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Revolution  by Laikwalâssê

Revolution


Chapter 7:  answers

Elladan slipped into the room where Saeron was resting. He silently closed the door behind him and stepped next to the bed. His father, sitting in a comfortable chair, looked up and smiled. “Ada, I’m here to sit with him. How does he fare?” 

The Elf-Lord’s expression grew thoughtful. The wounds of the young elf had stopped bleeding and looked acceptable considering the circumstances but Saeron was very weak and he had not awakened.

Even without words Elladan was aware that his friend was not out of the woods yet. A look at his father’s face conveyed as much. “He’s stable at the moment but we must have a close look at him. The utter exhaustion does not help much.” 

Elladan only nodded at his father’s words. If Saeron had already been wounded while leaving Mirkwood then he had pushed his body beyond endurance in travelling the long distance. This could very well affect his healing ability. 

Seeing that his father was reluctant to leave, Elladan directed the focus on another disturbing matter. “Elrohir reported that he found no additional clothing and no bedroll let alone any provisions with the horse. It seemed that Saeron practically fled his home. Ada this makes no sense.” 

To the great relief of the older twin the Elf-lord was finally rising. “You are right, Elladan, but he’s the only one who can solve this riddle,” he retorted with a nod toward the elf on the bed. 

“We will not send a message to King Thranduil then?” Elladan asked while looking sadly at the wood elf. Saeron and he had been friends since childhood; they were nearly the same age. 

Elrond shock his head. “No, not until I have spoken with him. I’ve a bad feeling considering the state in which he arrived here.” Elladan looked up with a frown. What was his father hinting at? What could possibly have happened in Mirkwood?

Fearing that he would further detain his father getting some rest Elladan remained silent. However just when the Elf-lord squeezed his son’s shoulder in comfort and was about to turn, a low moan could be heard from the bed.

Father and son stepped next the bed. Both waited if Saeron would regain consciousness. The Elf-lord sat down on the edge of the mattress and gently picked up the Prince’s cold hand.

He waited patiently while squeezing the fingers lightly to reassure the youngster that someone was nearby. Saeron moaned again but finally opened his eyes.

Seeing the confusion in the young elf’s eyes Elrond leaned forward. “Saeron, you are in Imladris. Calm down, you are safe now.”

The prince’s eyes briefly flickered to the other elf standing near the bed after he had recognized who had spoken to him. Elrond guessed that memory momentarily eluded the young elf.

“Saeron, you were on your way to Imladris and you have been badly injured but you are safe now.”

Saeron nodded and briefly closed his eyes. He had managed to reach Imladris after all. When his memory returned with a rush he opened his eyes startled. “Master Elrond...how...how long have I been here?”

The Elf-Lord placed a restraining hand on the dark-haired elf’s shoulder to prevent him from struggling too much.

“Peace, Saeron, you have only been here since yesterday. You must rest and grant your body time to recover.”

Saeron sank back onto the pillow with a near sob. Time was the only thing he did not have; an ironic concept for an elf. He had already lost too much time in coming here. He had no recollection how he had managed to cross the mountain and how he had reached the valley.

Opening his eyes again Saeron directed a pleading gaze at Elladan and looked then straight at the Elf-lord regarding at him with a worried gaze.

“Lord Elrond, I appreciate your concern, but I have to return home quickly before......,” he stopped. The nearly identical frowns that had appeared on the faces of the two elves made him swallow. They had no idea what was happening at his home.

Elrond did not need to be a mind reader to know that the young elf would not calm down until he had related what had brought him to Imladris. Although Elrond had wished for Saeron to rest first he clearly sensed that time was of essence for the young elf. Despite that, he was also anxious to learn what had happened in Mirkwood.

The bad feeling in his gut intensified when he saw the tears of frustration running down Saeron’s face. He knew Saeron since he was an elfling. He had nearly the same character traits as his oldest son. Like Elladan he was fierce and overprotective of his siblings and his family, often getting into trouble while speaking his heart and acting rash and imprudent.

But never had Elrond seen him this shaken and brought to tears by frustration. Taking a deep breath and against his better judgement the Elf-lord encouraged the young elf to tell his story – a story he was sure would distress them greatly if the indications were any hint.

“Saeron, I’m willing to hear you out, but you must promise me to calm down first. You nearly died two days ago and relapse is ever possible, child.”

Squeezing the pale hand in his, the Elf-Lord waited patiently until Saeron had relaxed and opened his eyes again. Nodding Saeron took a deep breath and begun to speak quietly.

“A few days ago“, he begun, “a revolution occurred in Mirkwood. An upstart named Thoran and his fellows captured my father, dragged him off and took control of the realm.”

Saeron stopped when he heard the gasp coming from Elladan who was not successful in hiding his shock. Elrond was more in control of his emotions, yet the distress he felt was equally plain to see on his face. Elrond had expected something bad but this was beyond his imagination.

Sadly some questions had answered themselves. To inform them Saeron was forced to flee his own home. To get away undetected had obviously not worked. This disturbed the healer the most. He had predicted the wounds had not stemmed from orcs. His own people had tried to kill the prince.

The Elf-Lord had dealt with many dangerous situations in the past, but a revolution was a treacherous thing. Such situations often ended bloody and left an uneasy feeling of distrust and disappointment in its wake. All elves had bitterly paid for their past sins but in Mirkwood history was repeating itself.

Elrond sighed. King Thranduil was a loved and respected ruler but the Lord of Imladris knew about the millennium-old strains between the Silvan and the Sindarin elves.

However he had never thought that it was that bad and that it would end in a revolution.

“I know what you are thinking!” his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the wounded youngster. “We got caught by surprise and we had never expected something like this would happen. We were mistaken.”

Elrond could clearly hear the frustration in the voice and he could sympathise with Saeron.

Seeing that his patient was getting more and more agitated with every passing minute, Elrond placed a comforting hand on the dark haired elf’s shoulder.

“Saeron, I’m sorry to hear this bad news, but you have to grant your body rest and…”

He had not a chance to finish his sentence. Saeron jerked upright, yet fell back with a cry when his heavily bandaged arm was jarred. Elladan had hastily rounded the bed to restrain his friend from doing more harm to himself.

“We have no time to lose…” Saeron sobbed utterly drained.

Sighing, the Elf-Lord rose and was now mixing a painkiller and a sedative to calm down the young elf. While Elladan was calming Thranduil´s son the healer poured the medicine into a glass and returned to the bed.

“Saeron, drink this,” he said while lifting the head of the young elf. Saeron had not the strength to struggle or protest further. “And while you rest we will discuss how to help you.”

Saeron was too worn out to even nod. Within minutes the drug did its work. After the Elf-lord had called for a healer to sit with Saeron he motioned for his son to leave the room with him.

In the corridor they met with Elrohir. The distressed expressions on both his father’s and his brother’s face alerted the younger twin. “Ada, what is it? Is something wrong with Saeron?” he asked fearing that his long time friend had not recovered as hoped.

The Elf-lord placed a hand on his youngest shoulder. “Saeron is fine. He got a bit agitated after he told us what happened. I gave him something to relax and he is sleeping now.”

Seeing another question forming Elrond held up his hand. “Elladan, Elrohir, please fetch Glorfindel and Erestor and come to my study.”

With this the healer turned determinedly and departed down the long corridor. Elrohir´s frown deepened but he knew it would be pointless to press for further information. He didn’t need to look at his brother to know that something drastic had occurred. The anxiousness coming through their bond told him as much.

 

…………………………………

 

Lord Erestor, chief councillor and head administrator of the Last Homely House closed the door to his Lord’s study and acknowledged the already gathered elves with a nod.

Although no one had officially informed him yet about the prince’s arrival he was already provided with sufficient details.

Elrond would undoubtedly deliver this information now but it did not hurt to gather some facts beforehand. However, what he could not learn so far was the reason why Prince Saeron arrived here more dead then alive. Hence he awaited his Lord’s announcements with some anticipation.

Of course he knew King Thranduil personally. He had visited the great forest often to deliver messages best conveyed personally. And he had made acquaintance with the King’s sons, at least with the two older ones; the youngest he had still to meet.

He could not imagine what had driven Prince Saeron to make the arduous journey to Imladris and why he had arrived in such a pitiful state. His information had said that the wounds the young prince had suffered were not caused by orcs or other foul creatures. He was eager to know the full story now.

When the Lord of Imladris cleared his throat all attention was directed at him. Glorfindel had provided Erestor with a goblet of wine. Erestor thanked him with a nod and made himself comfortable. This would be a longer meeting otherwise the warrior would not have bothered to open the wine. The twins had declined the offer and were sitting on the edge of their seats.

“Erestor, Glofindel, thank you for coming here this quickly. We need to discuss how to proceed. As you already know,” with this he directed a meaningful glance at this councillor which Erestor returned with an unreadable expression, “Prince Saeron, King Thranduil’s second son arrived here yesterday badly wounded. How he had managed to make this journey in his condition is beyond me.” Seeing the questioning gaze of Erestor, Elrond quickly added: “He had been already wounded while still in Mirkwood.”

Returning his glass with a loud clank to the little side table Erestor leaned forward, a deep frown on his face. With not so much restraint Elrohir had sprung up.

“What? Ada, you mean he was attacked by his own people?” There was so much incredulity in the younger twin’s voice that Elrond swallowed. He was after all shocked as much as his son was in getting this news.

Nodding at his son the Lord of Imladris continued. “Yes, that’s what Saeron reported to me. Two of his fellow elves had tried to kill him and prevent him from leaving Mirkwood or reaching Imladris.”

“But why?” was all a shocked Elrohir could utter. Erestor had leaned forward a bit more. “That’s the very question that would interest me also, my Lord,” he said.

Sighing and taking a sip of his own wine Elrond leaned back in his chair. “A few days ago a revolution occurred in Mirkwood. The Silvan-elves stood up against King Thranduil. An elf named Thoran has taken over command.”

Now Erestor also stood, his eyes narrowed to small slits. He knew of this Thoran. Many times while visiting Mirkwood he had discussed this ambiguous elf with the King but like Thranduil he had not seen a reason to act against him. Obviously they had been mistaken.

“Thranduil has surely acted adequately against this Thoran and….” seeing his Lord’s head-shake Erestor blanched. What in the name of the Valar had happened in Mirkwood?

“As far as Saeron reported Thoran has overpowered and captured King Thranduil and imprisoned him somewhere under the palace. Neither Galadhion nor Saeron has had any contact with their father nor do they know where he is,” Elladan filled in. Erestor was reminded that the older twin had helped his father in caring for the wounded prince.

A long silence followed this news. Finally Glorfindel rose and replaced his empty goblet.

“Which leads us to the ultimate question: What shall we do about this? We are hardly in any position to counter a revolution!”

 

To be continued……………………

 

 

 

 





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