Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

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

 Chapter 2:

And so it begins:

Roughly 1000 years in the past…….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued…………………….