Chapter 10:  shadow and light

Waking was a slow process and as painful as the last time. Thranduil slowly opened his eyes and was again greeted by darkness. Had he slipped into unconsciousness again? This did not bode well.

With some effort he tried to rise onto one elbow to at least get his upper body up from the damp stone floor. Suddenly dizziness swept over him. Blinking a few times to steady himself, he slowly rose into a sitting position. Carefully he leaned his back against the stone behind him being careful of his still hurting right side.

To his dismay he could not tell if it was it day or night! How long had he been unconscious? He clenched his right fist in frustration and pounded it fiercely on the stone floor. However, he regretted this instantly. The motion jostled his broken ribs and the pain flared up again. ‘They should have already healed by now,’ he thought.

Taking deep breaths to get control over both his stupidity and his throbbing pain, he sat there motionless for some moments; long enough to ponder his miserable situation again.

What had happened while he was unconscious? The total lack of information would drive him mad. He was used to being informed, to getting information every time he demanded it. Information was vital it was the foundation of rule!

He still could not believe that Thoran had managed to overthrow him with so little effort. Had all the elves in Mirkwood surrendered so easily? Was Thoran’s influence so great that there was no resistance at all? Had he been so unaware for the last millennia that he had not seen this coming? If so, then his rule had failed. Utterly and deserved!

No! His rule could not have gone so awry. There were still many loyal to him! But where were they now? What of them? Why did they not resist? Where were the troops? His council members? His sons?

Questions followed questions and there were no answers.

He pounded his balled fist against the unyielding stone again heedless of the pain flaring up. He had to stop this! He would drive himself mad, a concept Thoran would appreciate.

He would not do him this favour and yet a very bad feeling began to spread in his stomach. Had Thoran killed all who opposed him?

Knowing that he would achieve nothing with his self-doubt he slowly forced himself to rise and began pacing the small room. Four feet back five feet forth.

Suddenly he felt hungry. When had he eaten last? He could not remember. Would they let him starve here?

In passing the door he stopped. His boot had nudged something on the floor. He bent down and touched a metal bowl. He grimaced, so much for starving. After a sniff at the unidentifiable contents, he kicked the bowl across the floor until it bounced off the opposite wall with a loud clank.

The sound made him frown. Something didn’t sound right. Something on the underside of the bowl had muffled the sound. Quickly he strode over to the bowl and turned it over unheeding of the contents dripping out.

Feeling along the bottom of the bowl he was surprised to find a piece of parchment sticking there. Carefully he removed the paper and rolled it between his fingertips.

His heart was suddenly pounding. With trembling fingers he folded the paper open and swore in frustration. In the darkness he could see nothing.

Returning to the door he crouched low and shoved the paper to the very edge of the door so that the dim light filtering in from the corridor could reach the parchment. Narrowing his eyes he tried to decipher the tiny letters written there. With the first word he could read his heart leaped with joy. 

“Adar,

Thoran has not yet complete control

The warriors have drawn back into the woods to regroup

Legolas is safe

Saeron is on his way to inform Lord Elrond

many things are in motion

many are still with you

do not despair, hold on”

Galadhion

Like a treasure Thranduil pressed the parchment to his chest. His sons at least were safe for the time being.

This short message had restored some of his confidence. Yet he was not prone to any illusions. This depicted the situation only for a given moment in time. Too much was in motion and fortune could quickly change for the worse.

He thought of Legolas. The boy must be frightened. He would not understand what was happening around him. And here he was, imprisoned and unable to hold his boy and reassure him that all would be well again. He snorted. Nothing would be as it once was. Regardless how this played out, the end would be bitter and would leave a foul after taste.

……………………………………………

The initial joy over the message ebbed away when nothing happened over the next two days. Thranduil could not hear any noises, neither close by nor farther away. There was no shuffling of feet, no hushed voices, and no one coming anywhere near his prison.

As much as he wanted to deny it the lack of water and food affected him. His throat was parched and he felt weak from the missing sustenance. How long could he stand this?

After another day in darkness he could barely swallow. This was a frightening concept for him. He had always hoped to die during a battle but not through the hands of his captors or, even worse, of thirst and hunger.

No! This would not happen. Where was his resolve? He had lived through much worse. During the siege of Barad-dûr on the fields of Dagorlad they had endured seven long years out in the cold, without proper provisions and bereft of the hope of ever succeeding.

Yet, what had changed the daily routine? Why was no one coming to bring him food? What had happened? Again he groaned while he tormented his brain with questions he could not hope to answer.

To save the last of his energy he lay down with nothing but his thin tunic between his skin and the cold floor. With nothing better to do, he thought of his youngest son and tried to concentrate all his love and strength on his bond with his child.

……………………………………

After a period of time he couldn’t quantify the door to his cell opened and Thoran stepped inside. After the long silence the sudden sound of the door banging open rang in his ears. His eyes were not adjusted to the light that Thoran’s torch spread. His eyes burned, Thranduil blinked rapidly.

“You think you are so clever, Thranduil,” Thoran said in a low and controlled voice. Not the aggressive and chill tone from earlier. Thranduil blinked in surprise. Something had changed.

Why? What was the cause of this? Was Thoran defeated or had he managed to succeed? Both options did not let him relax. Thoran would be even more dangerous when pushed against the wall.

Looking at the towering figure after his eyes had adjusted to the light, Thranduil waited for what Thoran would do or say next. There was nothing else that he could do anyway.

Doing his best not to let his weakness and pain show Thranduil returned a cool gaze. He was tired of this game now. His entire right side was on fire and merely thinking about his ribs caused him pain, so the time was ripe for a decision.

Before another moment had passed Thoran tossed something at his feet. At first the King did not look at the object. He held the gaze of this mad elf as long as possible. Only when Thoran looked down Thranduil directed his gaze at the bundle at his feet. It was a coarse linen sack bound with a leather throng at its top.

Thranduil did not move. What was this supposed to mean? With a raised eyebrow he regarded the tall elf again. Thoran took a deep breath.

“Say goodbye to your sons and make peace with your creator. You are no longer important to me.”

Without another word the traitor turned and slammed the door shut. The King was left in darkness again. Thranduil swallowed. What could be in this sack that was so important that Thoran brought it down here personally?

His throat felt drier then ever. Something important must have happened. Why did it no longer matter if he lived or died? He would not find out by sitting there any longer.

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the darkness again he carefully leaned forward and grabbed the sack. Again a piecing pain was stabbing down his side and he felt fresh blood on his filthy tunic. If he did not get healing soon then he would no longer have to worry about starvation.

Carefully taking a deep breath he opened the leather tie with trembling fingers and reached inside. And then he froze.

The first item he pulled out was a fine chain with a pendant hanging from it. He did not need any light, or indeed his eyes at all, to identify the object. His fingers had instantly made out what it was.

It belonged to Legolas. It was a beautifully crafted little butterfly made of mithril, the eyes made of two tiny rubies. His wife had given it to his son shortly after his fourth begetting day. Legolas had always loved the fragile beauties and had worn it ever since, never taking it off. And now it lay there in his hands, the chain broken.

Carefully placing the treasure beside him he reached into the sack again. He only other item he also knew by heart. It was a small dagger with its hilt in the shape of a horse’s head. It belonged to Saeron. He himself had given it to him on the day he had pledged himself as a warrior to the realm. His son was never without the valuable weapon.

If Thoran had acquired these items then something must have happened to his sons. They would never have given up their treasures willingly. Thoran must have managed to capture them. They were still alive but that was the only thing he could say for certain.

The distress that reached him through the bond with his children was great but he could not pinpoint what caused this distress.

Now it would not take long until Thoran would stand before him again and force him to cooperate. With his sons used as leverage he would have no choice but to comply.

His throat too dry to bring forth any sound of frustration he clutched both items to his chest and sank back to the ground.

To be continued…………………….