Chapter Thirty Six

Thranduil strode into Elrond’s library. His blue-gray eyes burned with fire, and his handsome face held the stern look of determination. The king obviously intended on getting some answers regarding Legolas’s condition, and it was clearly apparent that he was not going to settle for anything less. He was trying hard to force down his rising anger.

Elrond had been fully prepared for this encounter. Even if he had not, the elf lord would not have been intimidated by Thranduil’s presence in front of him nor the look of barely suppressed anger on his face. Their personalities and often their views differed so much that they had clashed many times in the past. One thing they did share, however, was a deep love for their children. Elrond kept that thought in the forefront of his mind, as he watched the woodland king walk toward him.

Elrond decided to let Thranduil have his say and get his feelings out in the open. It would be a far more productive conversation, if Thranduil could speak rationally instead of ranting. The dark-haired elf closed the book he had been reading, regarded the king steadily and waited.

When Thranduil reached the large oak desk, Elrond indicated the chair that always sat in front and a little to one side.

Thranduil shook his head. “I see you were reading one of your books. I would think after many millennia of reading them, you would have memorized all there is to know in every one of them.” Was that a touch of sarcasm in the royal voice?

Elrond was slightly taken aback. He wasn’t expecting such a comment. He would have been less surprised, if Thranduil had slammed his hand down on the desk and demanded answers. Elrond, recovering quickly, raised his hand and swept it around the room. “There are none here that I have not looked at, but there is still much I do not know. I would have had to spend every moment of my time during those millennia to learn it all, much less memorize it.”

Elrond’s gaze never wavered, and neither did Thranduil’s.

“So, you have never come across the problem that afflicts my son regarding his speech?” With that Thranduil did sit down, pulling the chair squarely in front of the desk before doing so. He leaned forward slightly, waiting intently for Elrond’s answer.

“I have come across many speech difficulties in my time, but none exactly like this.”

“I want to know what is wrong with Legolas.” Thranduil spoke as if Elrond had not said anything and was, instead, holding information back.

The elf lord held his tongue for a brief moment. He had to remind himself that Thranduil did not possess the patience he, himself, did. He also had to remind himself again that this was a father concerned for his child. He would also have been anxious to have some answers were one of his own sons plagued with the same, or any other, unknown malady.

“I have never seen this affliction before. I know that is not what you want to hear.” His sympathy rose for the elf king. “I think the cause may be the snake’s venom. I have come to the conclusion that this particular snake is unique in all of Middle-earth. If so, there is little chance that knowledge of it is in any book here. I think I would have come across it at one time or another.”

At those words, Thranduil’s face crumpled. All the fire in him seemed to extinguish, and he slumped back into the chair. He looked at Elrond with near hopelessness in his eyes. “Are you saying that, because there is no knowledge of this snake, there is no way to obtain a cure? My son’s garbled speech is permanent?”

“No, Thranduil, that is not what I am saying.”

“Then, please explain to me how you can find a cure for something that no one knows anything about?” Some of the fire was back in the king‘s raised voice, though it was born of frustration, not anger.

The dark-haired elf made a quick decision. He stood up and motioned for Thranduil to do the same. “Let me show you something.”

Elrond turned and approached the small door, almost hidden among the shelves to the left of the desk. He again motioned to the elven king, this time to follow him.

The two elves entered Elrond’s work room. It was a concession that the elf lord rarely made, regarding this as a most private place. Thranduil had never been told this, although he suspected that this was not a place to which many “outsiders” gained entrance.

Elrond went straight to his work table while Thranduil stood just inside the door and stared around him. He took in the sights and smells of the room. Whenever he was in Rivendell, he had wondered what the place looked like where Elrond worked his healing “magic“. Considering their less than friendly association, he hadn’t thought he would ever see it. “Most impressive,” he conceded, still somewhat mesmerized.

Elrond smiled at Thranduil’s wonder, though he carefully hid it from the wood elf. “This is what I wish to show you,” Elrond said, as he pulled a bowl forward, bringing it to a stop in front of Thranduil, who had now joined him at the table.

He removed the cloth that covered the bowl and watched Thranduil’s reaction. It was as he expected.

Thranduil stared down into the bowl of liquid containing the black snake. Its body had reconstituted and looked almost normal. If it weren’t for the dead, milky-colored eyes, the woodland elf would have thought it alive, so much so, that he almost stepped back in shock.

“You brought it back with you?” The answer was obvious, since the snake was right there in front of him, but he couldn’t avoid asking the question out loud.

“I had hoped to study it and find some answers. If there are answers to be found, that is. It had withered and dried out during the journey back here from the forest, but as you can see, it is back to its normal consistency.” *Outwardly, at any rate,* he added to himself.

He reached down into the liquid and pulled the snake out, easily uncoiling the now flexible body. He took a cloth and ran it down the snakes’ body, drying the excess fluid from the slender, three-foot length. He stretched the snake out flat on the table.

Thranduil couldn’t take his eyes off of the black serpent. Even lying here dead, it looked menacing, but the elf king still could not believe that such a small creature as this could have caused so much anguish and death. He knew, of course, that it was Mordraug, who had been behind the whole thing. Yet, it was still this creature, who had actually inflicted the poison that had killed his wife and was now causing his son so much suffering.

Thranduil had a fleeting, yet almost overpowering, compulsion to grab the serpent and rip it to pieces with his bare hands. It was only the idea that Elrond had brought this “thing” back for a purpose that may help Legolas that he stayed his hands. If he, in a fit of anger, destroyed the only chance Legolas had of... The king quickly slammed the door on that thought.

After gaining control over his feelings of fury, Thranduil asked, “What are you going to do with it now?”

“My plan is to extract the venom still in its body. Hopefully, there will be enough to make an antidote for the poison.”

Thranduil had no idea how that was done, but he was intrigued to find out. He watched, as Elrond opened a cabinet and pulled out two small clear glass dishes, resembling container lids. They were barely an inch across and perhaps half that high. He then picked the snake up behind its head with his left hand and with his right hand he took a small metal rod no bigger than a toothpick. He carefully pushed it under the retracted fangs and pulled them down as far as they would go. Holding the snake’s head so that one fang was over the edge of one dish and the other fang was over the second dish. Elrond put a thumb and forefinger behind the serpent’s head along the side and began to pull his fingers forward, pressing firmly.

At first, nothing happened. Elrond knew that any venom that might be present might have dried up to the point that it had not reconstituted. He tried again.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil asked. He had tried to be patient, but he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“I am pressing on the glands that hold the venom and force it out through the fangs. I need it to make the antidote.”

Thranduil knew his own Mirkwood healers had made antidotes for snake poison many times, though he had never seen it done nor even understood how it was accomplished. He decided he would keep further questions to himself until Elrond was finished with his current task.

Elrond had squeezed the snake’s head several more times, when finally a tiny drop of light amber-colored liquid came out of each fang. It was thicker than it should have been. *It is only partially reconstituted,* Elrond thought with dismay. However he didn‘t think that soaking the snake’s body any longer would help.

After several more attempts, Elrond knew there was no more venom to be had. Two tiny drops. That was all. He didn’t know if that would be enough. He had first to experiment to find the right combination of ingredients that would interact with the venom to produce the desired result. Then, he had to wait as each attempt did or did not generate an effective antidote.

On top of those problems was the fact that he had no idea how powerful the venom really was and thus had no way of knowing how much to dilute it or how much to give to Legolas. The young elf should not be used as a test subject for this experiment, yet there was a distinct possibility that that is exactly what would happen.

Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Thranduil remarked, “I know nothing about how all of this works, but to me, that does not look like enough venom to do anything with.”

Elrond looked Thranduil in the eye. He had told the king before that he would not keep the truth from him, so he said, “It may not be enough. However, I am unwilling to give up until all possibilities are exhausted. I will do all I can to find something that will help Legolas.” He offered Thranduil a small smile of encouragement.

The elf lord reached into a drawer and pulled out a small square of oil cloth and put it on top of one of the little glass dishes. He wrapped it tightly with a piece of cord and set it in the same drawer. He knew the answers would not be found before the sun came up, and he didn’t want the venom exposed to the light that would be coming through the east-facing window.

Elrond retrieved several more of the little glass dishes and set them on the table. Taking the tiny metal rod he had used to extend the snake’s fangs, he dipped one end in one of the drops of venom he had obtained. He put it down into the center of one dish, repeating the procedure until he had reduced the drop of venom into what amounted to equal-sized dots. He was disappointed to see that there were only five of them, including the original dish.

Thranduil stared at the little containers. “The venom is barely visible.” His voice betrayed his dismay.

“I know. But, there are a number of combinations of ingredients I need to try, so I have to get as many dishes as possible.”

“How will you know which is the right one?”

That was a question Elrond didn’t really want to answer. But, answer it, he did. “I do not know, if I can be sure,” he admitted. “The poison from each different type of snake gives a different reaction. Judging by the color of this venom, and comparing it to others of similar color, I think the liquid I add should turn red, or at least, have a reddish tint to it. Of course, as I have stated before, this snake is unique, so I cannot be sure. I can only try.”

There had always seemed to be a widely-held idea that Elrond was virtually infallible, both as a leader and as a healer. It was due as much to the elf lord’s imposing persona as it was to his knowledge and wisdom. As for himself, Elrond had never had a problem admitting to anything that he did not know or could not do.

“Do what you think is right,” Thranduil said. “I just want my son to be healed, and, as far as I can see, you are his only hope.” It was a concession that he would not have made, when the furious king had first arrived in Rivendell almost two weeks ago.

Fully understanding, Elrond nodded and began to add different liquids in varying combinations to the five dishes, filling one almost full, two half full, one a third full, and to the last one, he added barely enough of just one liquid to cover the bottom of the dish. He stood back and regarded his handiwork.

“Now, what?” Thranduil inquired.

“Now, we wait.”

“How long?”

“Until we see a reaction that reaches a certain point and then does not change for a while, indicating the reaction is complete.”

“What about the larger drop of venom you put in the drawer?”

“With any luck we will not need that one at all. If so, we continue. I did not want to use it just yet. Should anything happen to these, there will be a drop left. It is always wise to hold back some of what is being experimented upon as a reserve. I learned that long ago.”

Thranduil stared once again at the little dishes, seeming to be trying to will some kind of change to begin taking place.

Elrond watched the king closely. He knew exactly what Thranduil was thinking. He was sure the wood elf was expecting the whole procedure to take only a few moments. It was time to inform him of the truth of the matter. “Thranduil, it will take several hours for a reaction even to begin.”

“Several hours?” Thranduil voice rose in a tone of incredulity. “I thought...” He stopped, as Elrond held his hand up.

“I am sorry, if I gave you the wrong impression. It takes time for the venom to react with the fluids I have mixed in with it.” He quickly added, “It cannot be rushed.” He was sure Thranduil was about to start trying to insist he do something to speed things along. He wished he could have done just that.

Elrond put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “Let us go and check on Legolas, shall we?” He hoped the mention of seeing his son would entice the king to be willing to leave here. It worked.

Thranduil, though eager to see what would happen with the venom, understood that nothing would be happening here for a while. And, he certainly did not need more than one suggestion to go and see his son. Even if Legolas was asleep, he would stay with him until Elrond had found the cure. And, finding the cure he was sure would be the result of all this experimenting.

Elrond felt another pang of sympathy for the woodland king. What would his reaction be, if no cure could be found to help his child? How would the elf react to that? For that matter, how would Legolas react? Elrond had the feeling that the young archer would handle it better than his father would. Hopefully, no one would have to find out.

With a shake of his head, Elrond led Thranduil out of the work room. He closed the door, and the two elves began making their way toward Legolas’s room in the residential quarters of Elrond’s house.

TBC