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Shadows of the Past  by Laikwalâssę

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 16  a light in the dark

 

 

Two days later Thranduil sat on his eldest son’s bed, squeezed his hand lovingly and gazed into the green eyes, sparkling again by now and so like his own. They had talked long over what had happened and what had led to the tragedy that had nearly cost the young prince’s life and almost broken his father’s heart.

Thranduil had again asked his son for forgiveness, making Galadhion very uncomfortable; nonetheless Thranduil had to make sure that nothing stood between them anymore. They had both explained what had led them to act as they had. The King had confessed that he had never been angry with his son but rather with himself for being unable to let the past be and to overcome his grief.

Galadhion on the other hand was ashamed for abusing his father’s trust and acting behind his back. They had both made mistakes and were now very relieved to speak about it and set things right again.

Their agitated nerves had stilled after the reports they had received shortly before; the plague was nearly defeated and the orcs had been driven back to a respectable distance from the outer settlements.

Galadhion sighed, albeit contently, when his father embraced him carefully and advised him sternly that he had to rest in order to get fully healed. The Crown Prince still had a way to go before being fully recovered. However as the King was about to take his leave the door opened and Elarinya entered with the youngest member of their family in her arms.

Squealing in delight at the sight of his older brother awake, the elfling wriggled to be put down. The Queen smiled and hurried to obey the elfling’s demand, looking in amusement at her husband.

Saeron’s feet had hardly touched the ground before he raced past his father; and eluding the King’s grasp he jumped onto the bed. Galadhion gasped and closed his eyes with a grimace when the impact made his recently healed but still sore body ache anew.

Saeron froze, when he saw his brother’s tightly closed eyes and heard the groan Galdhion was not able to suppress. Hearing the sharp intake of breath from his parents and realizing that he had hurt his brother the elfling´s eyes filled with tears. Quickly he scrambled away so as not to touch his brother anywhere. “Galadhion, I’m sorry, I did not mean to….” he stammered unable to go on as sobs shook his little body.

Having been able to take a deep breath to ease the pain Galadhion reached out and wiped off the tears from his little brother’s face. He smiled when the elfling looked up at him hesitantly. “Do not worry; you have not hurt me, little one. Come over here.”

Carefully this time, Saeron moved closer and snuggled alongside his big brother. Anxiously he peeked from under his brother’s arm at his father and was relieved to see that his father’s eyes did not look angry at him for not being more careful.

Shifting into a more comfortable position Galadhion looked down at the little boy. He had not missed the still flushed face and pale pallor. “Now, tell me little one, how do you feel?” he asked while stroking over the black unruly tresses.

“Much better. Today I’m allowed to be out of bed, although only for a short time,” the elfling explained with a half scowling half hopeful look toward his parents. Seeing the stern expression back on his father’s face and the slight shake of his mother’s head the elfling quickly buried his head under his brother’s arm, pretending not to have seen the gesture.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Galadhion said inwardly sighing that at least the crisis was over. The elfling would also need some time to get back his former strength.

“Uncle Elrond said that in two days I can go outside and play with my friends again, when the anit… anti…. the medicine has been given to all the ill elves.”

When Thranduil tensed, hearing the word “uncle” Elarinya laid a reassuring hand on her husband’s shoulder. Eventually the muscles under her fingers relaxed as he looked back at her with a wry expression on his face.

Having not missed the silent exchange Galadhion smiled inwardly. His father’s resentment against the healer from Imladris was not to be taken seriously anymore. His father knew as well as he that he owed the lives of both of his sons to Elrond.

Seeing the fine lines of pain on her son’s face and the weariness in his eyes the Queen rose and beckoned for her youngest to scramble over into her arms. Pouting but relenting eventually Saeron disentangled himself from under his brother’s arm and let his mother lift him from the bed.

“Come my dear, you brother needs to rest,” she said holding the elfling so that he could plant a kiss on his father’s cheek. “Love you Ada, love you Galadhion” he cried and giggled when his mother tickled him. “Love you too,” father and brother replied following the two with their eyes until the door closed behind them.

Redirecting his attention back to his son Thranduil was just about to suggest that Galdhion should rest but with a smile he realized that his advice would not be necessary. His son’s eyes had already lost their focus. Re-arranging the blanket over his son’s body the King planted a kiss on the young elf’s forehead, turned, and silently left the room.

 

………………………………………………………..

Galadhion looked up startled when a knock sounded on his bedroom door. He had only slept a few hours, which had done him some good and his parents had just left. The healers would not announce their presence, having hurried in and out of his room much too often for his liking during the last days. Knowing that without answering he would never find out who was standing at his door he bade the visitor to enter.

His eyes widened with joy when Ruanal, his best friend and right hand, stuck his head around the door. “Are you decent?” he asked playfully. Galadhion rolled his eyes, knowing that Ruanal would not care anyway, so he beckoned his friend to enter.

He narrowed his eyes while looking at the other’s slightly bent posture, his right arm tightly pressed against his side. The heavy bandage around the dark haired elf’s middle could clearly be seen underneath his tunic.

While Ruanal sat awkwardly on the side of his bed, perfectly aware of the scrutiny, Galadhion briefly closed his eyes when the memories of the battle rushed back like a wave. Again he saw Ruanal kneeling on the ground with his hand pressed over the wound in his side the red patch on his tunic growing alarmingly.

But then his memories were clouded. He did not know what had happened then. His father had told him what had transpired after he arrived but he had not elaborated much, trying not to unbalance the barely stable state of his still-healing mind.

Opening his eyes he looked at Ruanal and for a long time the two friends simply gazed at each other without a word. The Crown Prince did not know how to express his feelings of guilt and grief. Many good warriors, some of them long time friends and companions, had died that day.

Eventually Galadhion took a deep breath after he had seen no contempt in the other’s eyes only worry and concern. “Ruanal, I’m sorry for all that happened. To lead our troops into that situation was stupid. I should have known better but….” At a loss for how to go on he lowered his eyes, not able to look at his friend any longer.

Reaching out Ruanal grabbed the pale hand of his friend and squeezed it lightly. “Stop this, Galadhion. It’s not your fault. The orcs are to blame for the death of the others. They died protecting their home; it is what they trained for. No one holds you responsible. You nearly died yourself and….” He trailed off still shocked over what the King had told him about why his friend had refused to return to life and had nearly given up.

Smiling faintly Galadhion looked up and squeezed back the hand holding his own with gratitude. “Thank you, Ruanal, but I’ve made two grave mistakes in one week and this one will take time to overcome.”

Nodding in understanding and seeing his need for rest Ruanal rose and patted his friend’s arm lightly. “Take all the time you need but remember that the troops miss their captain,” he said with a smile. Swallowing Galadhion only nodded not trusting his voice at the moment.

When Ruanal had left he closed his eyes. The wood elves would recover from this loss like from all the others, but it would leave another scar on the already damaged spirit of the inhabitants of the great forest.

 

…………………………………………….

Two days later a large contingent of warriors, mostly consisting of the King’s royal guards with Thranduil, Elrond and Glorfindel in their midst, rode out to see for themselves how the administering of the antidote was coming along at the settlements further away from the palace.

The King wanted to see with his own eyes how much suffering the plague had caused and how he could take some of the grief away. The death of a child he could not remedy of course, and there would be no comfort for the grieving parents, but he wanted to speak words of reassurance and hope to his people, showing that their King did suffer with each family who had a loss to mourn.

Always when the King and its entourage entered the many settlements the greetings were the same; overwhelming joy where the antidote had come in time to rescue elflings from a terrible death and deep sorrow where it had come too late. It would be years before his people would recover from this loss and many would not be able to bear the grief.

After several days of travelling and many joyous moments (and as many grieving ones), the King and his companions made camp near a little settlement, which lay farthest away from the palace. They had not stopped until they were sure that the antidote had reached every corner of the great forest.

The plague seemed conquered and after that realisation the King ordered his healers to sent riders to the settlements of men surrounding Mirkwood to bring the antidote to them as well. This accomplished, the large group of riders settled down around a campfire and enjoyed the food the inhabitants of the nearby settlement had provided in honour of their King camping nearby.

Looking across the campfire after refusing another helping of the delicious stew Thranduil frowned when he looked at the tired features of the dark-haired elf sitting opposite him. He knew that he probably did not look much better, but Elrond had not had any real rest since his arrival in Mirkwood and the King guessed what made the healer more and more restless the longer he stayed away from his home. Feeling the scrutiny Elrond looked up and gazed at the King. They had now come to have an easy attitude with one another and felt content in the other’s presence. The King’s troubled expression did not fit the success they had accomplished over the last days.

“What is it, my friend?” Elrond asked knowing that there was more on the King’s mind than weariness. “Despite the many who are mourning, I think we should also be thankful for being successful at last.” When the King grimaced Elrond frowned.

“It’s entirely due to your efforts Elrond that this turned out relatively well. We have suffered a lot, but it could have been worse, if my son had not done what I could not. I only hope that sometime in the future you can forgive me and we can re-establish some sort of friendship like we once shared. I’m forever in your dept.”

Seeing the genuine smile on Glorfindel´s face the dark haired Elf-Lord rose and rounded the fire. Sitting on the log beside the King he reached out a hand and grasped the King’s arm in a warrior’s grip. “I would very much like that and I’m just grateful that I could help.”

Sighing deeply Thranduil only nodded. For a long time they simply sat there in silence each staring into the flames and lost in their own thoughts. Their heads snapped up however when the short respite was shattered by hurried hoof beats coming down the path leading directly to the little clearing.

Recognizing the rider as one of his guards used to bring urgent messages quickly to the patrols or back the King tensed in anticipation of what could have warranted this hurry.

Looking at the two Imladris elves with a neutral expression Thranduil stood and walked over to his captain who had already stepped on the path signalling the rider over to them.

Reining in his breathless mount sharply the fair haired elf slid from the horse’s back and bowed before his King. “My Lord,” he said after catching his breath. “This letter arrived not an hour ago at the palace brought by a carrier pigeon and it seems most urgent.”

The King’s frown deepened and he took the letter with a nod from the messenger. Elrond and Glorfindel in the meantime had joined him on the path. Thranduil took in a deep breath when he recognized the wax seal on the letter. Wordlessly he turned and handed the parchment to Elrond. The healer swallowed and looked at his advisor. A deep frown had appeared on Glorfindel´s face.

With trembling fingers Elrond broke the seal and opened the scroll. Seeing the face of the dark haired elf pale, Thranduil did not need much imagination to guess what information the letter contained.

After reading the few lines again Elrond handed the letter wordlessly to Glorfindel. His concern increasing Thranduil stepped up beside the healer. “What does it say?” he asked while Glorfindel finished reading. Not answering Elrond gestured for Glorfindel to hand the letter over.

Looking worriedly at the blond warrior the King took the missive and slowly scanned the lines written there in an elaborate script although with much haste:

Lord Elrond,

 

The plague has reached Imladris. We have many ill, but thankfully no dead so far. If your mission in Mirkwood is finished, hopefully with success, then I request you to return home quickly. Your sons show the first signs of illness. We could recognize only marginal improvement with the antidote.

 

Erestor

 

Looking up the King cringed in sympathy seeing the desperation in the healer’s eyes. The guilt he had felt all the time for keeping Elrond in his forest so long was back and the scowl on Glorfindel´s face did nothing to alleviate his feeling.

He knew as well as Elrond that the journey from Mirkwood toward Imladris took four weeks one way under the best of circumstances. Elrond would never arrive in time to save any one who was already ill. He had left some of the antidote in the valley but as experience had shown it was less effective. Only the modifications he had made recently had brought the change.

Suddenly Elrond slumped to the ground before Glorfindel could react. Kneeling there he buried his face in his hands. The message he had feared every day had finally arrived. In bringing hope to the wood elves he had doomed his own home. The reassuring hand on his shoulder from Glorfindel did nothing to comfort him.

To be continued……………………………





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