Chapter 5:  escape

Saeron walked at what he assumed was a leisurely pace toward the stables. He had to suppress the urge to run and to constantly look over his shoulder. Not to attract any attention was the premise now. His leaving had to go unnoticed.

It was odd. This was his home and he had to sneak out like a thief in the night. He clenched and unclenched his fists in rising frustration. Thoran had surprised them all. His father had long watched this ambitious elf’s actions but never had Thoran been careless enough to give the King a reason to intervene.

That was that made Thoran so dangerous. He was liked, had the ability to draw attention, was a master of deception and was intelligent and cunning.  Saeron had ever counselled caution against this fellow, but the King’s options were limited. He could not act against crimes Thoran had not yet committed.

Saeron grimaced; had not committed until now. His suspicions had been proven true. Now Thoran had committed treason but their hands were bound. Saeron’s anger rose up a notch. This upstart had the nerve to hold the King as a hostage. They had not seen their father for two days. The labyrinth under the palace was big enough to hide someone effectively.

The bond he shared with his father told him that he was alive, but he could clearly feel the great distress radiating from the King. He knew his father was strong of mind but everyone had a weak spot and a breaking point. Saeron had no intention of finding either and Thoran would be wise not to cross those lines either.

When Saeron crossed the threshold to the stable he looked left and right down the wide aisle and was relieved to find it empty.  Quickly he strode toward the stall of his horse and was greeted with a joyful whinny. Quickly he covered the soft nose with his hands to avoid further noises.

The stable master had to be around somewhere. How tangled was the web that Thoran had spun? Would the elf responsible for the horses let him leave or would he instantly raise the alarm? Saeron would take no chances. If his brother’s plan to regroup the warriors went ill, he would be his father’s only chance.

“Shht, my friend, be quiet. I need your help,” he whispered while he opened the stall-door fully. The horse looked at him with big eyes and tossed his head in understanding. As quietly as possible, Saeron led his steed out of the barn’s back door. He winced when the hooves clattered over the wooden planks.

Finally outside, flattened against the wall not facing the palace entrance, he quickly fastened his saddlebags. A heavy hand placed on his shoulder made Saeron freeze in place. He swallowed and held his breath. Slowly he turned; steeling himself.

“Up so early?” the stable master asked in a low voice. Saeron tensed. Calanon had been his friend since childhood but Calanon was a Silvan elf and his family had lived in this wood long before the Sindar elves had joined them. Never had this mattered to them, but now? Had the poison Thoran and his fellows were spreading already reached this far? Would or should he fight a friend?

Searching Calanon’s face Saeron visibly relaxed. Behind the lightly spoken words he could see deep concern and confusion in the other’s eyes. Before he could utter a word the stable master turned him around. “Go and make haste before someone notices you. I will hide your absence as long as possible.”

With a thankful nod that expressed more than words and a sigh Saeron mounted his horse in a fluid motion. He urged the white steed forward and quickly covered the distance to the nearby tree- line.

Thranduil´s second son breathed another sigh of relief when he ducked low over the neck of the beast and entered the dense forest. Only then did he stop and turn around. With narrowed eyes he looked back at the palace.

All was quiet…far too quiet for his taste. Although he did not notice anyone following him he felt quite uncomfortable. Thoran could ill afford to let him escape and warn any other elven realm about their predicament.

Even if there would be no help such as troops to drive the upstart away, the influence of other important elves was not to be underestimated. Thoran would only succeed when he kept his revolt hidden. To alert mightier powers of his betrayal would be most unwise. 

A chill ran down his spine as he suddenly was struck by a vision that he would never have another chance to see this view.

Quickly he banished these thoughts from his mind and turned his horse to head along the great northwest route toward the Misty Mountains. With tears in his eyes he gazed forward. Never look back, keep your head clear he reminded himself.

He never noticed the two figures following him.

………………………………

Saeron urged his mount forward intent on putting as much distance as possible between him and the palace. He knew it to be a great distance over the mountains but if he made haste he could reach his destiny in an acceptable amount of time.

Briefly he considered going to Lothlórien instead of Rivendell because there also dwelled allies who would probably be willing to help rescue his father and retrieve the kingdom from Thoran, yet he knew that his father was not very fond of Lord Celeborn’s wife and he respected the wish of the King not to get overly much involved with Galadriel.

The Lady of the Golden Wood might be involved anyway should Lord Elrond recommend contacting her however Saeron felt more comfortable speaking with Lord Elrond first. Rivendell was a safe distance away from Mirkwood and he hoped to get a clearer view on the events in his home while visiting the tranquil valley.

As loath as he was to leave his home like a coward; as eager was he to cross the considerable distance at top speed. With this in mind, he did not really realize how far he had pushed himself and his horse, until the poor animal stumbled from fatigue nearly throwing him off.

Shocked he slid from the horse’s shivering frame. With gut-clenching guilt he stroked the quivering flank and buried his face in the wet hair.

“I am so sorry, my friend, please forgive me,” he murmured while closing his eyes. Beast and elf stood there catching their breath. After Saeron had walked the horse slowly to cool him down the white stallion shook his mane and rubbed his nose into Saeron´s chest.

Saeron took the saddlebags off and led him to a nearby clearing. He sat down, unpacked a bit of lembas and let the horse roam free to drink and graze. The dark haired elf was tired but at the same time restless. He wanted nothing more than to go on but the horse needed the rest as desperately as he did.

Without bothering to roll out a bedroll he stretched out on the forest floor. Although he knew he would not find any sleep he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

A soft wet nose pressed against his cheek startled him. He blinked in confusion. He had managed to sleep after all.

He was alert instantly when he heard something. The pricked ears of his steed told him, that he had not imagined the sound. He was used to being in a forest at night but the noise he had heard was not nocturnal.

Slowly he rose to his feet but it was already too late. Before he could grab his sword from the ground two dark clad elves dropped from the trees. Both instantly seized him and pulled him to the ground.

While one of them pinned him there with a knee on his chest the other unsheathed a dagger from his belt. They must have followed him and in his haste he had failed to notice it, and their purpose was clear now. They had come to kill him.

Desperately he struggled to free himself and managed to push the one pinning him down off. A surprised cry escaped his attacker’s throat as he landed a kick to his knee. The other elf raised his hand to fling the dagger at him.

Watching the one with the dagger, Saeron was grabbed from behind from the other elf again. Expecting the impact of the dagger Saeron´s face went into a mask when he noticed a motion beside him.

His mount had risen on his hind legs and without further delay the horse’s hooves impacted hard on the elf’s skull with a sickening crack. The grip slackened but the jerk of the falling elf was strong enough to drag him to the ground with the unconscious elf. At least he could avoid being hit by the dagger.

Quickly untangling himself from the now slack grip Saeron scrambled to his feet only to be slammed against a tree by the other attacker. A searing pain in his upper arm made him cry out in pain. With tears blurring his vision he forcefully pushed the elf pinning him away.

Spinning around and without a second thought Saeron leapt on the back of his horse. He cried out again when his heavily bleeding arm was jarred. Saeron nearly tumbled back to the ground when another blinding pain shot up his leg.

Without bothering to look he knew that an arrow had hit him. His attacker was not giving up and was reacting extremely quickly. Without a command the white horse leaped forward with a mighty jump and ran into the forest. Saeron gripped the mane in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

When Saeron was sure that his attacker was not following him he stopped. For a few moments he simply rested his head against the animal’s neck and closed his eyes to gather some of his strength. The pain in his arm and leg was throbbing in rhythm with his hurried heartbeat.

He was not sure if he should dismount, because he doubted he would be able to remount again. But he had to treat his wounds and get rid of the arrow otherwise he would never reach Imladris.

He shifted his weight to the side of his uninjured leg and slowly slid from the horse’s back. He let out a cry of pain as he tried to grab the mane with his injured arm and fell to the ground.

His vision blurred when he hit the ground hard. In too much pain and too weak to rise again he remained on the ground with his horse standing guard. He knew that the trained stallion would protect him although not as useful as it would be when mounted by a fully-armed warrior.

After an undetermined length of time he pushed himself up from the ground while using all his willpower and the stallion for support.

Clinging to the horse’s side he directed them to a nearby thicket. When he was sure they were far enough from the path he let go and sank to the ground leaning his back against a tree trunk. He closed his eyes briefly until the pain had lessened.

Reluctantly opening them again he regarded his leg where the arrow was still embedded just above the knee. He grabbed the shaft and prayed that he would have enough strength to push the projectile through. The gaping wound on his arm did little to give him confidence.

In his haste to depart he had not wasted a thought about healing supplies much less a painkiller. Gritting his teeth he curled his fingers around the shaft and pushed hard, yet he only managed in snapping the shaft off.

Another pain filled cry left his mouth and he sank to the ground unconscious again. He awoke because of the constant touch of a silken nose on his cheek. He blinked in confusion and tried to focus his blurred vision. He sat up with a jerk and regretted this action instantly.

The throbbing pain in his arm and leg had not lessened at all. To his dismay his leggings were soaking wet. Judging by his dizziness he must have lost a large amount of blood.

Alerted by a shrill whinny he looked up and spoke soothingly to his agitated stallion. The horse tossed its head with a satisfied snort at his response.

He quickly loosened his belt and tied it tightly around his thigh just above the arrow wound. Then he struggled to his feet. He was careful not to put any weight on the leg but he realized instantly with a sinking heart that there would be no way for him to mount.

Sensing his dilemma the stallion trotted over and knelt in front of his master. Saeron smiled. This horse had been a gift from his father and he had raised the foal himself. Since then the beautiful animal had served him faithfully.

“Thank you, my friend, let us head for Imladris quickly,” he said softly while he mounted easily now. He gripped the mane with his good hand before he allowed the stallion to rise.

After many days of riding through the forest, along the Misty Mountains, up in the snow filled passes and down the mountainsides Saeron was left clinging precariously to his horse, only riding automatically now.

His eyes were fixed on the ground and he was no longer aware of his surroundings. His leg had no feeling left at all after blocking the blood flow and his arm was on fire.

Suddenly the white horse stopped.

He was too tired to even lift his head from the neck of his steed. Whatever threat the horse had sensed he was doomed to face it without the chance to defend himself.

To be continued……………..