Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

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

Chapter 9:  Old habits die hard

When Elrond and Glorfindel stepped through the palace entrance they stopped, alarmed, at the scene they came upon. The King had just uttered a choked cry and was now hurrying down the long corridor, after a servant had delivered some message to him.

The two elves from Imladris needed no imagination to guess what had caused the King’s distress. All colour drained from the healer’s face. Now would be the all-deciding moment. The antidote was not ready yet for administration but it had to do. Their time had run out.

“Go,” was all Glorfindel said while squeezing the dark haired elf’s shoulder lightly. “I will meet you at the prince’s chamber.” Nodding the healer turned towards his room in the opposite direction to gather what would hopefully rescue the elfling´s life.

Banging the door open the Lord of Imladris hastened across the spacious room and carefully retrieved a glass vial from the worktable. Quickly he swirled the contents around and peered at the slightly yellowish liquid. Satisfied that the fluid had not changed he turned on his heels and hurried back out, not bothering to close the door again in his haste.

Please do not let the boy be too far gone, he prayed while heading into the direction of the private quarters of the royal family, earning bewildered looks from the elves he passed by.

No one had knowledge of the drama that took place a few doors ahead. Ignoring the startled guard standing at the threshold where the private section was separated from the common places of the palace Elrond pushed the door to the elfling´s chamber open.

The sight that greeted him caused his blood to run cold. The Queen was rocking the motionless body of her elfling back and forth, her words not understandable under her sobs. The King was trying to extricate the little body from the grip of his wife, pleading for her to let go.

Looking briefly at his already present advisor and the shocked palace healer Elrond quickly crossed the room, pushed the King none-to-gently aside, and demanded with a sharp voice: “Elarinya, give him to me! Now!” he repeated after receiving a blank look from the Queen and seeing the tightening of her grip on her son.

Using his wife’s distraction, the King gathered the boy in his arms and handed him over to the healer. After that he turned just in time to catch the collapsing frame of his wife.

Her head pressed against her husband’s chest, the shaken royal couple watched the ministrations the healer was performing. Elrond quickly laid the elfling back on the bed and searched for a heartbeat. He had to concentrate hard to detect the weak and slow beating.

He sighed, relieved. It was not too late yet, even though the boy was deeply unconscious and his breathing barely recognizable. Shutting out his environment, meaning the four pairs of eyes watching his every move, he retrieved the glass vial from a pocket in his outer robe and poured a small amount into a glass he had snatched from the nightstand. He added a measured amount of water from the ever present pitcher, hoping that he had chosen the right dilution for a child so small.

Quickly he gathered the elfling into his arms and laid him across his lap. Forcing the child’s mouth open by putting slight pressure against the jaw he carefully trickled some of the liquid onto the elfling’s tongue and let it slide down his throat. This turned out to be a painstakingly slow procedure but he dared not to hasten anything lest the elfling would choke and suffocate during a seizure.

He hoped that the antidote would counteract the production of the mucus, allowing the patient to cough the mucus up, drying up the lungs and allowing more air to reach the elfling’s body. The elfling was too weak to do this on his own now, so again Elrond poured healing energy into the fragile body.

After endless minutes the glass was empty and the healer placed it back on the table. After making sure that the boy did breathe, even if it was shallow, he carefully broke his mental contact and laid the boy back onto the bed. For a few minutes he listened to the elfling’s breathing until he was convinced that the child would continue to breathe on his own.

The silence in the room was shattered by the King leaving the room drawing the door shut. Elrond caught the eyes of the Queen. “If he does not stop breathing and the antidote works I think he has a chance to survive.”

Nodding her head; too shaken to speak; the Queen walked over and unconditionally embraced the dark haired healer. “Thank you so much”, she whispered with a tear drowned voice and with more gratitude in her eyes than any words could have expressed.

“He’s not out of the woods yet. He must be watched closely,” Elrond reminded her gently and received a grave nod from both the Queen and the palace healer.

However, when he wanted to rise, his legs buckled under him and Elrond fell back onto the mattress. Glorfindel was at his side instantly and laid a firm hand on his shoulder preventing him from trying to rise again. “Easy, Elrond, give yourself some time,” he said quietly; long accustomed to this.

The Queen, however, looked up in alarm. She was not used to the drained state the Elf-Lord always was in after a healing trance. “I’m alright,” Elrond reassured all of them after recognizing the concerned expression on his colleague’s face.

Seeing the raised eyebrows of his adviser he had to admit that this wasn’t the whole truth. He felt awful and his whole upper body ached from holding the child still for so long while trickling the medicine down his throat. Furthermore he was mentally and physically drained. The lack of sleep over the last few days and the constant worry hadn’t helped either. Moving to a comfortable chair next to the elfling´s bed he surrendered to the stern gaze of his advisor.

The Queen and the palace healer did not object. After Glorfindel was sure that his Lord would not push himself any further he quietly left the room. He was curious about where the King had disappeared to so suddenly.

Stepping into the corridor he came face to face with the King leaning on the opposite wall for support. Thranduil´s face was pale and he could not suppress the shaking of his hands. Feeling pity for the elf, after all he was the child’s father; the golden warrior stepped closer and waited until the other elf met his gaze.

“If nothing unexpected happens your son will recover,” he answered the unasked question. Glorfindel looked intently at the fair-haired elf wondering how much longer it would take until the King would give up his rejecting manner, but the King was not known for easy acceptance after all.

Thranduil acknowledged the warrior’s statement with a curt nod. Still, he did not know how to approach the two elves from Imladris. He still felt resentment against the Lord of Imladris but was at the same time relieved to have him here, knowing that his son would likely be dead by now without the healer’s help.

“I hope this half-elf knows what he is doing,” he said, the sting back in his voice and no longer meeting the other’s gaze.

Hearing the sharp intake of breath his head whipped around and he nearly took a step back at the fury in the eyes looking back at him.

“You should watch your choice of words more carefully, my Lord. The Lord of Rivendell has come here without hesitation to help you fight against this threat with the knowledge that he would leave his own home behind defenceless. He has laboured tirelessly to find the cure against the plague without any reward and not expecting one and he has just rescued your son’s life by endangering his own. I think you owe him at least a bit of respect. If you hurt him with another uncivilized word or keep your brusque manner you will answer to me. Have I made myself clear?”

Bristling at the harsh reprimand the King stared at the golden haired elf. How dared this Noldo speak to him like that! But then he lowered his eyes. The healer could well be the only choice for him to guarantee the survival of his people. However, he still could not let go of the grief over the tragedy that had taken place a long time ago on a battlefield far away. Elrond was after all partly responsible for that. And now he was the only chance his youngest son had to survive.

When he felt a light touch to his arm the King looked up startled ready to fight back the other elf this time, but the former angry eyes had lost their hard stare.

“Thranduil, let go of your grief. Believe me I know of what I speak. There is not a day in my life that I do not wish I could turn back time and act differently than I did, but it is not possible. Do not let the bitterness consume you.”

A sharp reply already on his tongue, for a second Thranduil suddenly did not know what to say anymore. The anger and grief had sustained him through all these long years; it had given him the strength to go on. How could he let go of the very essence of his being? And yet, he was surprised at how appealing this thought was to him; to forge a bond with old companions and draw strength from their unity in fighting against the shadow.

Seeing the fight the King was battling within himself, Glorfindel seized his moment knowing that he had a chance to get through to the bitter and stubborn elf now.

“Let us rebuild our alliance and revive our friendship. You do not have to stand alone in your fight, Thranduil.”

Still irritated that the blond warrior had broken through his carefully built up defences the King gazed back; a cool look on his face again. Glorfindel grimaced knowing how hard the other elf fought to maintain his composure and dignity.

“Do not tell me what to do. I will let you know if I’m willing to discuss the matter of how I will defend my realm. And now excuse me; I have to go and see how my son is faring.”

Sighing Glorfindel stepped aside knowing that the King’s harsh words were only born from his uncertainty. Sensing that he was treading on treacherous ground now, he said nonetheless: “You have another son who needs you too.”

Before reaching the door the King spun around. “My family is not your business, Glorfindel. Galadhion ignored a clear order and I’m not sure if I can trust him again, but that is surely not something I want to discuss with you.” With that the King turned again and entered the room of the young prince not sparing another look for Glorfindel.

The Balrog Slayer sighed, knowing that there was still a long road ahead of them but it was a beginning. Neither he nor the King had realized there was someone standing just around the corner.

…………………………………………….

A few hours earlier…

Galadhion sat at the desk in his office and studied the reports from the patrols. His concern rose when he noticed the steadily increasing numbers of orcs, which attacked the patrols regularly now and with fierce power.

But most disturbing, it seemed that there was some pattern behind the attacks and this suggested that someone in the background was making the plans. Orcs were much too stupid and unorganized to attack so precisely.

Galadhion shuddered. Orcs they could manage and had so far, but what if a greater power with much more evil intent would now guide and lead the orcs? The attacks had already come closer and closer toward the capitol.

He was so occupied with his thoughts and on studying the map that he didn’t hear the commotion outside until Ruanal, his second-in-command and best friend came running into his office. “My Lord,” he said breathlessly after banging the door open, “another patrol has been attacked.”

Galadhion jumped up startled and looked at his aide. He had barely digested the loss they had suffered from the last attack. “How many are injured?” he asked forcing his voice to steady. When Ruanal hesitated and lowered his eyes the Crown Prince swallowed.

“No one has survived,” his aide answered finally his voice shaking. Galadhion closed his eyes. This was the fourth attack in two days. They had never lost so many warriors in such a short time. Briefly he felt dizzy with the overwhelming grief that swept over him. Many of the warriors he had known personally, many were friends of his. Now they were dead, gone forever, and this was his responsibility.

When Ruanal received no reaction he looked up again and swallowed when he observed the change in his Lord’s demeanour. The sorrow that had been there a second before was suddenly replaced by a grim mask, the lips pressed into a thin line, and he did not have to wait long to hear his worries confirmed. “How many warriors are available?” Galadhion asked while looking hard at his friend. Ruanal blinked to make sure that it was not the King who was standing before him. The voice of his friend had changed; it was every bit the Crown Prince and Troop Commander now.

“About forty; not nearly enough to eliminate a larger group,” he answered in the vain hope to convince his friend not to send out more warriors in haste. Galadhion however would hear none of that. “We will ride in an hour. Please organize this. I will join you at the stables.”

Ruanal´s head snapped up. He had expected this order but that the Crown Prince would come with the warriors was a shock to him. “You want to join the patrol?” he asked incredulously but stopped short seeing the angry expression on this friend’s face.

“I’m quite capable of defending the realm!” Galadhion snapped. Ruanal gulped; ready to apologize for the words that had not sounded how he had meant them, but before he had the chance to even open his mouth the prince dismissed him with an impatient wave and rushed past him out of the office. Ruanal sighed. What had irritated his friend this much to leave him this short-tempered? The news was grave yes, but the elves of Mirkwood were used to this hard life and the prince was never one to lose his composure this easily. Turning, he quickly strode toward the warriors’ quarters to do his Lord’s bidding.

……………………………………………..

After changing clothes quickly, Galadhion took a deep breath while he hastened down the long corridor. He knew that he was up for another dispute with his father. The King would not approve of his decision to ride with the patrol. For nearly two hundred years he had directed the realm’s forces from his office. It had been a long time since Galadhion had ridden out himself to know what the warriors were facing each day. This dangerous endeavour was now the task of others.

Galadhion had no idea how he could convince his father to agree with his plans. The voice in his head told him relentlessly that he only did this to win back his father’s approval, but this he could hardly tell him.

When he reached his father’s study he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders ready to face whatever objections his father would have, determined not to give in. He knocked at the heavy oak door and waited.

When he got no response, he listened intently but could not determine if someone was inside at all. His nervousness getting the better of him he knocked again this time more urgently.

When again no invitation came he frowned. At this hour his father could be always found in his study. Suddenly his face paled. There could be only one reason why his father would skip his duties – Saeron. Had the state of his little brother worsened? Because of the trouble with the orcs he had nearly forgotten the tragedy that was taking place in his own family.

Forgetting his own grief and anxiousness, Galadhion turned and hurried down the corridor toward his brother’s room. He stopped dead in his tracks however, when raised voices drifted around the corner. He could easily recognize his father’s angry voice; the other could only belong to the Balrog Slayer. No other would dare to address his father in such a way.

He could not help but listen to the whole exchange, but he nearly let out a sob at his father’s words and there was no doubt who they were talking about.

“I’m not sure, if I can trust him again,” he heard.

Clamping a hand over his mouth he stepped back a step and leaned on the wall for support. He had not only failed in defending the realm and holding the orcs at bay but he had managed to disappoint his father to the degree that he no longer trusted him.

Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall he turned on his heels and hurried back the way he had come. He did not need to consult with his father. The King had given him the answer just a minute ago. He would ride out and destroy these orcs that dared to invade his home. He would not let down his home too.

As he rounded a corner in his haste he nearly collided with an elf coming around it and was terrified a second later to look at his mother’s startled face. Knowing that he could conceal nothing from her, he nonetheless controlled his features in an attempt not to frighten her.

“Galadhion?” she queried surprised to see her son dressed ready for riding out. Unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze, Galadhion looked to the ground desperately searching for the right words to excuse himself and leave, but his mother was not easily fooled.

Elarinya swallowed when she sensed the distress that rolled in waves from her son’s taut posture. “Galadhion, look at me,” she said demanding but at the same time with much compassion. Her worry raised a notch when Galadhion did still not meet her gaze and tried to squirm past her. Having enough on her mind with the worry over her youngest son she quickly grabbed her eldest arm to prevent his retreat.

“Galadhion, what is the meaning of this?” she asked harsher then intended. Guessing what had caused her son’s distress besides the worry over his brother, she softened her tone quickly, but she could not let him go like that. “Galadhion, I’ve already spoken with your father. He’s realised now that it was the right choice to call for Elrond. Give him some time and he will speak with you. He did not mean what he said two days ago.”

Raising his head the Crown Prince looked with sad eyes at his mother; even knowing that she did not know what he had overheard a few minutes ago, and not wanting to repeat it to her he still could not help replying: “He has made his point of view very clear to me,” he stated with a rough voice.

Startled and unaware what her son was speaking of, the Queen frowned. What had happened in the short time since she had left the room of her youngest’? Had Thranduil and Galadhion quarrelled again?

Not wanting to see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes too, Galadhion had finally managed to squirm out of her grasp; he turned and hurried down the corridor without a backward glance. “I’m sorry, Naneth”, was all he could utter.

“Galadhion wait….” Elarinya called after her son, but the younger elf had already turned around the corner. With a heavy heart and a bad feeling in her stomach the Queen turned back; deeply troubled over the encounter.

What had distressed her normally level headed son so much that he was reacting this strangely? Only now did she realize that her son was dressed like a warrior ready to ride out and fight. What was Galadhion up to? Hastening her steps she hurried back toward Saeron´s room. She had to speak with her husband.

……………………………………..

Silently, so as to not disturb her hopefully still sleeping child the Queen entered the chamber of her youngest. Elrond reclined in a chair near the window and dozed and her husband sat on the bed watching his son sleep. When she closed the door the healer looked up and blinked. “How is he?” she asked while looking lovingly at her sleeping babe.

Elrond sat up a bit straighter and also directed his gaze at the now quietly resting child. “His fever is still high. I think I have to modify the antidote. He is not out of danger yet but we can now keep on hoping.”

Elarinya sighed heavily and looked at the healer with gratitude.

“We are deeply in your debt.”

“To get your elfling back outside running under the trees will be enough thanks for me:” Elrond said, and quietly left the room. He had clearly sensed the wish of the Queen to speak to her husband in private.

Stepping behind her husband, Elarinya laid her hands on his shoulders and gently massaged the knots she could clearly feel there. The King sighed and lowered his head to indulge in her ministrations. She waited a bit longer until she could feel that some of the tension was eased under her hands.

Giving the shoulders a final gentle slap she sat into the chair Elrond had occupied a few minutes ago. “Thranduil, what has happened between Galadhion and you?” she asked with a hint of irritation in her voice.

Catching the note instantly, the King’s head snapped towards her direction. “What do you mean? I haven’t spoken to him since Elrond arrived,” he answered trying to locate the source of her irritation.

Elarinya was surprised. Something had occurred she had no knowledge of. Thranduil would not hold anything from her that concerned her children. Something must have upset Galadhion and she wanted to know what.

But seeing the bewildered expression on her husband’s face she was not so sure anymore. “Thranduil, I’m worried about him. I’ve never seen him this distressed. You know how much he tries to please you. He has acted rashly and disappointed you, yes, but it turned out to be the right decision and his intentions were never to disgrace you…..” she trailed off when she saw the change in the King’s face. The bewilderment was quickly replaced by worry.

The bad feeling from before was back in her stomach. “Thranduil, what happened!” she whispered.

The King swallowed. Directing his gaze at his wife again, he took a deep breath. “I think he may have overheard my conversation with Glorfindel.”

She furrowed her brow; she did not need a lot of imagination to guess what her son had overheard. Her husband had repeated his disappointment over his eldest child’s actions to Glorfindel. She closed her eyes. Galadhion was a very sensitive young elf when it came down to earning approval from his parents, especially the King. He was always trying very hard to please his father. The words must have hurt him deeply.

With a sigh she rose and sat beside her husband. “Thranduil, please speak with him before he does something stupid.”

When the King lowered his head and sighed, Elarinya knew that her husband had long forgiven Galadhion, but had not found the right moment to speak with him. The disappointment finally swallowed Thranduil looked up. “I will speak with him, I promise,” he said while squeezing his wife’s hand in reassurance. Elearinya sighed with relief. One son to worry about was quite enough.

To be continued……………………………..