orcs managed to break through the small gully they had been defending for three weeks, the settlements would be overrun and the orcs would spare none still dwelling there.

Looking over their reduced group Galadhion gave the signal to advance. The plan was to join the warriors already positioned at the mouth of the ravine. Arriving there he did not have to direct his forces, the men already knew where to hide and what was expected of them. The Crown Prince directed a last critical gaze at the twin brothers and received a reassuring nod from Elrohir.

Accepting this, even if harbouring doubts Galadhion took his position and within minutes nothing indicated that twenty seven elves were waiting to bring death and havoc to the declared enemies of their race.

And they did not have to wait long. Galadhion briefly closed his eyes when he heard the first orcs entering the ravine. They made much noise but even worse was the smell they brought with them.

Out of reflex he tried to reach his father through their bond but again he failed. His thoughts were in too much turmoil and the distance was maybe too great. He used these arguments again to explain the missing connection. He banished all other reasons why he was not able to reach his father from his mind.

Slowly he rose and unsheathed his sword motioning his men to wait as long as possible until the orcs were upon them. This strategy had worked over the last weeks and would work again today. The orcs were too stupid to change their tactics. Nonetheless the orcs would win in the end; their numbers were large enough to make up for their lack of skills in warfare.

Within seconds the orcs were upon them and Galadhion had to use all his skills to fight the beasts coming at him from all directions. As in previous days he utilized all of his skills severing limbs and heads, with quick, efficient strokes. But again for every dead orc, another two took its place. Contrary to the previous days of fighting he had no reserves left to call upon.

He would fight until his last breath, of course, but their little group would be overrun, eventually accomplishing nothing. The orcs would swarm the south killing all who stood in their way, and the elves would be forced to retreat, mourn their dead, and go on as they always had done.

When he heard a painful cry behind him, he whirled around and just in time to see the swords of two orcs skewer a young lieutenant from the western border guard. The elf was dead before his body even touched the ground. Galadhion did not even have time to send a prayer to the Belain.  He was suddenly fighting for his very life when three orcs charged him en masse.

He slew the first orc and wounded the second enough to cause him to fall back, but the third had enough time to bring his sword down upon his upper arm, slicing through muscles, sinews and flesh. Fortunately, by twisting around, the stroke was not forceful enough to sever his arm from his shoulder, yet it was enough of a blow to render his arm useless for battle.

The recognition of how serious his wound was flashed through his mind, but then he pushed the thought away because the foul creature was attacking again. Additionally, it was being joined by another one. Shifting his sword to his left hand Galadhion took a deep breath. He clenched his jaw, pushed the searing pain radiating from his wounded arm to the back of his mind and directed a defiant gaze at his attackers.

Was this the moment he would die? Alright, then it would be so, but not without sending these vile beasts into the abyss first. To his surprise he managed to stab the first orc through the chest, splattering him with stinking black blood. Yet, he was unable to prevent the stroke of the second orc with only one arm in use.

He briefly thought of his father and his brothers and for a short moment he bitterly regretted not seeing his baby brother grow into manhood. Already dizzy from blood loss he sank to his knees unable to raise his sword again. His last gaze was directed at the falling sword of his opponent coming towards him.

…………………………………

Elladan cried out in surprise when Elrohir was forcefully pushed against him from behind. As always the brothers fought back to back to use their skills to maximum advantage. Shocked Elladan turned fearful that his brother had been wounded again but Elrohir was only doubled over from a punch to his middle.

Elladan made quick work of the orc which had attacked his brother. He had no time to kneel down and help Elrohir back on his feet before another orc attacked. With relief he saw that Elrohir had come to his feet again, yet he could not feel his brother close and he did not hear him fighting.

He turned sharply again after dispatching another orc and looked bewildered at Elrohir who was gazing upwards with a vacant expression on his face.

Elladan raised his sword to block an advancing orc and was just about to shout at Elrohir to concentrate on the fight when the orc crumbled to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his back.

Now Elladan’s expression mirrored his brother’s after he directed his gaze towards the top of the ravine. He could not believe his eyes. There, to the left and right of the gully, stood many elven warriors with bows aiming and firing at the orcs running around in fear and confusion.

Elladan blinked. He wasn’t able to count the many archers but he estimated that at least three hundred warriors were standing there making quick work of the orcs. The dead bodies were already piling in the ravine and the brothers had to retreat to higher ground.

As they retreated they collected their dead and wounded comrades, still shaken by the unexpected, yet most welcome fact that reinforcements had finally come.

……………………………………

“I’m dead?” Galadhion croaked when he opened his eyes. Despite blinking rapidly he was not able to bring the blurred face in front of him into focus. The only sensations reaching his muddled brain were that he was lying on something remotely soft and the merciless throbbing pain still radiating from his right arm.

“No, you are very much alive, my friend and I’m eternally grateful for that,” Elladan replied and now Galadhion was able to recognize his friend. The intended reassuring tone did nothing to camouflage the worry in the older twin’s voice. Galadhion was reminded that Elladan was not only a warrior but a skilled healer as well.

Galadhion briefly closed his eyes in a vain attempt to cope with the pain but opened them again quickly when a thought struck him. With a quick look around he saw that he was lying on a pallet within a tent. His last thought had been of a sorely outnumbered and desperately fighting group of elves. How was it that he had been rescued?

“What about the orcs…how about…?” he asked and struggled to rise. With a cry of pain he sank back onto the pallet as the searing pain nearly catapulted him back to unconsciousness.

Faintly he heard quick steps coming up to him and a pair of hands restrained his upper body.

“Commander, you should rest. Much effort was spent to keep you alive. Do not ruin our work now. You will be told everything later.”

Galadhion forced his eyes open again. This was a voice he had not heard in a long time. The authority and commanding tone could only belong to one elf and this could only mean one thing; the warriors from Imladris had arrived.

When he looked into the blue eyes of the Lord Glorfindel, Galadhion could only swallow. The Master of Imladris had not only sent his warriors just in time but with them had come one of the most experienced fighters in Middle earth.

“Close your mouth, Captain and make good use of the time to rest. The situation is under control. You can be sure that we will take care of whatever is necessary until you are back on your feet.”

Only now Galadhion became aware that another firm hand was holding him down on his cot. He slowly turned his head towards another voice he knew as surely as that of Glorfindel’s and again he did not trust his eyes. Kneeling next to his pallet was another unmistakable elf who was instantly recognizable to all who had seen him once. Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien smiled down at him and Galadhion had no remorse in giving in to the beckoning darkness of unconsciousness.

To be continued…………….

Chapter 25:  emotional roller coaster

……Saeron was first thrown against the barrel and then smacked in the face with full force from the strained cord. Instantly his world went black……….

Galion urged his horse onward in a desperate attempt to not strain the rope too much.  He needed to give his friend room and time to tie a knot, securing the barrels to the rope. Unfortunately time was the one thing they did not have.

A whistle from one of the other warriors racing along the river with him caused Galion to go pale after looking ahead. The rocks at the top of the waterfall were only seconds away. He had to make a decision now.

He leaped from the back of his horse, throwing the rope around the next tree trunk. He tied a knot as quickly as possible, and then released the cord. It tightened almost instantly with a twang.

He directed his gaze back over the water and hoped that Saeron had managed to tie the rope to the barrels at the same time. There was no time to shout a warning. With horror Galion saw the tightened rope slap his friend hard across his face. Saeron was thrown away from the barrels and sank instantly under the surface.

Without thinking Galion removed his tunic while running toward the water. He dived into the river, catapulting himself from the shore with a mighty push. He followed the half submerged cord as it was slapping in and out of the water.

Only moments later he spotted the slack body of Saeron and grabbed whatever he could catch. The muddy red coloured water caused his stomach to churn. Saeron was bleeding.

Pushing himself upward he broke the surface and made sure that the head of his friend stayed above the water. With relief he saw that the barrels still bounced up and down on the rushing water’s surface but stayed at the same spot. Saeron had obviously managed to tie the barrels to the rope he had hurled across. Some of the other warriors had already reached the barrels and were now dragging them back towards the shore.

Reaching the shore Galion gratefully accepted the helping hands reaching down to him and relieving him of Searon’s limp body. He scrambled out of the cold water and knelt beside his friend who had been placed on a hastily spread cloak on top of the ground.

Only now could he take stock of Saeron’s injuries. The gaping wound on his cheek where the rope had struck looked horrible yet with proper treatment it would heal quickly. More severe was a broken leg. A warrior was already wrapping a clean bandage around the shin where pieces of broken bone were protruding.

Two other warriors were already busy constructing a litter to transport their prince home. Fortunately the distance was not great. Galion had already sent a warrior back to alert the healers. With a last confirming look that his friend was in capable hands he turned.

He walked over to join Lathorn, his chief commander, who was standing at the shore observing the elves who were dragging the rescued barrels onto dry land. Galion swallowed nervously.

Until now it was not clear if the children had survived. With dread he observed how water poured out of the barrels while they were lifted out of the river. No sounds could be heard, yet the roar of the nearby waterfall might be drowning out any sounds or cries from inside the barrels.

Galion could barely contain his anxiousness. The warriors were taking too long for his liking, but he knew they had to handle the wooden containers with care so as not to add to the children’s discomfort.

Lathron’s stiff posture showed that the commander was dreading the moment the first barrel was opened as much as Galion. The young captain hoped with all his heart that they would not have to mourn ten or more dead children. He realized that he did not even know the exact number of children imprisoned inside the barrels.

When the first barrel was placed on the ground they heard a faint sound, something between a grunt and a sob. Lathron drew in his breath sharply. At least in this first barrel someone was still alive.

With a pry bar the cover of the nearest barrel was removed. Galion was holding his breath. He realized that even if any of the children had tried to get out they would not have stood a chance; Thoran had nailed the barrels shut.

One of the warriors standing by was already half crawling into the barrel and moments later he backed out with a little girl in his arms. The child was drenched to the bone and crying hard but she was clinging tightly to the warrior. Galion heaved a deep breath of relief.

All around him, other barrels were being opened and the warriors were hurriedly removing the children from their wet prisons. But the next barrel Galion helped open dashed his hope that this vile act would turn out well. Cramped in the container were three children, all boys and all dead. The wooden planks had splintered at one side and one of the damaged planks had skewered one boy while the other two had drowned.

Despite the tears in their eyes many warriors clenched their fists in anger and Galion could sympathise with them. Life was precious and the life of children all the more. This crime was beyond understanding or justification.

After half an hour all of the barrels had been opened and the children rescued. Over twenty children had been freed. The total was five dead, six seriously injured and the remaining relatively healthy, even if traumatized, drenched and freezing.

The warriors did their best to wrap the children in cloaks, bandaging scrapes and bumps, spreading salve over cuts and bruises and rubbing numb, cold fingers. But most of all they shielded them from the sight of the more seriously injured and the dead.

The group tending to the injured were hard pressed to soothe the distressed elflings, but tried to assure them that they would soon be home and back in the arms of their parents.

Galion attended to the last group and had the sad task of preparing the little dead bodies. With a heavy heart he looked into the sky and swallowed hard to push his tears away. How could they bring these dead ones home and explain why they had to die? Did the children die because of a political dispute, because of a mind twisted into madness? There would and indeed there could be no understanding the reason for these innocents to have died.

But it was not to be helped. The long desperate procession would soon depart to return home with those they could rescue. A loud yell catapulted Galion back from his morose thoughts while preparing their departure. What he had feared was now happening.

The first parents had arrived. Within seconds the makeshift camp turned into chaos with parents searching for their elflings. Some found them alive, thanking the Belain for their mercy. Some found that their child was injured but nevertheless alive. A few faced their worst fear, to mourn a dead child.

The warriors retreated discretely to give the parents room and time for some privacy but stayed near enough to keep any further harm from coming to the emotionally devastated group. As expected, Galion could hear hard words spoken above all the desperation and grief.

Within a half-an-hour a silent procession was marching back toward the palace. Galion was bone tired but felt that he had to check up on his friend first.

…………………………………

Thranduil awoke with a start. He jerked upright and nearly cried out at the stabbing pain in his side. Panting hard he sank back on his pillow deliberately avoiding the stern gaze of Thornil, who had rushed to his bedside at the faint sound.

When the pain had receded to a dull ache he carefully lifted his upper body again and Thornil placed a pillow behind his back.

“Thank you,” Thranduil murmured and the healer inclined his head. He was not comfortable with the King moving at all. With much effort and a painstakingly difficult operation he had removed the bone that had pierced his patient’s lung.

More then once during this procedure he had feared he might lose the King when his breathing became too laboured or the bleeding became too much. The already weakened state of Thranduil’s health did not help matters either.

The palace healer waited a few moments until his King had regained his breath. “You should refrain from moving too much, my Lord,” he could not help from saying and he was barely able to suppress his annoyance. When a frown creased his patient’s forehead Thornil sighed.

“A broken rib punctured your right lung deeply,” he explained while handing the King a glass of water. “You were fortunate that the bone remained in place otherwise you would have bled to death within hours.”

Thranduil grimaced at the word fortunate. The grating pain was all too livid in his memory and was still plaguing him. Yet he knew that the healer was right. Despite all the hardships he was lucky to be alive. Yet the still pounding pain reminded him quickly why he was here and what had happened.

“Any news of my son Saeron and the children?” he asked eventually, while fixing the healer with a stern gaze. Thornil however had been the head healer of the palace for many years and easily looked through the King’s attempt to distract him. Seeing that Thranduil was stable at the moment, he played along.

Yet the concerned gaze he directed at Meldrion, the western section commander who was leaning against the wall behind the King’s bed did not go unnoticed by Thranduil. Thranduil jerked again up and Thornil chided himself for not being more careful about alerting the King just yet.

Only now aware of the captain Thranduil turned his head directing his gaze at the warrior. Meldrion had also been in his position for many years and was not easily intimidated by the King’s gaze. He sighed and rounded the bed, so that Thranduil didn’t have to turn too much. Thornil thanked him with an almost imperceptible nod.

Feeling increased pain, Thranduil’s patience was running thin. At the raised eyebrow of his King, Meldrion inclined his head. “My Lord, Prince Saeron was partly able to rescue the children, yet….”

Thranduil swallowed and like during the days in his dark prison the blood in his ears begun to pound with the rhythm of his heart. The captain’s choice of words increased his anguish and the expression on Meldrion’s face did nothing to justify his hope.

Something must have happened to Saeron. Through his own weakened condition and his threadbare bond he was unable to determine what his son’s welfare truly was. Not for the first time he cursed his lack of strength.

Now his people needed a strong King, not a King struggling to hold himself together. Determined to regain control and revamp the mess Thoran had wrought, the King took a deep breath.

Thranduil directed his gaze back at Meldrion. He wanted to know all that had transpired during his forced absence. He steeled himself and his heart against the news the captain and healer were so anxious to avoid presenting to him.

“Well?” he inquired and Meldrion had to blink at the change of his King before his eyes. Although Thranduil was leaning heavily against the headboard of the bed and the pain was written deeply into his face, the King’s tone appeared steely and unyielding. Many a subject had learned to heed that in the past.

Meldrion straightened his shoulders. Injured or not his King had given him an order and he would be dammed if he strained the patience of Thranduil any longer.

“My Lord, your son was able to reach the floating barrels and secure them before they could be pulled over the waterfall. Unfortunately he was badly injured during this process and five children were recovered dead, although the rest survived.”

Without allowing emotion to cloud his face, Thranduil had listened to the report and as short as it was it had told him all that was important at the moment. The details could be added later.

Although he had known that something bad had happened to Saeron the words stunned him. Yet it was the mention of the five dead elflings that made his blood boil, and he clenched his fists unconsciously in anger and frustration.

He directed an icy gaze towards Thornil that forced the healer to swallow nervously. Thranduil was smart enough to guess how the children had died although Thornil understood the unvoiced question about his son.

“Prince Saeron has suffered a severe concussion and a complicated break of his right leg. I was able to align the splintered bone in his lower leg, but he has not awakened yet since he was brought here a day ago.”

Thranduil briefly closed his eyes after a nod of thanks. Quickly he digested the information given. If Saeron had been here a day already, then he himself had been unconscious for at least two days.

Too much time was slipping away. It was high time to act, to strike back and to gather the remnants of his kingdom. With a supreme effort he rose in a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Guessing the reason for the frown on the face of Thornil, Thranduil steeled himself and directed his gaze back at the healer.

“Thornil, do what you must to help me back on my feet, but keeping me in bed is not one of the actions I can approve of. You have ten minutes but after that I want to see my son, and then I must preside over the first council meeting after….the interruption.”

The last statement was directed at Meldrion. If the captain had recognized the short hesitation he did not show it. Thranduil avoided even speaking the name of the elf who had wrought so much sorrow in such a short time. With a bow he quickly left the room to order the assembly of the Council, relieved to not be in the position of the head healer.

Thornil had turned also but not without sending an irritated look at his King. Thranduil studiously ignored the disapproving expression. However moments later the healer returned with a strong painkiller mixed in a fresh glass of water and a bandage that he began wrapping around the King’s chest.

While Thranduil closed his tunic Thornil looked at his King with gravity. “Thranduil, do not overtax yourself. Your injury was serious and the wound can still reopen.”

Nodding the King bound he long hair into a simple ponytail. “I will heed your advice. And now I want to visit my son.”

Thornil sighed knowing that the King would return to his halls only when he had to be carried back. He would have to keep a wary eye on the monarch. Turning he motioned Thranduil to follow him to the next room where the prince was resting.

To be continued…………………..

Chapter 26:  picking up the pieces

Thranduil looked up when a knock sounded on his study door. He sighed. Only half an hour ago he had retired to his room hoping to re-order his thoughts, to get a look at the correspondence that had been neglected for so many weeks, and to get away from the questioning, prying and worried eyes. He was far from feeling up to taking over his duties just yet, but he would go mad if he remained in bed any longer.

Three hours ago he had met with the few elves around him who were and had always been loyal to him. Together they had made plans about how to free the imprisoned elves in the palace, where to search for possible allies of Thoran still hiding somewhere within the palace and had constructed a plan to search the caverns for dangers seen and unexpected.

Thornil, the Head Healer, had told him without mincing words that he was not in any condition to accompany the groups searching the palace and the grounds. Only an hour ago Meldrion had reported that all of the captured elves had been freed, ten of Thoran’s fellows had been captured and imprisoned, and that the palace staff was slowly returning and resuming their duties.

Thranduil was no fool however. It would need time, weeks or maybe even months, until all would have returned to normal. He knew that things wouldn’t return to what they had been. Too much had happened to not permanently affect their lives from this point.  But there were aspects that he was still not sure how to best handle. A revolution was something neither he nor his father had ever encountered.

A few elves had betrayed his trust at a level he was not willing to forgive. Others had acted either out of fear or because of threats to themselves or members of their family. Some who had sympathized with Thoran would never be detected. All in all this left a very bad taste in Thranduil’s mouth and he was sure he would yet come across some unpleasant moments and situations.

The most important thing to the King was his concern for his sons. From Galadhion he had heard nothing so far. Saeron was recovering from his severe injuries in the infirmary, but he had told Thranduil that Legolas had been safe when he had left him in the care of Senath’s wife and some warriors.

And still he was not sure how to deal out justice to match the crime Thoran had committed. His actions could only be termed high treason and as such he would be judged. But removing Thoran would not solve the underlying problem. There were still elves in the south who disagreed with his decisions to evacuate the region around the dark tower and the old conflicts between Silvan elves and Sindar elves also lingered.

While still wracking his brain with so many unsolved questions he had nearly forgotten the knock at the door. The elf asking for permission to enter, however, was not so easily rejected and reminded his King of his presence with a second knock to the door.

Raising an eyebrow in annoyance, Thranduil called out and bade the visitor enter. His face lit up when he saw Thalan, his most trusted councillor and long time friend. Thalan had been with the elves who were imprisoned in the dining hall, but fortunately he had not been blackmailed by any threats of harm to a loved one. He had nonetheless abided with the unfortunate detainees and made sure that all had remained calm and were minimally cooperative.

“My Lord,” he said and Thranduil was glad that no concern, pity or annoyance was underlying his friend’s tone. “You should come outside with me. There is something I’m sure you will want to see!”

Searching the elf’s face and seeing only sincerity Thranduil rose to his feet, confident that his friend would not lure him out for something unimportant. He was still unsteady when walking and his side still hurt with occasional shooting pains yet he was also eager to know what was so important that it required his presence.

While walking through the hallway Thranduil recognized that Thalan was hovering at his elbow but in spite of initial annoyance, he inwardly was glad for the offered support. Thalan had without doubt seen his grimace while he stood up.

On his way to the entrance of the fortress many elves crossed his path. This was an everyday occurrence, yet it was now different. The looks directed at him varied from astonished and joyful through ashamed. Indeed it would be a long time until he could walk his halls with the same confidence and comfort as before.

When he exited the palace he suddenly stopped, surprised at the sight that greeted him. A long procession was just crossing the bridge and beginning to gather below the steps leading up to the entrance.

Scanning the group he recognized that it consisted of the warriors who had been fighting to repel the orcs attacking the southern settlements. There were other warriors among them. In fact there were members from all of the warrior groups ranging from the Home Guard to those from all four sections of Mirkwood.

It was a motley crew but he had never been happier or more grateful to see so many of his elves who had successfully removed themselves from Thoran’s clutches. It was these elves who had secured his kingdom at the last resort.

The defection of the warriors had cost Thoran his victory and had brought about his downfall, and Thranduil knew exactly who he had to thank for it. But now was not the time. A few important things still had to be achieved before they could rejoice and make a new start.  

When his eyes travelled to the middle of the group fear gripped his heart. Attached between two horses was a litter and he did not need to look closer to know that the still elf lying there was none other then Galadhion.

He had barely had time to digest this shock when his eyes caught sight of another detail, no less shocking but in a positive way. In front of Sinaht, the Chief Commander of the Home Guard, sat Legolas clutching the mane of the warrior’s great stallion tightly.

As soon as their eyes had met Sinaht was hard pressed to set the elfling on his feet before he could fall from the great horse while trying to wriggle free. With some effort Thranduil went down to one knee and prepared himself for the impact of the fair-haired elfling running up to him at full speed. He was unaware of the understanding smiles directed at him from all around.

“Ada, Ada,” Legolas cried and a second later Thranduil pressed the elfling against his chest, the world around him momentarily forgotten. With a deep breath he inhaled the scent of his child, having feared to never again have the chance to do it.

Legolas was chattering and crying, laughing and murmuring all at the same time but Thranduil didn’t care. He was only relieved to have his boy back whole and healthy. He knew that so many others were not as fortunate and a sad feeling came into his heart despite his overwhelming joy. The homecoming of the children Thoran had abused was still fresh in his memory. The funerals he had officiated over for the five dead children had been the worst duty he had performed in a long time.

When only the need for air stopped the flow of words Thranduil gazed deeply into his son’s eyes and calmed his son’s agitated thoughts to a level so that soon the elfling was snuggling close against him content to be held in his arms. Carefully rising he scooped Legolas up and could not avoid a grimace of pain at the stabbing pain in his side. But he refused to relinquish the burden of the elfling in his arms.

After a nod from their King the warriors dismounted and began to disperse in all directions. Thranduil looked at the group further and caught his breath again. Four elves were standing to one side who were distinctly not a part of the larger group.

All four were well known to him. He nodded respectfully towards them while carefully descending the steps. Thalan was always close behind him for which Thranduil was for once grateful.

He approached the four, his son still clutched in his arms. Beside Lord Glorfindel stood Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood, and next to him his grandsons and Lords of Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir. Behind them stood the warriors of their respective realms. How these elves had come to be here had to be addressed later, now he was only glad, if a bit bewildered, to meet them. When he had reached his guests he looked at each one with a mixture of gratitude and annoyance.

The Lord of the Golden Wood exchanged a quick glance with the fair haired warrior from Imladris and could not hide his amusement. Seeing the self-confident King of Mirkwood shaken to a level of muteness was a rare occasion. Yet when he looked closer he could clearly see the tracks of pain and worry in the King’s face and the amusement quickly vanished from his dirty face.

“Go to your son, Thranduil,” Celeborn said softly the only one of the four elves familiar enough with the woodland King for such a tone. “We are not asking for formalities and the information and news we bear can be exchanged later.”

Nodding his thanks while still clutching his youngest son to his chest Thranduil turned away. Words were not necessary anyway. His mind was still reeling. How was it be possible for the four elves to be here? The loyalty displayed was a balm to his sore heart. Walking through the warriors still present, he squeezed many an arm in thanks and offered a few words of reassurance.

His gaze however was fixed on the litter and the still form of his eldest son. The kind smiles that had followed him during his reunion with Legolas were changing now to ones of concern when the King reached the litter.

Thranduil set Legolas down on his feet and gazed at his son on the litter. It was hung at a height that allowed Legolas to gaze over the rim and the King didn’t have to crouch too low.

To his surprise Galadhion was awake and looked at his father with questioning eyes. Thranduil caressed his son’s cheek and let his gaze wander over the lightly covered body.

Two dark patches of dried blood made him frown and although the heavily bandaged right upper arm looked awful, it was the red patch just below the ribcage that heightened Thranduil’s concern. He had only to look at his son’s ashen face to know that the injuries were severe.

Sending calming thoughts Thranduil placed a gentle finger over his son’s lips with a silent promise of a later explanation. Galadhion closed his eyes in exhaustion but with a much lighter heart.

“Gal is hurt?” Legolas asked in a fearful voice and Thranduil gathered the elfling again into his arms when the tears threatened to spill.

“Yes, but he is sleeping now and will recover. You will see,” Thranduil answered while stroking the fair hair of the boy and with a last look at the littler. Thornil and two helpers had already arrived and were now waiting until the litter was detached from the horses.

While the healers picked up the litter containing the wounded prince, Thornil directed a stern gaze at his King. Understanding the demand, Thranduil nodded slightly and Thornil turned to hurry after his newest patient.

Most of the warriors had already dispersed and Thranduil could also no longer see his guests from Lothlórien and Imladris. Confident that they understood the still raging disarray and hoping that at least one of his councillors had followed protocol and provided the guests with refreshment and accommodations, he had to be content for the time being.

Thranduil shifted the drowsing elfling in his arms and was about to begin climbing the steps again, when a most pleasant sight greeted him. Hurrying toward him was Loriel, Legolas’ nurse. He was glad to see that some elves were restored and most of all, healthy.

Reaching him Loriel curtsied. “My Lord King, I’m glad to see you on your feet again. Will you relinquish this sleepy warrior to me?” she said with a twinkle in her eyes and outstretched arms.

“I’m also glad to see you, Loriel. Yes, thank you,” he answered and handed the now sleeping boy over. He was happy to be relieved of Legolas´ weight, as light as it may have been. Annoyed he once again recognized how weakened his condition still was. Thornil´s reminder still echoed in his mind.

Only now aware that Thalan was still waiting patiently at his side, Thranduil surveyed the scene once more. Apart from a few elves caring for the horses and some packs still waiting to be brought inside the palace, the grounds looked almost untouched.

But Thranduil was not fooled. Much remained to be achieved. First he had to make his position clear. He needed to gather as much information as possible to give him an impression of what had happened both inside and outside the palace; in fact all over his kingdom, over the last few weeks.

“Thranduil, we should return inside,” Thalan suggested seeing the face of his friend getting paler by the minute. Still annoyed at the constant reminder of his condition Thranduil nodded and together they slowly climbed the many steps toward the entrance. Thranduil felt his legs begin to tremble and his vision narrowed to a small tunnel in front of him. Unwillingly he shook his head and when he had reached the top step he turned. There was one task left to do.

He directed his gaze towards the great stone gates and called upon the old magic. After a few second the great slabs groaned and banged shut with a firm sound. Thalan inclined his head at the sight, confident that again a small step toward normality had been done.

Turning quickly, he reacted to something he saw from the corner of his eye.  Reaching out he caught the limp body of his King collapsing into his arms. Having expected this he turned, and carrying Thranduil, hurried inside the palace.

…………………………………………

When Thranduil awoke he felt somewhat refreshed, a feeling he had not known for many weeks now. As pleasant as it was he jerked upright annoyed by the thought of how long he had slept this time. He could not even remember when he had retired.

One more thing, his side, while still bandaged heavily was not hurting as much as it had. Although he was grateful for this, as he got up from his bed his bewilderment was mounting with every minute.

He was in his own rooms, his clothes laid out for him as always, a heavenly smelling tea at his bedside. For one moment he was tempted to forget all the past weeks of hardship, doubts and pain. Yet he was never one to accept a favour easily. He knew that everything had its price.

Determined to finally get his life and his kingdom back to normal levels he quickly dressed while taking sips of the tea and looked one last time in the full-length mirror before leaving his apartments. Setting a last braid in place and straightening a wrinkle he nodded. He was satisfied with his appearance. His spurred himself to finally start his day, resolutely opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

For a second he paused and listened to the sounds around him. The flurry of activity let him imagine that the palace life had returned to normal, yet he knew that weeks would still be needed to pick up all the pieces. Many things, both pleasant and unpleasant, would need to be accomplished before all traces of Thoran were eliminated from his Kingdom.

When he crossed the great hall some of the elves he passed bowed or curtseyed with smiles on their faces. He savoured their open display of allegiance and made no secret of it. Yet the traffic was too sparse for a fully staffed palace.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Nothing had returned to normal! How could he have thought that all would return to as the way it had been before Thoran had plunged his world into chaos? His optimistic feelings from the morning had vanished while he thought of his opponent. Still, he had to decide how to judge the imprisoned elf.

With a determined jerk he opened one side of the huge double door leading to the great audience chamber. Well, he at least would take up his duties! He stopped walking as if he had hit an unseen barrier when a collective cheer arose at his entrance.

The great hall was crowded from wall to wall with elves who were standing and applauding loudly while they were calling out, “Hail to the new and old King!”

Thranduil, never one to be impressed lightly stood there immobile and overwhelmed. The hall was nearly bursting with occupants all dressed in their finest clothing; the ladies elegant in long gowns the warriors in full ceremonial attire. Servants, councillors and members of the staff, scribes, cooks and other helpers in between, along with many others of all ages stood there cheering and applauding him.

Thranduil swallowed hard to keep his composure. He could see Thalan and Thornil, the four section commanders, Galion and Loriel and many others who helped him to master his daily life.

What nearly crumpled his self-restraint however was the sight of Galadhion and Saeron sitting side by side in the front row smiling at him. The still heavily bandaged leg of Saeron did not allow him to stand nor did Thornil’s restraining hand placed firmly on his eldest´s shoulder.

Thranduil did not care. Seeing his sons up from their sickbeds was all that mattered to him. Continuing to scan the crowd his eyes came to rest on his four guests who were also standing and cheering alongside the others. He was determined to have some long talks with them to investigate all the tales still unknown to him behind their coming to his aid.

Thranduil was just about to step forward and thank the many elves when the crowed parted forming a passage between them. When the King recognized who was coming forward he lost his composure.

Legolas walked carefully toward him with a black satin cushion in his hands. Atop the pillow rested his crown. The cushion swayed dangerously but the elfling managed to balance it safely along the corridor. When he had reached his father he stretched up his arms holding the crown up towards his father.

“Welcome back, Ada!” the boy whispered his eyes shining. Thranduil knelt and accepted the cushion while inclining his head. The formal gesture lingered only for a moment longer. Quickly the King set the pillow aside and embraced his youngest now no longer able to hold his tears back.

To be continued……………………………..

Chapter 27:  the trial

Thranduil raised his head and nodded to his herald. The elf standing as sentinel at the foot of the dais hit his staff against the floor three times and announced that the trial would now begin.

The King had spent long hours, in fact many days, to prepare himself for this day and still he was facing the upcoming hearing with mixed emotions. Not that he doubted that Thoran had to be punished for the sorrow he had brought to so many families including his own.

Only last night he had again been ripped from his sleep by a crying elfling who suddenly feared the dark and uncomfortable when he could not see at least one family member nearby. Legolas had scrambled into his bed and even then he could barely be brought back to sleep again.

Two days ago he had ordered four guards to accompany Liriel, the head cook’s daughter, to the Havens. She could no longer bear to remain in Middle Earth; her son had been one of the children who had drowned in the barrels. After the death of her husband just one year before, this had been the last straw for her.

Over the past days he had managed to catch up on the details of the events that had occurred during his imprisonment. If Thoran had acted on his beliefs and convictions at the beginning of his rule, over time he had lost his reason more and more. The more ground he had lost, the more incomprehensible his actions had become.

Thranduil could have asked for mercy, taken Thoran into custody and allowed him remain in the capitol under the watchful eye of the Home guard. But he felt that the horrible death of the two young elves caused by the spiders and the deaths of the five elflings made such a course of action impossible for him. Additionally, the attack on his person warranted an explicit punishment anyway.

Yet, how to judge such a crime? It was not elven practice to impose the death penalty in judgment.

The only way for Thranduil to achieve justice would be to ban Thoran from his realm and he was sure the other elven realms would follow his example. This would leave the exiled with a single option, to sail and beg forgiveness before the Belain.

He knew this would be hard but he could no longer accept such a rebellious mind within his Kingdom and he had to make his position clear to all others. Thoran would never see reason and would always try to fuel the underlying conflict that existed between the elves that were native to this forest and the Sindar elves who had immigrated here long ago under the leadership of his father.

The herald cleared his throat, expressing his irritation at the delay. Thranduil rose from his throne and the witnesses followed, rising to their feet as well. With relief he saw Galadhion and Saeron standing to his right and left side, their injuries healed enough to allow them to attend the trial. With a nod he beckoned the impatient elf to continue.

No sooner he had given his permission than the great double doors swung open and Thoran, bound tightly, was led by two guards of the palace watch down the corridor toward the dais containing Thranduil´s throne. Behind him came another group; elves who had been accused of conspiring with Thoran, helping him to overtake the palace and carrying out his orders.

Again Thranduil was taken aback with how few elves had made this possible, yet Thoran had done the one thing at the beginning which had made all of this work.

He had captured as many children as his henchmen could find and he had placed his confidants in strategically important positions. His system was based on deceit, lies, threats and blackmail.

What bothered Thranduil the most were those elves who had been traitors but who would never be discovered. Surely some that had supported Thoran had managed to recede into the background. These elves posed a serious threat.

Removing their leader would only bring back partial stability. The King’s spies would have to do a lot of work and Thranduil was more than uncomfortable with this situation.

Not giving any indication of what thoughts crossed his mind, Thranduil waited with a face devoid of any emotions until Thoran had reached the dais. He watched the face of Thoran intently. While his chin was still defiantly trust upward his eyes darted briefly around and Thanduil was sure that he had briefly glimpsed some kind of fear.

Deliberately delaying the hearing a bit more Thranduil let his gaze wander over the other elves accused of conspiring with Thoran. Most of them he did not know personally, they were followers of Thoran from the south. Two the group he knew well; one was his advisor Luindil, now removed from office, and the other was Thelian, his former herald.

Both had been coerced, Luindil by threatening his fiancé and Thelian by kidnapping his son. But Thranduil was not sure if both had not inwardly sympathized with Thoran from the beginning. He wondered how he could have erred so. He had trusted these two elves. They had laboured with him for many years and thought up various strategies about how to best protect his people. Both elves were of Silvan origin but Thranduil had never imagined this would be a problem.

He would judge these two differently from the main group, but for now he wanted them to remain with the others to show them how seriously he took their deeds. Whereas Thoran’s fellows looked defiant, almost challengingly towards him; the downcast gazes of his two former confidants spoke volumes.

The murmurs grew louder and more impatient. Thranduil ended the game of power display by clearing his throat.

“Thoran, son of Geldarion you are charged with high treason. You attacked and imprisoned your King, acted violently against the folk of Lasgalen and are directly responsible for the deaths of five children. Additionally you are accused of causing the deaths of more then twenty warriors and the deaths of uncounted villagers in the south. How do you plead?”

The question exploded into the sudden silence. Everyone present, witnesses and spectators alike, were holding their breath. Family members of elves who had been abused or killed looked with burning eyes directed at the one elf responsible for their sorrow.

But if anyone had expected Thoran to be intimidated by the charges they were disappointed.  With a mad glimmer in his eyes Thoran looked directly at the King. “Your accusations are ridiculous and untenable. You are the one responsible for all this mess. If you had surrendered your authority and ordered your warriors to accept my command none of this would have happened.”

Thranduil briefly closed his eyes. What had he expected? Thoran had long ago left the path of rationality. This was only a final posturing and a mask of indifference about the ultimate fate that was awaiting him. Thranduil had already closed his conscience to the ranting the tall elf was now saying to the gathered elves in the great hall. However, bewildered, irritated and angry glares were all that Thoran received.

With an inconspicuous wave Thranduil ordered more guards to surround the accused, anticipating that Thoran would attempt an escape. Since entering the hall, the vanquished former ruler had been carefully counting the guards and looked for possible exit routes.

Thranduil was not willing to endure this farce any longer. His people had suffered much over the last weeks and Thoran was minimizing their sacrifices by his disgraceful behaviour.

“Silence!” he called out and the agitated voice of Thoran as well as the indignant remarks of the spectators quietened immediately. Thranduil needed a minute more to get his irritation under control.

“Thoran, I’ve heard nothing so far that can justify any of your actions. You willingly and consciously endangered the lives of the citizens of Lasgalen, you purposefully caused the death of both children and warriors and you threatened the life of the King and his family. You are no longer worthy to live amongst our race. From this day hence you are banned from the realm of Mirkwood. No longer cross the borders of my Kingdom or come into my presence under threat of death. I have spoken!”

As soon as the final word had left his mouth Thoran let out a cry of outrage and sprang forward. While the majority of the elves present were stunned by the harsh penalty dealt by the King, Thoran’s followers cried out in shock. They felt sure that the other elven realms would surely follow the King’s decree.

Thranduil stood immobile while the swords of his sons and the surrounding guards stopped Thoran’s advance, even though the elf was still bound which also minimized his chance to attack effectively.

The guards worked quickly and Thoran and the other prisoners were dragged outside, still loudly protesting the verdict. Thranduil ordered his former confidants to be separated from the group before they were ejected from the hall.

Just before Thoran was dragged through the door he managed to stop the guards around him. With a quick twist he wriggled free and run back into the hall. Saeron leaped from the dais and with lightening speed he wrestled Thoran down while holding a naked blade against his throat.

“Please do me the favour and make one more move,” Saeron whispered in the ear of the elf that had brought his family so much sorrow. Thoran stilled but not without directing a hateful glare at the King.

He called out in a voice dripping hatred. “You will regret this, Thranduil! I curse you. I have many friends and you will never find a minute to relax. One day we will get you!”

Before he had the chance to say more Saeron jerked the exile to his feet and delivered him to the awaiting guards. After the door had closed the silence in the great hall was palpable.

Thranduil held up his hand and the spectators sat down again. He resumed sitting and now directed his gaze toward the two elves standing in the middle of the broad aisle looking down at the floor. When the King cleared his throat they look up reluctantly.

“Luindil, son of Golradir and Thelian, son of Aerandir, you are accused of conspiring with the rebel Thoran. You supported him in gaining access to the palace and you betrayed your pledge to serve your King. How do you plead?”

Both advisors did not hesitate and answered with one voice:  “Guilty, my Lord!”

The King took a deep breath and waited until the murmurs from the audience had died down. He had expected nothing different from the two, yet he was still thinking about how to judge the elves that had supported Thoran both inside and outside of the palace. He knew perfectly well that these two had been coerced into helping the traitor, and this made the whole affair more difficult to judge impartially.

Luindil and Thelian would not be the only ones within his household who helped Thoran; others remained to be discovered. But the sentence dealt out to them this day would apply to all who would be accused of the same crime. Thranduil was inclined to forgive them and forget their insubordination but the fact of their betrayal, whether willingly or forced, weighed heavily on his conscience.

His rule was only made possible by his being able to trust the people governing the Kingdom with him without question. Confidential information had to be handled carefully and therefore he had to depend on his councillors to stand firmly behind him. Trust once betrayed was hard to rebuild.

Also the conflict between Sindar and Silvan elves had to be considered. Thranduil had never made any distinction between the two groups. His councillors and advisors were from both groups, almost equally. Because their origins didn’t matter to him, he never asked about it when hiring elves into his service. Maybe that was a mistake? Maybe he should consider the interests of the native elves with more care?

Realizing that his thoughts were going in circles Thranduil slammed his fist angrily against the armrest of his throne startling the spectators and the accused equally. While the guards around him looked irritated Galadhion gazed at his father with concern. He realized that although his father’s bodily wounds had healed, no one could tell how deep the scars on his soul were.

Knowing that his father would neither allow nor appreciate any public show of comfort Galadhion directed his gaze warningly at his brother who was looking equally concerned. Both brothers took a deep breath and gazed straight ahead again, knowing that their father was experienced enough to gather his wits.

No sooner had Galadhion finalized his thoughts than the King rose and stepped forward. “Luindil, Thelian come forth to receive your sentence!” he said in a tone that, although not overly loud, yet resonated to every corner of the hall. The room had fallen completely silent.

“You are both released from my service and relieved of all authority effective immediately. You are to remain at the capitol under custody until I decide otherwise. Your families are free to leave or remain as they please. No restrictions will be laid upon them. I have spoken!”

This time no murmurs could be heard. The accused lowered their heads accepting their sentence without objections.

Thranduil had already decided not to stretch their custody overly long, yet he had to make an example. He could not allow them to get away with their actions.

At his signal the herald announced that the trial was over and the two advisors were escorted from the room. Slowly the gathered elves dispersed until finally only the King and his sons remained behind. When the door had closed Thranduil let out a breath and sank down onto his cushioned throne. He removed his crown and placed it on a small table positioned next to him.

The brothers remained silent feeling their father’s need to gather his thoughts. After a while however Galadhion shuffled his feet impatiently. Thranduil looked up and actually smiled. “I know, I know, Galadhion, I will be along shortly.”

They had been dismissed. Both brothers rose and left the hall. Another ceremonial duty was already waiting, although it was a much more pleasant one.

To be continued……………….

Chapter 28:  celebrations and commendations

Less than fifteen minutes after the trial the King entered the chamber next to the great throne room. A smaller version of the audience chamber and more comfortable, it was used to welcome and entertain guests.

Galadhion inclined his head in a silent salute, wondering how his father had managed to make himself presentable in such a short span of time. He and his brother were still wearing the formal robes they had worn at the trial, but seeing that his father had changed into more comfortable but still elegant and imposing clothing, he resolved to do the same at his next opportunity.

Thranduil did not need wrappings of brocade and silk or even a crown to show that he was the elf in charge of ruling the great forest kingdom. Glorfindel nudged his fellow warrior and Celeborn raised an eyebrow but bestowed an open smile directed towards the advancing King.

Thranduil returned the smile and greeted both elves first with a warriors greeting, and following that by stepping back and bowing before both Elf-lords. This produced many surprised looks among the other guests in the room. Upon the King’s beckoning the twin sons of Elrond joined the group and the King raised a glass that Saeron had quickly thrust into his hand.

When the room had quieted Thranduil’s face became sober. He thought quickly about what he wanted to thank the four elves from the other realms for.

The sons of Lord Elrond had accompanied his son Saeron. They had supported him during his long stay at Imladris and accompanied him as he returned to his home forest. They had supported his warriors by making strategic plans, taking into account how to best use the available resources. They had joined the fight with Galadhion in the south, repelling the orcs who were invading and attacking the southern settlements.

Thranduil still shuddered as he recalled the moment when Elladan had told him in what dire state Saeron had arrived at the border of the hidden valley and how his Lord father, Elrond, had laboured to achieve the recovery of his second son. The half-elven Lord had then made plans about how to support the hard-pressed elves of Mirkwood and had even sent his own warriors, following his words with action.

Lord Glorfindel had led the warriors over the mountains. Thranduil flicked his eyes briefly to the tall elf standing next to the twin brothers. At the shores of the Anduin the renowned warrior had joined his group with warriors from the Golden Wood. This led his thoughts to the fourth elf he was unsure about how t o thank properly. How could he show how much he appreciated their help?

Thranduil knew perfectly well that he owed his rule and his quite possibly his life to the unconventional help these elves had given. Without their reinforcement the group around Galadhion would have been lost, his son dead, and the south overrun.

In fact the outcome would have been much worse if not for the help from outside. But Thranduil would have never considered such a concept before. For his entire life he had laboured alone, not accepting help or even asking for it. Even in this situation he was not sure if he would have done as his sons had and called for help.

He frowned and tried to investigate his feelings. Was he too proud to call for help, or did he simply not expect someone being willing to help? All of the elven realms were hard pressed in their battles against the enemy and had few resources to spare, yet even under those conditions, they had not hesitated to come to his aid. Maybe he had to change his attitude about his fellow elves and expand his focus.

Seeing a knowing smile on Celeborn’s face Thranduil took a deep breath and focused his thoughts back to the present moment.

“My Lords,” he said while looking at each elf in turn. “On behalf of the people of Lasgalen and in my own name I thank you for your coming here, supporting the realm’s warriors and risking your lives to help achieve the removal of an elf who had brought so much sorrow to our forest. I can only express my gratitude and hope that one day I will be able to repay the debt.”

With the last word spoken the King bowed toward the four elves again and saluted each one. The visitors were each handed a glass of wine while a loud cheer arouse, delaying the elves from saying anything in response.

When the applause had died down, Celeborn stepped forward and placed a hand on the King’s shoulder. Both elves were nearly of the same height.

“Our help was given gladly, cousin. I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say that we are happy that this whole episode turned out well in the end, although there are too many dead to mourn.”

To this Thranduil could only nod in agreement and he quickly took a deep swallow to hide the lump rising in his throat. Apart from all the hardship he had endured he was lucky that his all three of his sons had survived. Many of the elves surrounding him had suffered in one way or the other, several experiencing the worst case, a dead family member to mourn.

It would still need many weeks if not month to remove all of the imprints Thoran had left, both the visible ones and the invisible. While taking another sip Thranduil again looked covertly at his sons. Galadhion was laughing at a joke a fellow elf had made and he seemed almost back to normal. Quickly Thranduil enabled his bond with his son and was pleased to find it strong and vibrant. Yet the imprint of Galadhion’s near death experience was still clear for him to see.

Still engaged Galadhion did not notice the gaze. Not so Saeron. Thranduil had also reached out to his second son and Saeron had instantly jerked his head in his direction, causing the father and son to look at one another. Thranduil felt the still healing fea of his son as well as some lingering turmoil. His son’s mind would also need some time to settle down again and to come to terms with what had happened.

Thranduil knew exactly why Saeron looked so irritated. Although he was using his connection with his children to ascertain their well being, he was not willing to grant them the same favour. He was blocking the bond for their reverse scrying. He was still not sure how he felt about the entire experience and before he had found an acceptable way to cope with the shock, he would not let anyone glimpse his soul, not even his own sons.

Saeron quickly raised an annoyed eyebrow but he was too used to his father’s attitude to be truly annoyed. The King would open up eventually but he would choose the moment. Saeron had to be content with that. But he would keep an eye on his father. Thranduil was strong but even he had his limits and Saeron wanted to be there if his father needed an open ear. Saeron knew that this was highly unlikely, yet he would be there nonetheless.

The only person to whom Thranduil had opened up in the past was their mother. She had never told him of such an occasion of course, but Saeron had once witnessed such a situation accidentally and was grateful that at least one elf had been able to break open the hard exterior core of the self-restrained elf.

When Saeron was addressed and no longer gazed at his father Thranduil extended his senses to his youngest son. Legolas was with his nurse right now, considered still too young to attend such functions. Thranduil did his examination of his son’s fea very carefully; he had learned that the boy was very sensitive and observant.

To his relief the elfling was distracted and unaware of his scrutiny, yet the King felt clearly the turmoil in his young heart. The nightly terrors he endured showed clearly how much the child had suffered and that his confidence in his world had been shattered. He would need time to set the mind of this child at ease again.

Thranduil shook his head and directed his thoughts back to his guests. After a while when many well-wishes and thanks had been given and received the King climbed onto a dais and instantly the gathered elves quieted and looked expectantly at their fair haired ruler.

Considering his words briefly Thranduil let his gaze wander over the assembled elves. He had asked Galadhion to invite as many warriors as possible. He wanted to address them openly and thank them for their resolution against Thoran. Their decision to remove themselves from Thoran’s grasp, denying him their allegiance, had in fact brought about the downfall of the usurper.

Makeshift groups were still struggling to establish a more or less routine schedule safeguarding the borders. It was high time to renew the well organized patrols and Galadhion had promised to do just this during the next morning.

Many of the Imladris warriors and the elves from the Golden Wood had volunteered to stay as long as necessary until some kind of order had returned to the great forest.

When Thranduil raised his hand the room fell deadly silent. “Today I want to thank all the warriors in my service, especially those who have with caution, courage and loyalty shown their respect to their service and to their King. I am sure this was not done on a whim and took much consideration. Your decision also exposed you to danger. I’m grateful to have elves in my service ready to fight for what is right. I can never reward you appropriately; I can only express my heartfelt thanks and admiration for your actions. I will never forget what you did and will ever be in your debt!”

With this statement Thranduil bowed low before the assembled elves causing many of the warriors to stare at him bashfully or in bewilderment. As one, Galadhion and Saeron along with all the warriors raised their fists to their hearts and also bowed low toward their King.

Not only was the King hard pressed to swallow the lump rising in his throat. Celeborn and Glorfindel looked at one another and silently agreed that this King was indeed lucky to have such elves under his command. The brothers from Imladris looked equally relieved and had bowed along with the warriors from the Hidden Valley and the Golden Wood. This open display of loyalty was balm to the King’s raw fea.

When the King had stepped down from the dais the highly emotional atmosphere lasted until Galadhion motioned for the minstrels to play a soft but happy tune. The tense faces then relaxed and wine was poured into uncounted glasses.

The King visibly relaxed and Galadhion was glad that a least for a few moments his father was able to forget the last weeks. Everyday life would catch up with them soon enough.

However, half an hour later the celebrants were interrupted when the door to the hall banged open and Sinaht, the captain of the Home guard, hurried into the chamber. He had been unable to attend because he was leading many families who had fled into the forest back to their homes. When he had spotted his King he bowed deeply and reported in a hurried, yet low voice.

“My Lord King! Thoran has escaped and he has taken Prince Legolas with him!”

To be continued……………………..

Chapter 29:  what goes around, comes around

“My Lord King! Thoran has escaped and he has taken Prince Legolas with him!”

Although the words were spoken softly the message exploded into a sudden silence. Thranduil looked aghast at the officer while actually needing several seconds to comprehend what he had just heard.

He had personally checked on Thoran before coming to the reception and without help it would have been impossible for him to escape. The King looked intently at the captain when this thought occurred to him. Knowing exactly what was on the King’s mind Sinaht returned his gaze unflinchingly.

“My Lord, Thoran was released. One of the guards of the palace watch was obviously his confederate. Unfortunately we discovered this fact too late.”

The room had fallen deadly silent. Every elf looked shocked as they gazed at the captain and nearly everyone was afraid to look into the King’s direction. Too many bad things had happened during the past weeks but now Thoran had made his final move and again it was targeted at the King.

Thranduil was trying hard to squelch his rising fury. Just the fact that Thoran had managed to escape was incredible, but even more, that he had been able to kidnap his youngest son was beyond belief.

His feelings ranged from overwhelming fury to choking fear and momentarily paralyzed him. He was not able to form a coherent thought. Again he saw clearly how the recent weeks had affected him, even if he refused to admit it, even to himself.

What worried him the most however was the fact that he had not received any sensations through the bond with his child. Even though they had only recently discovered how strong this bond really was; it had now failed to work. This led to only one possibility; Legolas had not been able to alert him and the implications of this fact hit him like a blow.

Galadhion directed a worried gaze at his father. He wondered about the lack of outward reaction from the King, yet he could well sympathize with what had momentarily frozen the older elf. Just when some of the strain had faded from his father’s fea this new shock was crumbling the frail semblance of order Thranduil had re-established over the last few days.

Saeron´s reaction was quite different. Before anyone could even blink the King’s second son had hastened out of the room with an angry cry. Galadhion closed his eyes, despairing. He had expected nothing else from his brother.

However, Saeron´s cry ripped the King from his shock. Thranduil recovered surprisingly fast and looked at his captain with a grim gaze that made even the experienced warrior swallow. With a much too controlled voice he demanded, “Follow me and tell me what happened!”

Thranduil was already striding from the room. Sinaht had no other choice than to hasten after his Lord. Galadhion was already apologizing to the assembled elves and excusing his father, although no one minded the King’s hasty departure.

Glorfindel, Celeborn and Elrond’s twin sons were also following the King without invitation. They were as shocked as the others, yet they hoped to offer their help in some way and they were as eager as the King to learn how it had been possible for Thoran to escape.

The King and his followers descended the steps and reached the corridor leading to the cellar storerooms. Thranduil momentarily stopped his advance when he saw the palace healer kneeling on the floor next to a prone figure on the ground. Sinaht had not had a chance to explain anything so far.

For a short moment the King’s heart leaped into his throat in fear that it was Legolas lying there but he quickly recognized that the fallen elf was an adult. Thoran had taken his son with him, undoubtedly using him to guarantee his own life.

The already gathered crowd parted at the King’s arrival and Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Although he did not know the elf on the ground personally, he wore the livery of the palace watch. Possibly he was the confederate of Thoran that Sinaht had spoken of. The palace healer was busy staunching a heavily bleeding stab would in the elf’s chest. The King frowned. How had he received this injury? Had Thoran intended to kill the elf that had helped him?

Taking a deep breath Thranduil knelt also and looked at the guard who was panting hard to cope with the pain. Before he could even open his mouth the healer shot a warning glare at him and directed his attention with a tip of his head towards another body lying further down the corridor.

Thranduil did not have to go to this elf to see that he was dead. Shocked, he recognized that it was his former advisor, Luindil. Now he struggled hard to piece the puzzle together. Luindil was also accused of high treason, yet Thranduil doubted that he had helped Thoran to escape.

When two more healers with a litter approached, the King rose and made way for the helpers to transport the wounded elf to the healing ward. His questions would have to wait. Two guards were already bearing the body of the dead elf away.

The King clenched his fists. There were too many unanswered questions. Although he could make a pretty good guess what had happened down here he needed confirmation, and their time was running short.

Having made up his mind Thranduil turned abruptly and hurried back up the steps. He had no time to lose. However Thoran had managed to escape was secondary. They had to follow him and rescue his son before the tracks were cold. How he had managed to take Legolas with him still puzzled him and Thranduil would demand explanations from everyone involved.

When Galadhion came running down the hallway and stepped in his way Thranduil´s face grew angry. “Do not try to stop me, Galadhion. It’s my place to stop Thoran once and for all!”

Galadhion grimaced at his father’s sharp tone, yet he met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m not here to stop you, Adar. In fact I’ve arranged everything for an immediate departure.”

Thranduil looked surprised and at the same time felt ashamed for snapping at his son. Not trusting his voice he only squeezed his son’s arm in thanks and began pulling off his outer robe.

A touch on his shoulder made him turn and he managed at the last moment not to scowl at another elf that was hindering his departure.

“Thranduil, we would be glad to be of any assistance,” Celeborn said, making a sweeping gesture that included himself, Glorfindel and the twins.

Thranduil took no time to think about this, he only nodded and inclined his head. He had already been rude to his guests; but once again they offered their assistance. He would have to make many things up later but right now he didn’t have the stomach for anything. His fear for Legolas had nearly overridden his common sense.

“I would be glad for any assistance,” he said and turned. “Let’s be on our way!” With this the King hurried out of the palace leaving his personal guards hard pressed to follow.

Many onlookers were also left behind, speechless but with hope in their hearts that the King would be successful. All knew one thing with certainty. This time the King would not make any concessions. He would hunt Thoran down without mercy.

…………………………………..

The King held up his hand to stop the elves who were following him. He crouched low over the neck of his steed determined to take a closer look at the imprint on the ground. His two personal guards, Celeborn, Glorfindel, the twins and six additional warriors stopped their mounts, making sure to not disturb any signs Thoran might have left in his haste.

Thranduil had deliberately limited the number of elves following him. He wanted to make swift progress, something that would not be possible with half the population of Mirkwood following him. He intended to delay alerting Thoran to their presence for as long as possible. Normally he would have followed on foot, yet the head start of the insane elf forced the King to cover the growing distance swiftly. He was not willing to subject his son to this mad elf for any longer than necessary.

Their departure had been delayed further by Loriel, Legolas´ nurse, coming before her King, her face drenched with her tears. Barely able to speak she explained how it had come to pass that Legolas had been snatched from her care.

The King had heard her out, first with annoyance but more and more with sympathy and rising worry. While listening to her tale he had recognized with dismay the splinted arm and the swollen dark red eye of the slender woman. His worry and fury had clouded his common sense.

Unfortunately, just when Thoran had emerged from the cellar’s steps, Loriel with Legolas skipping at her hand had crossed the hallway to reach the boy’s private rooms.

Rejoicing at his good fortune Thoran had brutally backhanded a stunned Loriel, shoving her to the ground while dragging the boy away with him. He hadn’t cared about Loriel´ shouts for help or the wailing of the frightened child. He knew that no one would dare to stop him while he was using the elfling as a shield or hostage.

Knowing that Legolas would instantly alert his father through their bond Thoran had backhanded the elfling so hard that he had lost consciousness. It was his only chance to cut the connection. He would have been unable to leave the palace had the King been alerted to his activities.

Thranduil swallowed hard trying to get this image out of his mind. He had to think clearly and accurately. Personal feelings would have to be shoved aside. If Thoran did any further harm to Legolas there would be not a place in all of Arda where he could hide from him.

The imprint on the ground was left from a horse being hurried along. Of course, Thranduil could not say if it was left from the one Thoran had stolen from the stables, yet the imprint was fresh and on a path leading into the south. Where else would Thoran be heading?

A light touch on his arm prompted Thranduil to look up. Celeborn was pointing ahead and the King narrowed his eyes when he saw the object the Lord of the Golden Wood was indicating. After taking a deep breath Thranduil slipped from his horse and retrieved the item that had been trampled into the muddy earth.

Elladan swallowed when he recognized what the King was stowing in his pocket. The object had been a small soft slipper undoubtedly lost by the young prince. The brothers looked at each other with a grimace. Already the King was departing and the twins urged their mounts onward too.

After two further hours, in the early hours of pre-dawn, the group had long left behind the inner circle of the Home Guard. Now they had to not only be alert so as not to not miss any traces from Thoran, but they also had to heighten their senses for beastly attackers.

When dawn broke the King stopped the group with a raised hand. Elladan narrowed his eyes while Thranduil listened with his eyes closed. The older twin did not even try to catch what the wood elf was perceiving. Elves of Noldor origin, let alone any Half-elf, did not have a Wood-elf’s affinity with trees.

Elladan gasped when two elves suddenly dropped from the trees, but then he scolded himself. How could he have expected Legolas´ brothers to not be part of this hunt? The Crown prince and the King’s second son were silently informing their father about something and pointing ahead. Elladan shifted uneasily in his saddle. He didn’t have to understand what was being said. Something was going to be happening.

Without any verbal command or order the warriors fanned out. Only now did Elladan recognize that a little clearing lay ahead. Galadhion and Saeron had already vanished back up into the trees. Thranduil motioned for the group to dismount and with a silent command the horses were ordered to retreat further into the trees.

Behind the King, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Celeborn neared the clearing silently. The warriors and guards formed a circle. Thoran would have no chance to escape.

When Elladan readied his bow he felt a light touch on his forearm. Questioningly he looked up into the blue eyes of his grandfather. “We are only here to help if it is needed. This is the King’s affair. We wait to intervene,” the silver haired elf whispered softly.

Elladan nodded and loosed his bowstring. Celeborn was right. The King would not appreciate any intervention from the Imladris´ elves. Elladan narrowed his eyes and could now see that Thoran was indeed standing in the centre of this little clearing. At first he could not see the King’s youngest son but then he spied him huddled against a fallen log.

The little boy’s face was tear-streaked and he looked fearfully at the elf standing some feet away from him. At least he was no longer unconscious. Thoran was busy watering his horse and taking sips of water himself. Elladan´s fists clenched. The bastard did not even think about giving the elfling some drops of water also.

Elladan looked back at the child and estimated how far the two elves were apart. It would be easy to dash into the clearing, grab the boy and ran back before Thoran had a chance to react. A touch on his other arm surprised Elladan a second time but now it was Glorfindel. Pointing toward Legolas the warriors shook his head. Only now Elladan saw that the elfling was bound to the log with a rope. So much for snatching him away quickly.

When he heard a bird’s call Elladan looked up and saw the King holding up his hand. Looking at his brother the twins made themselves ready, in league with the two older warriors.

An arrow notched to his bow Thranduil left the shelter of the trees and stepped quickly into the clearing. Elladan scanned the trees and saw at least eight bows pointed at Thoran.

And then everything happened as if in slow motion. Thoran suddenly whirled around, hastened toward the young price, cut the rope and hauled the elfling to his feet. Looking around frantically, he pressed the boy against him as a shield.

Thranduil momentarily faltered in his advance but did not lower his bow. The archers in the trees did not let the traitor out of their focus, yet like their King, they would never dare to endanger the child.

“Stop, Thranduil, or your son will not take another breath,” Thoran hissed and was pressing a knife to the boy’s throat. Elladan swallowed when he recognized that the blade was already drawing blood. The elfling´s initial shrieks of fear had stopped when he saw Thranduil. His large blue eyes pleaded silently with his father. The King’s face was a blank mask. His eyes were fixed on his son, yet he did not lower his bow an inch.

`Legolas, do not struggle. I´m here. All will be well. I will not let you down`

Thranduil transferred these calming thoughts to his son and indeed the boy´s panic lessened a bit, fully confidant in the presence of his father.

His hand on the bow nearly shaking with fury while receiving the fear of his child Thranduil directed his attention back on the traitor.

“Release my son, at once and I will spare your life, Thoran!” he demanded with an icy tone. Though releasing the bite of the blade a bit Thoran pressed the boy even tighter against him, causing Legolas to cry out in discomfort. Every shot from this short distance could also harm the child and Thoran knew this.

Seeing this Thranduil send a short but quick order at the guards not to shoot Thoran. He was not willing to endanger his son in any way. Even if this meant that Thoran would escape again, he was sure to catch him later and he did not want to subject Legolas to a situation where an elf was killed before his eyes. Thranduil would do this if necessary but would prefer it to be without the witnessing eyes of a child.

Inch-by-inch the traitor was moving toward his horse and neither the warriors in the trees, nor Glorfindel and Celeborn on the other side of the clearing, neither the King, nor his sons or any others could do anything against it.

Before anyone could prevent it Thoran had leaped onto the back of his horse, the boy still pressed against him and crouching low over the mare’s neck he galloped from the clearing.

With a cry of rage Thranaduil whistled and when his horse thundered towards him he leaped onto its back and raced after Thoran. The other elves were blinking in shock and before they had comprehended what had just happened, the two riders had vanished into the trees.

To be continued……………………….

A/N: sorry for the long delay, but RL is not always playing fair......

Chapter 30: pay-off

While racing after Thoran, Thranduil had to make a conscious effort not to draw his bow and shoot the fleeing elf from his horse. The fear of accidentally injuring his son stayed his hand but did nothing to dampen his fury.

He physically felt his child’s fear. But even though their bond was now reactivated he was unable to send calming thoughts through it. His son, nearly hysterical with fear, had shut down. After screaming in terror Legolas had ceased struggling and was now hanging limply in the strong grip of his tormentor. Thoran had forced the elfling to lie face down across his horse.

Subconsciously Thranduil recognized his two other sons racing above him through the trees not a breath behind. As grateful as he was for their steadying presence his focus was directed solely at Thoran. Now he would make sure that it was the last time the agitator had fooled him.

The King was ripped from his thoughts when Thoran´s horse suddenly reared up in protest. The dark haired elf had brutally forced the poor beast to an abrupt stop. With a sharp command Thranduil stopped his stallion as quickly, yet much more gently.

To his horror and without any chance to interfere Thranduil saw Thoran grab Legolas by his hair and fling him forcefully from the horse. The elfling was thrown against a tree trunk where his small body hit hard before landing limply on the forest floor.

Before the King could even blink twice Saeron had jumped from a tree and knelt beside his brother. Thoran, meanwhile, had turned his horse and was again racing away. Swallowing hard, Thranduil was torn between dismounting to ascertain the state of his child or following the fleeing elf.

“Saeron!” he shouted, his anxiousness getting the better of him. His second son looked up in irritation and shock. “He’s alive!” the dark haired young elf answered, knowing that this was the only vital information his father demanded. The King only nodded grimly.

While Saeron gently gathered the limp body of his brother into his arms Thranduil spurred his horse onward. The stallion made a mighty leap and resumed the pursuit. With a quick look upward Thranduil realized that Galadhion had also resumed the chase.

The King’s face had become a grim mask. Again he had made the mistake of underestimating Thoran. Again he had not believed that an elf could be that cruel. He would not hesitate again. As soon as the opportunity presented itself he would stop Thoran and he would not let his actions be dictated by mercy.

…………………………………

As soon as his father was out of sight Saeron spread a cloak on the ground and placed his brother carefully on it. He had just knelt beside the still body when he again heard hoof beats coming closer and with great speed. A few seconds later the King’s personal guards thundered past them with not so much as a glance at the two princes. Saeron grimaced. He could well sympathize with their haste. They were supposed never to leave the King’s side when accompanying him outside the fortress but his father had given them no chance to fulfil their duty when he had chased after Thoran. Now they had to make up for their negligence.

Shortly after the royal guards had passed, Glorfindel, Celeborn and the twins came into sight. Saeron let out a relieved breath. He was in dire need of a healer and with the brothers he had two competent ones at once.

He could not glimpse the six warriors but he was sure they were already guarding this spot. With a worried glance he briefly glanced into the direction that his father had gone. Thranduil was a formidable warrior and Saeron had no doubts that the King was able to handle Thoran, yet the King had left in a rage and fury was directing his actions at the moment. Hopefully his father would cool down before the fight and regain his equilibrium. Saeron did not expect Thoran to escape alive and he did not care.

As soon as the four elves had spotted him they stopped their mounts and hastened toward him. While Elladan and Elrohir instantly knelt beside Legolas and began examining him, Celeborn and Glorfindel stood, observing their surroundings.

Knowing that his brother was in capable hands Saeron rose and joined the two elder elves. ”What happened, Saeron?” Celeborn asked his tone carefully neutral. “Where is your father?”

Saeron sighed. This situation was as unnerving to him as it was to the others. “Thoran suddenly stopped and threw my brother from his horse,” Saeron explained and motioned at the tree Legolas was lying beneath.

While Celeborn did not show any outward emotions Glorfindel took a deep intake of breath. Both elves had enough imagination to guess how this had played out.

“My father resumed his pursuit. Galdhion went with him as did his two guards,” Saeron finished his brief report when no question or comment was made.

Celeborn still said nothing he only looked ahead down the path. Glorfindel placed a hand on the lower arm of silver haired elf. “This is Thranduil´s fight. I think we should not interfere.”

When a frown crossed Celeborn´s face Saeron knew that the elf of the Golden Wood had the same doubts about his father’s mental state as he did.

“I will follow him, but remain out of sight until something gets out of hand. If you would stay with the children I would be glad.” Glorfindel only inclined his head and before Saeron could utter one word the fair haired elf had vanished into the trees.

Saeron only raised an eyebrow at Celeborns words. Oddly enough, being called a child did not bother him. The ancient elf did not mean any insult; it was a simple statement of fact. Compared to him, the twins, he and Legolas were no more then children.

Hearing a sob, Saeron turned and joined the twins surrounding the young prince on the ground followed by Glorfindel. To his great relief Legolas was waking. He looked around confused while being surrounded by strange elves. Seeing his lower lip begin to tremble, Saeron quickly stepped closer making sure that his brother could see him.

When Legolas stretched out his left arm Saeron looked quickly toward Elladan, for permission to lift the boy. Elladan nodded but made a gesture for him to be careful. The boy’s right arm was broken. The older twin had already secured the limb in a tight bandage and a sling.

The elfling had a big bump on the right side of his head and dried blood from a gash to his temple was still clinging to his face. Elladan had wrapped a bandage around the child’s head to cover the injury after applying some salve. Just as Saeron was lifting his brother up Elrohir removed his hands from a prominent bruise along the elfling´s ribs after imparting some healing energy.

Saeron gathered the small body in his arms and gently rocked the sobbing child. He could barely suppress his anger. If Thoran had been here now he would have beaten him to make him feel the same pain his brother was now forced to endure.

Elrohir looked with sympathy at the elfling. He and his brother had provided the basic help that could be done in the field; but the child needed to be looked over by a healer at the palace and cared for properly. He most likely had a concussion and a rib was broken or at least was cracked.

After the boy had cried himself to exhaustion at his brother’s chest Glorfindel rose and whistled for their horses. Elladan had not dared to drug the elfling not knowing the exact extent of his injuries. A sleeping potion could be dangerous with a head injury. The twins gathered their healing supplies and helped Saeron to his feet.

After Saeron had mounted Elladan´s horse, the older twin placed Legolas into his arms. Elladan slipped behind his brother on the back of his horse and the four elves returned the way they had come as quickly as possible. Glorfindel brought up the rear to make sure that nothing further would befall the young elves, while the Twins rode ahead to notify the palace healers of their need.

………………………………………..

Thranduil was only a few paces behind Thoran. While he was guiding his stallion in perfect harmony through the dense undergrowth, Thoran was having a much harder time coaxing the horse he had stolen forward. The mare did not appreciate being forced through the trees and bushes by a rider she did not know.

With grim satisfaction Thranduil recognized that the tree limbs parted for him while they were blocking Thoran, striking him across the face more then once. With a silent thanks to the ancient trees Thranduil determined to end this race now, once and for all. He was tired of the games this elf was playing and he had no qualms about calling him to account for his crimes.

When an exceptionally sturdy branch moved into Thoran´s way Thranduil quickly ducked and smiled when the renegade elf was forcefully thrown from his horse.

Quickly Thranduil brought his stallion to a halt and nocked an arrow while dismounting. Then he swore because he was too near to his enemy to use the powerful weapon. Yet he had no time to ponder how to engage Thoran. The fallen elf had recovered quickly and was already advancing with his sword raised. Thranduil discarded his bow and drew his own sword. He got in a defensive stance and deflected the first blow effortlessly.

Thoran´s aggressive attack demonstrated that he was not going to play with Thranduil. The stroke that had been directed at him had been intended to kill.

The elven King took a deep breath. He had long rehearsed how he would handle Thoran, if he had the opportunity. The elf had already been banished and Thranduil could not think of a worse penalty, hadn’t the deeds Thoran had committed since his escape warranted a harsher sentence?

The elf had obviously thrown all rational thinking and sympathy to the wind. Was he seeking death?

Thranduil was not determined to deal out death, yet this troublemaker had to be stopped. He could not risk any other elf or man suffering from the hand of Thoran.

Before Thranduil had any chance to engage further in the fight he sensed someone approaching. While parrying another blow the King glanced to the side. He recognized one of his personal guards advancing. Bregolas slid from his horse and readied his sword.

Since Thranduil was standing between Bregolas and Thoran the guard had no direct view of his opponent. Thoran took immediate advantage of this. Before Thranduil had any chance to step back far enough Thoran had pulled a knife from his boot and thrown it at the advancing elf. The knife was thrown true, embedding itself in the chest of Bregolas and the guard was dead before his body touched the ground.

Thranduil glanced briefly at the still body but suppressed his anger into cold determination. Once again Thoran had forfeited his right to live. Now he would rid Arda of this mad elf. With a war cry Thranduil raised his sword and attacked.

……………………………………..

Celeborn was not far behind the two elves. He wanted to be near enough to interfere should something unexpected happen, but he wanted to stay his distance and not distract Thranduil or affect the King’s concentration. He would not let Thoran win much less escape. Thoran was mad and not an opponent to be underestimated. He would fight unfairly and unpredictably.

After the two combatants had stopped racing through the forest, he also had restrained his pursuit and had settled himself in the embrace of a great oak. The tree offered its leaves as shelter without obscuring his view.

Just when the two opponents were ready to engage one another Celeborn heard hurried hoof beats. He looked back along the path behind him and soon saw the King’s royal guards.

When they were about to pass the tree in which he was sitting, the Lord of the Golden Wood jumped down just in front of the horses. Both beasts were startled but came to a quick halt. The guards looked bewildered at the appearance of the stranger but quickly recognized him.

“My Lord, I’m Bregolas, this is my fellow guard Tharan. Please clear the way. We must be by our Lord’s side!” the guard in front said. He was barely able to restrain his urge to thunder past the Elf-lord.

Celeborn held up his hand. “I understand your desire to come to your Lord’s aid, yet I deem it most unwise to announce your presence just yet. The King must not be distracted!”

Bregolas looked in annoyance at the silver haired elf. Aside from that fact that it was his duty; he would gladly give his life for his King. Before Celeborn could react Bregolas had manoeuvred his horse around the Elf-Lord and ridden ahead.

Celeborn looked sternly at the other guard and this time he succeeded. While Tharan was not content to remain away from his King’s side, he respected the older elf’s judgement.

Celeborn motioned for the elf to follow him and together they neared the clearing silently. Celeborn froze when he heard a startled cry undoubtedly uttered from the King. Fearing the worst he took a few steps more and looked in horror at the scene unfolding.

Just when Bregolas had entered the clearing Thoran had killed the guard with a thrown knife. Tharan bit his lip hard to restrain an enraged cry.

When the King attacked Thoran, Celeborn motioned for the guard to follow him up the tree he had originally been hiding in. Briefly Celeborn took a look around and wondered where Galadhion was hiding. He could not glimpse the King’s son anywhere but he was sure he was there.

“Let us watch how this works out. We will not desert your King, this I promise!” Celeborn said to the guard. Tharan´s lips were pressed into a thin line and he only nodded.

The King was not alone, yet often a controlled situation can get out of hand much too fast……

To be continued…………………..

Chapter 31: the fight

Thranduil attacked and parried, charged forward and retreated and with every stroke his opponent delivered, one thing was quickly driven home to him. Thoran was not playing. His intention was to kill!

Until a few moments before, Thranduil had still hoped he could talk sense into him or make him accept his fate but Thoran was not in the least interested in talking or reasoning. It almost seemed as though he had already given up on his life.

That made fighting against him dangerous. Thoran based his actions without regard to any consequences and Thranduil had to adapt to this, quickly.

He was already bleeding from a deep gash on his upper arm where Thoran had caught him with an unexpected move.

Thoran was definitely not the better fighter, he simply lacked experience. He was considerably younger than Thranduil, and he had never fought in any of the great battles. However the King no longer practiced in the saille every day and seldom had to fight for his life now, so the opponents were almost matched.

Even if movements that had been long learned and practised could not be excelled Thoran had nothing to lose, so Thranduil had to alter his tactics. With this in mind he again charged forward, spun around, and forced Thoran to his knees with a twisting motion that nearly ripped the other’s sword from his grasp. Both elves were panting hard from the swift pace of their fight.

While looming over the kneeling elf Thranduil looked briefly into the eyes glaring hate back at him. “Thoran, I do not want to kill you, even though you deserve death. Stop this madness and yield and I will spare your life!”

With a hard push Thoran came back to his feet and his mad laughter was the King’s only answer. Thranduil took a deep breath. The die was cast. He had no time to end his thought before Thoran attacked again. With frenzied blows he hacked at the King, driving him back.

Thranduil had no chance but to retreat. The eyes of Thoran gleamed with an alien light. The King blinked. This had to end, now and forever. He managed to raise his sword to block an exceptionally heavy blow and he was almost driven back to the edge of the clearing.

He saw a fallen log behind him from the corner of his eye; but Thranduil had no time to react. He tripped backward over the log and landed hard on his back. Thoran was already above him his sword raised for the fatal blow.

“No”!

The two elves froze. Thranduil had instantly recognized that the anguished scream had come from his son. He had nearly forgotten about his eldest. Before he had the chance to scramble back to his feet, Galadhion had jumped from a tree and was attacking Thoran with his raised sword.

If Thranduil had expected Thoran to be surprised then he was disappointed. The elf whirled around and faced his new attacker with deadly determination. Thranduil´s heart nearly missed a beat when Galadhion was driven back with a force the younger elf had not expected. Galadhion was an experienced fighter, yet Thoran´s aggressiveness was unexpected.

Thoran had discarded all rules of fighting, had given up on all fairness and dignity, and was now only determined to kill. He had found an even better target for his hate. He knew when he killed the Crown Prince he could increase the sorrow of the King tenfold.

Galadhion was no inexperienced recruit and was a well practiced warrior, yet he was unable to mount a successful resistance against Thoran´s mad barrage of blows. Despite his fierce resistance he was quickly driven to his knees and before Thranduil could interfere Thoran had landed a hard blow to the younger elf’s shoulder breaking his collarbone with ease.

A pain filled cry and the sick noise of breaking bone pierced Thranduil to his core and the King managed at the last second to block a second blow of Thoran´s raised sword that otherwise would undoubtedly have ended his son’s life. Galadhion was kneeling on the ground fighting unconsciousness unable to even lift his head.

With anger he had not felt in a long time Thranduil attacked Thoran anew with a strength stemming from his fear for his child and his fury about the other’s ruthlessness. He drove the elf back giving him no time to recover or even think. Thoran had already managed to injure all three of his sons. Thranduil´s level of tolerance had reached bottom.

Thoran stumbled and tripped backward and soon something akin to fear could be seen in his eyes. Thranduil no longer cared and he did not cease his powerful strokes. He was now beyond the point where he would rethink his actions. This elf had to be removed from the face of Arda and he would not let him catch his breath again. No one else should ever suffer from his hand.

Again at the edge of the clearing, Thoran ducked behind a tree. Another time Thranduil was forced into a dangerous situation momentarily losing sight of the elf. When he had rounded the tree Thoran was just in the process to deliver another hard blow to the King’s chest and would have succeeded but something amazing happened.

Just at the moment when the sword was only fractions from breaking the leather armour the King was wearing, a big low hanging tree limb whipped Thoran in the face with such force that the elf was thrown back, the sword falling from his hand.

Thranduil was as surprised as Thoran, yet he recovered much quicker sensing the empathy from the old sentinel flowing toward him. He briefly placed his palm on the bark and thanked the tree with a nod of his head.

Thoran was like a wounded animal now. With lightening speed he sprang up, ignored the heavily bleeding gash at his forehead, retrieved his sword and was about to skewer the King standing not a feet away from him when a sharp pain came from his chest.

With surprise Thoran looked down and gazed with detatchment at the sword, the King’s sword, sticking out of his chest. His brain actually needed a moment to comprehend that his opponent had been faster and that he was now on the receiving end of unyielding steel.

Instantly feeling light-headed from the fatal wound, his fingers could no longer grip his sword and it fell to the forest floor a second time. Without the power to soften the fall his body crashed to the ground his eyes still holding a bewildered expression.

In a detached manner, Thranduil looked at Thoran now lying on the ground but he could not bring himself to come to the wounded elf’s aid. He felt nothing; no sadness and certainly no satisfaction - nothing! He only stood there staring at the elf he had just brought down.

Recognizing that Thoran was still alive and ripped from his state in seeing the quickly growing red patch on the other’s tunic front he finally knelt beside the elf and waited until Thoran looked at him. “You fool!” the King said softly, yet his voice was devoid of any emotion. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

With his last breath, Thoran spat at the King. “You will pay for your ignorance, Thranduil. One day you will regret your actions. I curse you. All that you touch shall be rotten!”

With those hateful words the elf breathed his last and Thranduil could already hear the call from the Lord of Mandos. Briefly closing his eyes but without another glance at the corpse or paying any honour to it, the King stood and turned. Only now did he again become aware of his surroundings.

With quick strides he crossed the clearing to where Celeborn was kneeling beside his son. The Lord of the Golden Wood had already created a sling to support the arm of the wounded youngster to minimise the jostling of the broken bone as best as possible.

Galadhion had his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Thranduil grimaced in sympathy. A broken collarbone was extremely painful. Even if Thoran was no longer a threat anger was again boiling up in Thranduil. Once more Thoran had managed to attack and gravely wound one of his sons. The elf had deserved death and Thranduil could not feel much regret at the moment for dealing out this final justice.

Thranduil waited patiently until Galadhion had opened his eyes again. “Is he dead?” the Crown Prince asked and Thranduil only nodded. Too much occupied by drawing in steadying breaths to keep from passing out, Galadhion only glanced toward the spot where Thoran had fallen. Like his father he could not bring himself to feel sorry. He mourned the lost of another life, but not that they had no longer to deal with this particular elf. He had now to answer for his crimes before the Valar.

A light touch on his shoulder reminded Thranduil that another elf was still with them at the clearing. . “My Lord, with your leave,” the guard asked with a thin voice and Thranduil only nodded. He strode into the clearing where his comrade had fallen. Methodically and with a blank expression on his face he readied the body of his comrade for the transport home.

Thranduil knew that he had to do the same for Thoran, yet he could not bring himself to move a finger. The look in his son’s pain filled face stayed his hand. He had to face two wounded sons when he returned home – the fate of his youngest was as yet unknown to him – and Saeron had barely recovered from his severe injury obtained while rescuing the children Thoran had abducted.

Meanwhile Celeborn had administered a pain relieving herb to the prince and helped him lie down on the ground. With this kind of injury there was no way for Galadhion to return home on horseback.

“Stay with him. I will take care of Thoran and will organize transport to take Galadhion back to the palace.”

Thranduil nodded gratefully at his cousin as he sank into the grass next to his son. He gently pillowed Galadhion´s head on his thigh and was relieved to see that the pain killer was already taking some effect.

Before Celeborn strode away he pulled out a small but sharp knife and begun slicing through the King’s sleeve to bind the still bleeding wound Thoran had inflicted.

“Leave it!” Thranduil growled. “It’s not that bad.”

Celeborn looked up irritated but then sighed. “Even if I hope you will not have not to fight with a sword in the near future I think you wish to have use of this arm nonetheless. Now stop complaining and let me see to the wound.”

Apart from snorting indignantly the King did not object further and the Lord of the Golden Wood made quick work cleaning and binding the wound.

“No thanks needed, my Lord,” he said and waved at Thranduil as he saw the guilty expression on his cousin’s face. The King was weary beyond measure and not in his right wits to judge any situation at the moment. He would need time to get over all of this.

When Celeborn had reached the centre of the clearing the guard had just finished placing his comrade over the back of his horse.

“As soon as you return to the palace, tell the Chief of the Home Guard about what happened here and arrange for a wagon or a litter to transport the Crown Prince home. I will see to Thoran´s body and remain with the King until the relief arrives. If possible, please also inform my grandsons.”

He knew he had no right to command a guard of Mirkwood and couched his words carefully, but he also knew that strong words would work through the grief he saw in the young elf’s eyes. He did not want to overstep his authority.

“As you command, my Lord,” the guard replied stiffly and mounted. Without another glance he spurred his horse forward leading Bregolas´ mare carrying the body of the dead guard following along behind him.

Celeborn watched the guard leave and then looked up into the trees. He opened his senses, letting the empathy flowing from the trees flood his being. He could sense no disturbance or evil on the prowl. Knowing that the trees would warn him if things changed, he strode to where the fallen body of Thoran was still lying.

The three of them did not need another unforeseen attack or disturbance. Thranduil would be no help at the moment and with Galadhion being wounded, Celeborn would be hard pressed to protect all three of them.

When he reached the fallen elf, Celeborn crouched down and retrieved Thoran´s few personal items after closing the unseeing eyes. Briefly he wondered to whom these things would be given. As far as he knew Thoran was not married and had no children.

He straightened the body and crossed the elf’s arms over his chest. He grimaced when the large puddle of blood produced a squishing noise under his boots. A variety of insects were already crawling over the corpse.

Celeborn sighed. It was high time to wrap the body and hold his funeral. He shuddered while thinking about the custom of men to bury their dead bodies in the earth.

This task done Celeborn returned to the King and his son. Thranduil had closed his eyes and any casual observer would assume that the King had fallen asleep. Celeborn knew that this was not the case. Thranduil had also opened his senses and attuned his inner self with the trees. He was aware of their surroundings no less then he was.

Galadhion had fortunately closed his eyes and looked relaxed. The pain killing herb had obviously worked. With a troubled expression Celeborn looked into the darkening sky promising rain; just what they needed right now.

`Please hurry!` he pleaded silently with whoever was coming their way to help them.

To be continued……………………………..

Chapter 32: a new dawn

Thranduil waved back when Legolas turned toward him. He was holding onto the hand of his nanny just before the two slipped inside the nursery. The King sighed. This was the first time his son went with Loriel alone without either him or one of his older brothers accompanying him.

Six weeks had passed since Thoran´s death but the ordeal had left deep marks on the soul of the little elfling. His injuries – two broken ribs and a concussion - had healed cleanly but it wasn’t the bodily hurts that needed time to heal.

After his abduction the child had refused to stray far from any of his family members and no night had passed without the King being ripped from his sleep by the anguished screams of the frightened boy.

Thranduil had needed many hours and much talking to reassure his son that the bad elf could no longer hurt or even reach him and that he could feel perfectly safe even if none of his siblings or he were near. Until now this promise had only been accepted reluctantly; one day was better, the next day was not.

Even so, Thranduil was surprised and overjoyed when Legolas had declared during breakfast today that he was eager to join his friends in the nursery and announced earnestly that he would go there with only nanny Loriel as a companion.

Galadhion and Saeron had praised the courage of their little brother highly, affirming how big the boy had already become to go alone. Thranduil smiled indulgently at the display and thanked his older sons silently for their support.

However, when Legolas had disappeared behind the nursery door the forced smiles on the faces of the three royal elves had vanished. The youngest member of the family was not the only one who had to cope with what had occurred during the short reign of Thoran.

The injuries of Galadhion and Saeron had also healed well, a slight limp was all that remained of the severe break of Saeron´s leg and only two days earlier Galadhion had been given leave to once again put strain on his broken collarbone.

Even though his sons were old enough to handle what had happened Thranduil knew that they also fought from time to time with their memories and emotions. Even he had to admit that the nearly ten-week-ordeal during which Thoran had turned his well organized kingdom upside down had left scars that would need time to heal.

He had offered his older two sons the same comfort he was bestowing on Legolas every day. But neither Galadhion nor Saeron had talked much about what was troubling them during the intervals when they had time to think about all that happened. Thranduil was not pressing them but he had made it clear that he would always have an open ear for any of their worries.

He had spent many an evening with his sons simply talking, playing games or enjoying each other´s company. It had helped all of them much more then endless talks about a topic best stored in the past.

As soon as possible the King had returned to his everyday schedule and had cautiously but firmly made it clear that he expected the same from everyone who had been involved in the revolution of Thoran. Sadly this applied to nearly everyone inside the palace as well as many elves who were working outside.

Galadhion had quickly rearranged the patrols and re-established the realm’s security as it had been before. Everyone knew that this was only as good as the warriors providing it, yet their routine was quickly settled like before and was more powerful than the chaos Thoran´s short reign had left.

Thranduil had also carefully observed every member of his staff as far as he could. As predicted, an action such as a revolution left much uncertainty and distrust. Every word or suggestion, even if it was wholly innocent, was regarded with suspicion and much hesitation.

Most of the staff and the workers who were doing everything possible to run the palace life were likely falsely under suspicion. But Thranduil was also sure that a few of Thoran´s fellows and silent supporters had merely retreated back into the shadows and were waiting and observing. This fact left a bad taste in his mouth every time he thought about it.

He had reassured his youngest that he could feel perfectly safe again within the palace walls, but could he really? The King shook his head angrily. This was no atmosphere he could have or wanted to work in. He had to be sure of his subjects´ loyalties or he had to make sure that they could easily leave his service.

Only eight elves who had verifiably helped Thoran had been discovered and condemned. Five of them had not stepped away from their convictions and made no secret of their further plans to rebel again if possible. They had been banned from the realm of Mirkwood. The remaining three had accepted that they had transgressed against the law and they would be kept under custody in the capital until the King decided how to proceed further with them.

Saeron had returned to his routine and to a casual observer all seemed to have returned to normalcy again. He had led another mission into the south to make sure that the orcs had really been defeated and that no new evil was brewing there.

Saeron had again brought his father’s offer to move closer to the palace to the settlers in the farthest south. To his surprise a few families had accepted the invitation. Only the hardliners still objected and Saeron had not made the offer twice.

While thinking about the events in the south Thranduil was reminded that the victory there did not belong to the wood elves alone. Only with the help from the warriors of Imladris and Lothlórien had this been achieved.

He felt no regret. In truth, he felt a deep gratitude and had not missed the opportunity to thank the sons of Elrond and Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood, for their quick and unconditional help. He knew he would never be able to repay the favour, yet the bonds between the realms had been strengthened and as alien as this concept had felt in the beginning it was welcome now.

He had also expressed his thanks in long letters to Elrond and Galadriel personally explaining all the details as far as they were known to him. He had not held back affirming that without their help he would probably no longer be among the living and the situation south of the Anduin would not have changed for the better.

A short time earlier he had held a long talk with Thariel, the widow of Luindil. His advisor had been killed by Thoran while trying to prevent Thoran´s escape.

Even if accused of high treason the king had intended to keep the elf in his service. Thranduil knew he had only agreed to help Thoran because the rioter had threatened him with the possible death of his son. Luindil would have been forced to stay in the capital under custody until he was again sure of where his loyalties truly lay, and he had made sure that this restriction would not extend to his advisor’s family.

Thranduil was shocked that Luindil had been killed while doing exactly what Thranduil had accused him of failing to do: staying loyal to his King. Luindil had by chance discovered that a guard of the palace watch, Erelas, had freed Thoran from his cell. Believing that he now had the chance to at least assuage some of his fault, Luindil had tried to stop the two elves but had only managed to wound Erelas before Thoran had killed him in cold blood.

He assured Thariel that he would do everything necessary to provide the little family with their needs, but Luindil´s widow had declined all offers and only ask for permission to leave the capital behind. She made clear her intention to never return. She had relatives in Lothlórien and she intended to stay with them.

There was nothing left to him then but to comply with her request. She had left his office without as much as a look back. Thranduil sighed. Once again it was a fate Thoran had shaped and again he was unable to alter it.

He finished his day and again he lay awake until the dawn broke. Like every night Legolas had padded into his room and silently slipped under his bedcovers.

Without a comment Thranduil snuggled the little body against him and closed his eyes knowing that sleep would again elude him. Fortunately his son slept on without his usual night terrors and so he was able to relax too.

When the room brightened heralding a new day Thranduil sighed and made a silent vow. Like the dawn now approaching he would look forward. He would no longer let his bitter feelings control him, and he would try to follow his own advice by letting the past move behind him and come to rest.

The end.