Chapter 13:  a plan is forming

Without another word or 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……

Angrily wiping away the tears gathering in his eyes Saeron hurried down the corridor as quickly as his injured leg would allow him. He swallowed as he replayed the scene from a few minutes before in his head. With his rash and rude behaviour he had destroyed the only chance left for him to help his father.

Yet there was no more time to waste. With every additional day Thoran would be able to strengthen his position and the situation would get impossible for them to counter. He had lost so many days already, not knowing what was happening back home nearly drove him mad.

What sense did it make to stay here any longer? His hope for finding help had proven false and his coming here had been a mistake.

………………………………………………..

An hour later after seeing to his own chores Glorfindel finally found the time to fulfil his promise and look after Saeron. When he knocked on the door of wood elf’s room he was not surprised to get no answer. In his anger Saeron would not bid him enter or he would have fallen asleep drained from his outburst.

Making up his mind Glorfindel silently opened the door. Having expected nothing else he looked unimpressed at the empty bed but after a quick search of the room he frowned.

The room was not just unoccupied; it was deserted. No personal belongings could be seen anywhere. Saeron had not merely left his room to wander Imladris he had left for good, Glorfindel realised instantly and with dismay.

The Elf-Lord felt momentarily angry. Why had Saeron done this? Although he knew that the youngster was a hot spur he had not expected him to react this unreasonably.

An hour after Saeron had left Lord Elrond’s study so vehemently the Master of Imladris had achieved the concession that Galdor would return to Círdan and that they would confer how to best help even if they could not send a great troop of warriors for a potential fight.

During a telepathic conference with Galadriel she had assured him that she was also thinking about how to support King Thranduil in his struggle to get back his reign.

Imladris would not stand back in offering help. But now the one who could provide them with the necessary information about how to coordinate the allies had left in a rush.

Glorfindel’s initial anger was soon overcome with worry. Saeron was distressed and not in his right mind. Many terrible things could happen to the young prince if he attempted to return to his home in his present condition.

Knowing that he could achieve nothing here he quickly turned and stepped out into the corridor. There he nearly collided with Elrond attempting to enter the room.

“You can save your efforts, he’s not here,” Glorfindel answered the unasked question behind the raised eyebrow of his Lord.

At the tone of his Troop Commander Elrond frowned. Galdor wanted to speak with the woodland Prince again before he left.

“What do you mean with he’s not here?” Elrond asked although he already guessed the answer. Galdor’s desired meeting would not happen and this would not please the Elf-lord. Many hours of convincing on his part, about how dire the situation in Mirkwood was, would be for naught.

Like Glorfindel the Master of Imladris felt angry but a touch on his arm startled him out of his thoughts.

“We have to find him before something happens. He’s desperate, Elrond and alone. I will leave immediately.”

Elrond only nodded already worrying over the youngster’s well being. He was far from healed enough to attempt a return journey.

The important thing now was to find Saeron in time and channel the help efficiently. He would manage to convince Galdor to provide help anyway.

With a grateful nod Elrond sent the warrior on his way. If anyone could find and stop the hot headed Saeron then it would be Glorfindel.

……………………………………..

Without conscious thought Saeron urged his mount on and stopped only after the beast stumbled from exhaustion. Weary himself, he leaned low over the stallion’s neck and mumbled an apology.

First he had not believed his luck that no one had seen him leave the grounds of Imladris. The way to the stables was deserted as were the stables. It was easy to retrieve his horse and leave in the dawn.

But already while leaving he had felt his still lingering weakness increase. Angrily he had ignored the feeling and chided himself. Now however after having left the borders of the sheltered valley behind him his strength had suddenly deserted him.

The wound on his upper arm throbbed unmercifully, not to mention the arrow wound on his right leg. The injury had reopened again and blood was trickling down his leggings.

He did not dare to dismount fearing he would not be able to remount again. For long minutes he sat there trying to cope with his weakness and pain, momentarily at a loss for how to reach his home in his state.

Frustrated he closed his eyes. His coming here had been in vain. He would return home with bare hands, if at all. He had failed. Without noticing he slipped into a state of semi-consciousness.

From time to time he raised his head but he did not even have the strength to open his eyes for any length of time. Any attacker would have easy play with him. His stallion would defend him but the horse was not immune to arrows or a great number of assailants.

He did not know how much time had passed and he was unaware of the rider approaching him with great speed.

……………………………………….

Glorfindel urged his mount on determined to catch up with Saeron before he could reach the Misty Mountains. He was confident about this knowing the weakened state the young elf was in. Saeron was far from healed and Elrond had assured him that his strength would soon desert him.

Keeping that in mind Glorfindel did not slow down knowing that he could not be far behind now.

The landscape flying past in a flurry, Glorfindel reined in his mount sharply after a shrill whinny from Asfaloth. Catching his breath he looked to the right and spotted the errant elf just to the side of the path.

The tall warrior dismounted slowly, suppressing the urge to run to the elf he could see was barely clinging to his horse. The prancing horse was doing its best not to let the elf fall but it was only a matter of time.

First he had to make sure that no threat would surprise them. Asfaloth would warn him but it could not hurt to be careful because they had left the protected border of Imladris long behind.

When he was sure that no evil was lurking in the near distance Glorfindel crossed the distance to the nervous mount, reaching the beast just in time to catch the unconscious elf before he could hit the ground. The horse had finally lost the balancing act.

Carefully he lowered the prince to the ground noticing the growing stain of bright red blood on the upper leg. With practised movements Glorfindel retrieved the necessary items from his healing pouch and bound the reopened wound tightly.

He was no healer but a critical look at the wound told him that a simple bandage would only do for a short time. The wound had to be re-stitched again.

Deciding that speed was now of the essence, the warrior scooped the young elf into his arms after gathering his supplies. After mounting a kneeling Asfaloth he whistled for Saeron’s stallion and realised with satisfaction that the white stallion was following his hard pressed return to Imladris.

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When Saeron awoke he felt strangely comfortable. He could not feel any pain and registered something soft underneath him. With some effort he opened his eyes and realised that he was lying in a bed back in his room at Rivendell, but what shocked him most was the expressionless face of the Master of Rivendell looking down at him.

He swallowed. Now he had truly managed to upset his host. Lowering his eyes he did not know what to say. Maybe it did not matter anymore.

“Saeron look at me!” Elrond said and his voice allowed no denial. Reluctantly the prince of Mirkwood raised his eyes and was surprised to see only worry and regret in the Elf-lord’s eyes.

“How often will you ruin my handiwork?” Elrond asked while he squeezed the hand of the young elf sympathetically.

Glorfindel leaning against the doorframe smiled inwardly. Regardless of what happened the dark haired Elf-Lord had always had a weak spot for the young ones.

Knowing that this was not really a question warranting an answer Saeron kept silent unsure of what to say anyway.

“Saeron“, Elrond began taking the cold hand into his, “I understand your anxiety and restlessness, I really do, but could you please muster some patience to give me a chance to consider all options? Many things need to be considered and this will take time.”

With a quivering lower lip Saeron could only nod, feeling like a naughty elfling being caught doing something incredibly stupid. Which was not so far from the mark, he thought sarcastically.

“I now how you ache to return home and how you fear for the welfare of your family but if we run headlong in this situation we will achieve nothing, maybe we will only make it worse.

I know the need for haste is dire but maybe you are willing to hear what has been achieved so far. In fact, the results of my efforts are satisfying.”

When Elrond had stopped, Saeron quickly lowered his eyes and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. After he had regained his composure he looked up again.

“Lord Elrond, I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of my imprudent behaviour. I have offended you and served my King poorly. I can only apologize.”

Squeezing the youth’s hand again Elrond smiled. ”No offence taken, Saeron. We can only guess what you are going through. But we need your help now to coordinate our assistance, of course only after you have rested and recovered.”

Smiling a little Saeron shook the gloominess from his mind. Maybe he could still achieve something that would help his home?

“I’m an idiot,” he whispered trying to find a comfortable position.

“That you are...sometimes!” a voice spoke firmly from the vicinity of the door. Saeron only now recognized Glorfindel standing there with a smile on his face.

“But I think we should try again. As soon as you have rested I will pester you with a thousand questions,” the tall warrior said smiling.

“Thank you,” was all Saeron could reply.

“You are welcome,” Elrond answered and squeezed the wood elf’s shoulder. After the Elf-lords had left his room Saeron took a deep breath and drifted into sleep.

.........................................

Three weeks later Saeron had recovered sufficiently for Lord Elrond to consider letting the young elf make his return journey. His twin sons would accompany the prince to get a first impression of the situation in Mirkwood.

Depending on this report the healer would decide how to provide the most effective help. A host of warriors were standing ready to be called upon if the situation warranted it. Either they would head into the great forest to support the King’s troops or they would secure the passes in case Thoran’s fellows decided to flee over the mountains.

The Lady of the Golden Wood had promised, in a message brought by a carrier pigeon, that she would amass the warriors guarding her realm on the northern and eastern borders and keep them ready if the need of Mirkwood troops for more warriors should arise. She would also take care that no escapees would get past the Anduin or reach the mountains.

The shipwright from the grey havens could promise no warriors but he would send diplomats to offer advice in the aftermath dealing with the wounds undoubtedly left after such a crisis.

Saeron had provided the Lord of Imladris with as much information as he could give. Quickly it became apparent however that he himself knew little of the whole situation. Much could have happened during his absence.

All was ready now to return home. The young prince took his leave of the sheltered valley after expressing his thanks to all who had promised to support his father. His heart was a bit lighter than three weeks earlier but his thoughts were still troubled. What would he face when he returned?

With the twin sons of Elrond riding left and right of him, Saeron urged his mount forward his anxiousness nearly unbearable.

To be continued……