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Revolution  by Laikwalâssê

Revolution


Chapter 11:  haste makes waste

 

…we are hardly in any position to counter a revolution!”

 

The Lord of Rivendell leaned back in his chair with a sound; Glorfindel was not sure if it was a sigh or a moan. Looking at his friend from across the room the warrior decided it was the latter.

Elrond had placed his head in both hands and was rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and a worried frown crossed his face. Performing the act of far-speaking was nothing new for either Elf-lord but this time it seemed the process had sapped the healer’s strength more than usual.

Rising from behind his desk Glorfindel crossed the room and perched on the edge of the huge desk his friend was sitting behind. He placed a cautious hand on the other’s shoulder. Elrond jerked and looked up as if just becoming aware of his presence.

Glorfindel’s frown deepened. The healer’s face was covered with sweat and his skin looked ashen. “Elrond are you alright?” Glorfindel asked softly, shifting his hand to the elf’s forearm in case the chair-back did not provide sufficient support.

After a few moments the healer’s eyes focused and Elrond nodded his head. For the sake of his friend he even forced a smile on his face although he knew that he could never fool the warrior.

While relaxing and leaning back some colour returned to the dark- haired elf’s face. Glorfindel removed his steadying hand and moved to an overstuffed chair in front of the desk. From a little side table within comfortable reach Glorfindel poured two goblets of wine.

Elrond took the glass with a thankful nod and briefly closed his eyes to attune his mind with the present again. Knowing that Elrond would never speak unless asked Glorfindel leaned forward. “How did Galadriel react? What did she say?” he asked without preamble.

Directing his gaze back to his friend a smile flittered over the Elf-Lord’s face. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “She already knew what has been happening in Mirkwood and she wondered why young Saeron suffered travelling the greater distance instead of coming directly to Lothlórien.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to smirk. Everyone knew about the animosity between the King of Mirkwood and the wife of Celeborn. This knowledge had surely been extended to the King’s children also. Galadriel of course knew this and so it was not a true question on her part.

The more interesting part however was how the Lady of Light had learned about the troubles in Mirkwood. Yet she was a ring-bearer and was supposed to know what was happening in the surroundings of her realm.

Not because he was a mind reader but due to the long years of close familiarity with his seneschal, Elrond knew what Glorfindel was pondering. “She is very worried about the events going on beyond her borders. But she had somehow seen it coming. She had even counselled Thranduil to keep a special eye on this Thoran. Sadly her warning remained unheeded and now it’s too late.”

Just when Glorfindel opened his mouth to respond a knock sounded at the door. Elrond raised an eyebrow. No visitor was scheduled but then everyone in this house was allowed to come to his office at any time. Glorfindel rose to answer the door. Elrond already had a pretty good idea about who wanted to visit them.

As expected, Saeron asked for permission to enter. Glorfindel opened the door wider and Elrond gestured for the young elf to enter. The healer narrowed his eyes when he noticed how pale the young elf looked and how unsteady he was on his feet. No wonder, he conceded, after having had only a few days time for his severe injuries to heal.

Glorfindel was only one step behind the youngster until Saeron had managed to sit down in the second chair before the desk. With a stern glare but a soft voice Elrond addressed the son of Thranduil after he had rounded his desk. “I cannot remember having given you permission to leave your bed, young one!” he said with a side-glance at the warrior who only shrugged his shoulders while taking back his seat.

For one second the young one seemed cowed but then the defiant chin, a feature of all the line of Thranduil, was raised and Saeron looked at the Elf lord determinedly. Elrond sighed. Had he expected anything different?

“Master Elrond, I’m sorry to go against your orders but I’m running out of time. Something has to be done immediately and I have to return home.”

Elrond held up his hand to stop the string of words. Saeron swallowed and lowered his eyes. He was still too worn out to act anything near his old self. Yet his thoughts were whirling constantly around his concerns about the situation at home.

Sitting on his desk the healer leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Saeron, the most important step for you now is to recover and…..”

The healer had no chance to finish his sentence. Saeron jerked upright. “No, my Lord! How can I sit here while my home is drowning in chaos? You can hardly ask this of me…..”

“Saeron, stop!”

The sharp command silenced the agitated youngster effectively. Glorfindel had risen to his feet again. Continuing in this way would achieve nothing. The young elf had to calm down first. However, this would only happen when he had recovered his health and regained some of his wits.

Staring at the warrior, Saeron’s gaze changed from irritated to ashamed. He stepped back in shock without thinking about his injured right leg, gasping as he put undue pressure on the still healing limb. His momentum overbalanced him and he tripped over the chair behind him.

Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel could react quickly enough, so he crashed to the floor, landing hard on one of the chair legs. Saeron cried out in pain as his right thigh connected with the wood.

An instant later Elrond was on his knees beside Saeron looking with dismay at the quickly spreading red stain on the wood elf’s legging. Quickly he stopped the youngster from rising. He did not have to remove the fabric to know what had happened.

With a sigh he looked at the pain-contorted face. “Do not put any more pressure on that leg.” Saeron could only nod. He was too occupied with breathing in and out and fighting down his threatening nausea.

Glorfindel had stepped around the chair and was now carefully lifting the dark haired elf into his arms. Saeron pressed his lips together in a vain attempt not to cry out again.

“Stupid child,” Glorfindel said softly and turned toward the door. Elrond opened it for him and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I will be along shortly.” Glorfindel nodded and headed toward the healing wing.

Elrond closed the door behind him and leaned his head against the doorframe for just a moment. Saeron was the son of his father; impulsive and never willing to waste any time. On the other hand he was injured, confused, and had been driven from his home like a criminal.

Making up his mind Elrond straightened and left his office. When he entered the sickroom he saw that his head healer had already removed the soiled leggings and cleaned the blood away. Judging by the relaxed expression on the young elf’s face Thalan had already given him something against the pain.

He nodded his approval and thanked the healer. When he stepped up to the examination table Saeron opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master Elrond. My reaction was not appropriate but I can hardly bear the anguish any longer.” Tears of pain and frustration began to fall down the pale cheeks. The Elf-lord nodded in sympathy and placed a comforting hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, imparting some healing energy and calm into the shivering body without his patient’s knowledge.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Saeron, but now you must rest.” Saeron closed his eyes. What other option was left to him? When the breaths indicated that the drug had worked Elrond took a closer look at the swollen thigh. The fall had reopened the stitches and tore some of the underlying muscle. This was not good and could hinder the young elf for a long time. But it could not be helped. Done was done.

He carefully stitched the muscle together and closed the reopened arrow wound. Again he wound a thick bandage around the thigh. After that the elf was placed in a bed and covered with a blanket.

“I will sit with him,” Thalan offered and lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. Elrond nodded and left the room quietly. Now they had to wait again and hope for the best.

The recovery of the young elf would be delayed further and this would not sit well with Saeron. Nor would the news Elrond had received so far.

 

…………………………………………….

 

Three days later Saeron had recovered enough to be allowed out of bed, although only for short periods of time. While the rest had done his body some good, his mind was still in turmoil and Elrond really feared for the sanity of the young elf.

He could no longer be placated and demanded a decision for better or worse so he would be able to leave as soon as possible. The healer knew that he could no longer delay the confrontation he had hoped to avoid.

For the past four hours Elrond had been participating in a heated discussion with Glorfindel, Erestor, and Galdor, an elf from the havens, who had arrived to bring greetings and news from Círdan. His arrival a few days earlier could not have been more fortunate now. Elrond had been able to inform other elves with power and influence in Middle earth about the happenings in Mirkwood. This however he had not shared with Saeron so far.

When his frustration level had nearly reached its peak, here Saeron was again, standing before his desk demanding to know what had been decided about the situation at his home.

Under any other circumstances the Lord of Rivendell would have rebuked the elf before him for his rude tone but he could very well understand the anguish Saeron must be feeling and so he tolerated the demanding attitude of the youth.

His tolerance did not extend to his administrator Erestor. Before Elrond could interfere Erestor had risen and glared at the son of Thranduil.

“I would advise you to rein in you loose tongue, young one. We are willing to help but you should let us decide how!”

Elrond closed his eyes. Even if silently agreeing with his councillor and knowing about the preparations Erestor already had done, he knew that now the tenuous hold Saeron had on his temper would snap.

And he did not have to wait long. The young elf whirled around and shot a dark glare at Erestor that would have made some lesser spirit reel. Not so Erestor. His face blank of any emotions the dark haired elf looked back without blinking.

“I hardly have the luxury to waste any more time and wait upon never-ending discussions. I do not know if it is even worthwhile to wait for help. Maybe there is no one at home who requires the help anymore.”

As though this was not bad enough Galdor also rose and before Elrond could interfere he too addressed the agitated Saeron.

“I can only agree with Lord Erestor. Interference into internal political matters would be quite unwise. We do not know the situation there and besides we can hardly strip our lands of our own warriors only to involve ourselves in a dispute the King of Mirkwood has with some of his own people.”

Swallowing, Saeron’s head snapped around, his eyes wide. For a few seconds he groped for words but restraint was not really a character trait the sons of Thranduil had.

“How dare you to speak like that about my father. You point this out as if my father has some quarrel with a few obstinate followers, as if this was merely child’s play.

I can assure you that the situation is far more dangerous than you can imagine, but in your arrogance you have hardly asked for any details. Thoran is very eager to ally with any dark forces only to gain some personal power.

Through his sacrifice my grandfather enabled all of you to survive, to huddle in your sheltered valleys being protected either by some magic elven rings or by being too far away from any real threat and what is our reward in a dire situation? Nothing! Endless discussions but no real will to help.

None of this matters anymore for me. As I feared I have wasted my time in coming here. My family may already be dead by now and I have sped up their destruction by not being by their side.”

Without another word or a gaze at anyone Saeron turned and left the room in a rush. The loud bang when the door was thrown shut echoed through the corridors.

The silence in the healer’s office afterwards was deafening. Galdor was still looking aghast at the spot where the wood elf had just stood, Erestor´s face was still expressionless and Glorfindel had closed his eyes.

Elrond did not have to look at the faces to know that the words left none of them untouched.

After some moments Glorfindel rose. “I will make sure that the boy is not doing anything stupid to himself or anyone else,” he said with a sigh. After a grateful nod from Elrond he left the room.

“And I will further ignore all troubles in the world and return to my desk!” Erestor snorted and left also. Elrond smiled. Erestor was Erestor.

That left only one upset mind to placate.

 

To be continued…………………..





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