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Shadows of the Past  by Laikwalâssê

Shadows of the past

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Author’s note:

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

Chapter 3: the plague

A few weeks earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued…………………………………….

 





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