Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

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

Chapter 7:  hold on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…………………………………………….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued…………………….