Disclaimer:  see chapter 1

Author’s note:

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

Chapter 11:  desperation

When Glorfindel reached the stables he was surprised to see that Thranduil was already there and mounted and the royal guards had formed up around him ready to depart. He had not needed more than a few minutes to get ready but the King appeared to be waiting for him impatiently.

Despite the tense situation the blonde warrior smiled when he observed the unhappy expression the King’s head guardsman displayed on his face. It seemed there had been a debate about the necessity of the King joining this mission. The captain was obviously not very happy with the King’s insistence of riding out with this search party; bringing help to the patrol his son had led to fight the orcs still invading their home.

Glorfindel redirected his gaze when one of the stable’s grooms led Asfaloth toward him. The great white stallion danced nervously in anticipation.

Briefly Glorfindel stroked the soft nose and murmured reassuring words into the twitching ear before he mounted. Looking back at the King he indicated that he was ready and immediately the King gave the signal to depart.

Without another word the troop galloped through the great gate which opened at the King’s inaudible command. Glorfindel was awed anew every time he saw the display of this ancient power.

Riding at the head of the group the King raced ahead on the path leaving his guards hard pressed to match his pace. Asfaloth had no trouble matching the swift gallop but Glorfindel had his doubts that they could hold this speed for much longer if they wanted to be able to fight after their arrival.

After another hour the Balrog Slayer could almost feel the glances of the elves behind his back, hoping that he would be able to convince the King to slow down or take a break. Bringing his stallion alongside the King’s mount, Glorfindel stretched out his hand to lightly touch the King’s arm. “Thranduil, we cannot go on like this. Let us take a break. The horses are exhausted.”

After an irritated look the King nodded reluctantly and slowed his horse. Glorfindel sighed. He had thought that the King would not relent. Spotting a little clearing not far ahead Thranduil held up his hand and indicated at the spot. The group of warriors dismounted and Glorfindel received a grateful nod from the head of the guards.

An odd silence spread in the little clearing when everyone went though their practised routine. The usual chatter among the elves was absent just as their ability to relax was. Careful glances were cast in the King’s direction. Everyone was mindful not to cross their liege’s mood.

After taking care of his horse, Glorfindel joined the King who was now sitting on a fallen log staring into nothing. “We have no time to rest. Something is wrong, I can feel it,” the King suddenly said with an irate tone. The forced rest unnerved him.

It was not that much further now and the burning ache in his heart told him that they had no time to lose. Knowing that he was not acting rationally and that a good deal of his heartache was born out of guilt, the King shook his head angrily.

Knowing what made the King anxious Glorfindel laid a reassuring hand on the other’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. But it helps no one if we arrive there unable to give aid.” he said while looking intently at the blond elf.

The clearing had fallen completely silent with everyone listening to the conversation. Many of the warriors knew the Crown Prince well and some were even friends with him. They feared for him and his comrades, knowing that if they had encountered the orcs by now they would be greatly outnumbered and hard pressed. If fate was cruel they would only arrive to retrieve corpses.

Looking at the Imladris elf with barely controlled emotions the King relented reluctantly, knowing that the other was right. Glorfindel sighed. This break would not truly bring what was intended - rest. Everyone was tense and anxious to go on.

After two hours the King could not contain his anxiety any longer. He began pacing around the campfire making his companions and the horses nervous. Sighing Glorfindel rose knowing that the brief respite was over. The King would no longer consent to this and he could simply order them to move on anyway.

The guards, also relieved to be finally moving on, broke the camp and waited for the signal from their Lord to depart. Already mounted they formed up ready to follow their King.

Just when Thranduil was about to mount he gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. While his face went deadly pale he doubled over and tried to inhale. Before any of the elves around them could react Glorfindel looked up alarmed and instantly slid from his horse to come to the King’s aid.

He crouched down beside the already kneeling King and tried to determine what had just happened. He grabbed the blond elf’s arm to steady him and watched with growing concern when the King struggled to inhale.

With a quick glance at the now gathered guards around them he saw the same bewilderment in their eyes. Seeing no injury or other reason that could have caused the King’s collapse, the golden warrior could, however, guess at what had caused his breakdown. “What is it, Thranduil?” he asked nonetheless, while at the same time motioning toward the worried guards to keep some distance.

When he got no response he lowered the King into a more comfortable sitting position looking worriedly into the pale and pain lined face. After a few rapid and shallow breaths the King looked up and Glorfindel gasped at the pain he saw in the intense green eyes. Knowing that the King was not experiencing his own pain the golden warrior swallowed. This could mean only one thing.

“Galadhion is badly hurt. We must hurry,” the King croaked while trying to rise. Glorfindel supported the King and after a few more steadying breaths the blond elf was able to mount his horse.

Without saying anything or looking back the King spurred his mount on not recognizing the concerned looks his warriors sent after him. Having no other choice than to follow, Glorfindel and the guards urged their horses into a gallop.

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With a weary sigh he hung his head but looked up sharply a moment later when he heard some one or something approach. If he still had held hope a moment before, it was extinguished now. If the orcs had gotten reinforcements now it would be the end of both his Prince and himself.

Ruanal looked around quickly. They had managed the impossible. There was no living orc left in the clearing but the price had been high and they had not a minute left to waste.

They had to hide and determine how many more orcs were approaching. Here in the open clearing they had no chance at all. He let out a bitter laugh. In their battered state, deadly weary and injured, they had no chance regardless how many orcs arrived.

He waved one of his lieutenants over and together the elves lifted the unconscious body of their captain to transport him to a nearby stand of bushes.

Cringing they both tried to ignore the painful moans they received from the wounded elf but could not slow down. The orcs could arrive at any moment. The other warriors retrieved their weapons and packs to get them out of sight too. With a last look before ducking behind a tree Ruanal swallowed. They had no time to retrieve their fallen comrades as well. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath knowing that the orcs would not leave much worth burying.

Glancing once more at his friend, he cringed seeing fresh blood staining the bandage around his Captain’s chest. Ruanal redirected his gaze back to the clearing. He could do nothing more for Galadhion now. They had to stop the orcs, otherwise their Captain and they themselves would surely be dead.

Directing the few remaining warriors into their positions Ruanal and his remaining comrades strung their bows and waited. He held his breath and hoped that the unconscious elf would not make any sound to betray their location.

However, when he carefully peered around the tree trunk he hardly believed his eyes. A large group of Elves rode into the clearing with their King at the head of the column. Only now he registered that the sound he had heard was that of horse hooves. He felt that he should slap himself - Orcs did not use horses!

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When the King rode into the clearing he stopped his mount abruptly while his heart nearly missed a beat at the sight that greeted him. The forest floor was littered with orc caresses but to his horror there were also many dead elves. His lips pressed tightly together, he let his gaze wander across the glade; but in the tangled mess it was impossible to count or identify anyone.

While Glorfindel and the guards had stopped beside him, shocked at the slaughter, the King drew his sword and slid from his horse. Although the silence in the clearing spoke only of death one could never be careful enough.

Suppressing his first impulse to haul the orc caresses aside and search for his son the King momentarily closed his eyes and listened to the song of the trees. As he both expected and dreaded, the paramount emotion he received was that of mourning and regret over the loss of immortal life. He swallowed. He had come too late. Again many of his warriors, including his firstborn, had been killed, and it was his fault, his responsibility.

Hearing a rustle nearby the King spun around and raised his sword ready to eliminate any orc which might have survived this battle and was now either brave or stupid enough to cross his path. The guards and Glorfindel strung their bows in the blink of an eye and notched arrows ready to do the same. As quickly as the weapons were drawn however, they were lowered when the King and his followers detected who had caused the rustle.

With surprise and immense relief the King hurried toward a heavily limping Ruanal glad that at least one elf had survived. Supporting the younger elf and helping him to sit down the King waited patiently until the other had caught his breath.

“You do not know how glad we are to see you, my Lord”, Ruanal breathed while looking up at his liege. Frowning, the King knelt at eye level with his son’s captain.

“We?” he asked with renewed hope in his voice. In all the worry and wariness it had not occurred to Thranduil to search his heart. Doing so now, he discovered that the bond with his child was not severed yet.

Gathering the last of his strength the younger elf lowered his eyes. The King swallowed. The small flame of hope was threatening to go out again.

Unaware of the King’s pained gaze the young warrior took a deep breath. “Only five of us are left and your son is badly wounded, my Lord,” he whispered his strength gone now.

Thranduil gasped while his heart leaped into his throat. Galadhion was alive but severely wounded! He looked around quickly. Where was Galadhion then?

After transporting the injured further down the path to another little clearing just a few steps away from the battlefield, the King ordered two of his guards, one of them a trained healer, to care for the dark haired captain, and the others to establish a temporary camp. Glorfindel stood ready to follow the King to look for the other survivors.

“Let go, Ruanal, we are in charge now,” Thrandul said while handing the nearly unconscious elf over to the helping hands of the healer. With a relieved sigh the captain sank to the ground, closed his eyes and surrendered to the ministrations of the healer. The short distance to the new camp had depleted his remaining strength completely.

With Glorfindel close behind him the King hurried back into the bushes and stopped when he came to three warriors kneeling around a fourth one and looking back at him with weary but relieved eyes. With a dismayed cry the King knelt beside the still figure on the ground. The concerned looks of the three warriors confirmed his fear that the injury Galadhion had sustained was more than bad. Inclining his head toward the younger elves the King’s face lost all colour when he looked at the thoroughly blood-soaked bandage around his son’s chest. Only a deep and severe wound would bleed so profusely.

Glorfindel knelt also, already retrieving a new bandage from his healing pouch while the King removed the soiled one. He was no healer but he had seen enough wounds in his life and he did know how bad this one looked. If the young elf did not receive proper help soon he would die.

Knowing that he could be of no help here the King turned to call for the healer but closed his mouth when he saw him hurrying toward him. The healer looked at Galadhion and his mouth tightened. The grim expression on his face told all. “Will he live?” the King asked with a rough voice not able to tear his gaze from the deadly pale face of his son.

Not looking up from his work the healer sighed. “First I must stop the bleeding and stabilize him and then we must find a way to transport him back to the palace. Here I can only do what is absolute necessary, but he requires more proper help, my Lord,” the healer responded while applying pressure on the deep stab wound.

Knowing that this was only the basics, and that his son was dying, the King nodded numbly. Now that he had found his son again, he feared to lose him altogether. When the healer had finished his ministrations and wrapped the Crown Prince in a blanket to hold him warm and immobile, the King slumped wearily beside his son and closed his eyes.

This was entirely his fault. Had he not pushed Galadhion away, his son would not have run into this mess. How could he ever forgive himself?

Carefully cradling the head of his eldest in his lap the King closed his eyes. He was beyond weary; weary in body and weary in spirit. The darkness creeping up from all sides seemed overpowering. On one side there was the illness that threatened the life of his youngest, and on the other side, the chance that Galadhion would survive was marginal at best.

On top of all of that were his suffering people, especially the elflings. He had failed so far; failed to fight the illness successfully, failed to protect his youngest and failed in saving his heir. What would come next?

To be continued………………………………….