Chapter 17:  despair

Now it had happened. He could no longer tell if it was day or night, if hours or days had gone by. He had lost track of time. Time was an endless blur while sitting and waiting for something, anything, to happen. With his back propped against the damp stone wall Thranduil wondered if he was awake or if this was merely an endless nightmare.

The acrid smell that invaded his nostrils reminded him that he was indeed awake, or could you register such odours while you were sleeping? It had been days since anyone had come to his dark prison and he had no other choice than to heed nature’s call in one corner of the cell. Not that there was much to dispel.  Yet his body was surprisingly still working, even after days without food and water.

He had even gotten accustomed in some way to the pain in his side every time he took a breath or moved. He was nearly sure that a broken rib had punctured his lung and he wondered why he had not bled to death. The injury allowed him only to inhale small amounts of air without passing out. Every movement caused blinding pain and made him dizzy.

Not that moving around was making much sense. If he had a breath to spare he would have laughed out loud. Even if the door would stand open he would not be able to walk out on his own as long as the bone was not set right.

This was so ridiculous. He had endured many worse hardships in his life. He struggled every day to protect the great forest from the ever growing number of foul creatures roaming around its borders. The dark tower of Dol Guldûr was a sting right to his heart.

Even his childhood had been ripped from him after the destruction of his home in Doriath first through the hands of the dwarves and finally some years later during the assault from the sons of Fëanor.

After the flight from the hidden kingdom toward Lindon he had never called a place home until his father had led his family away from the great city of High King Gil-Galad over the mountains into the land of Rhovanion.

There he had beheld for the first time the forest which would become his new home and had been so ever since. Yet the peaceful existence there did not last long after Sauron had returned to his fortress in Dol Guldûr. Over the years the great forest had even changed its name, from Eryn Galen – great Greenwood- to Taur-nu-Fuin – Mirkwood. Yet the wood elves remained and fought to retain every piece of ground of their beloved home even if it demanded much sacrifice.

And he had made many sacrifices, both personal and political, to guarantee the survival of the elves in this part of Middle earth. He had done this with conviction and without complaint, knowing that he acted for the benefit of his people.

But now he was not so sure of that. The very elves he had dedicated his life to protect had rebelled against him.

He angrily shook his head. The agitators were only a few; a little group around Thoran, blinded by his false promises. But then why was no one coming down here to tear open this dammed door? Why had Thoran not been overpowered by now?

When his vision begun to blur he knew that he had to calm down again and take slow, careful breaths. He slowly inhaled and exhaled to dispel the dizziness. This had become second nature during the many days and nights he had endured here.

After a while he had found the rhythm that prevented the worst pain. With his head on his raised knees he sat in the only position that would allow him to sleep short periods of time without agony.

When the wheezing sound of his lungs had stilled to a nearly normal noise he became aware of another sound he had not heard before. Carefully he lifted his head and listened.

On the corridor outside he could hear shuffling feet and hushed voices. As much as the pounding of the blood in his ears allowed him, he strained his senses to hear what was being said. The voices sounded impatient and angry.

Thranduil frowned. Someone was forcing others down the corridor. What was the meaning of this? The angry commands hinted that those being pushed were not happy to be there.

His heart began to pound harder in his chest. Had other elves been captured and were now being brought down here? Without conscious thought he rose when he heard a painful cry. He froze. If he was not very much mistaken, it had been the cry of a child.

Again the fear that one of his sons could be among the captured flared up. Thoran had confronted him with the tokens he had acquired from his sons earlier but until now he had not come again to demand some decision from him. Had it been an empty threat? But it made no difference if one his sons or any other children had been captured. He would not accept any elfling in the hands of this criminal.

His right arm wound around his torso holding it tightly. He used his left arm to feel along the wall toward the door. The anxiety let him partially suppress the pain. After reaching the door he pressed his ear against the wood. Its cool surface was soothing to his flushed face and he was now able to make out individual words.

He narrowed his eyes. Someone was in fact herding elflings down the corridor. Some of the children were crying, others complaining and one obviously brave child even protested. A loud slap however silenced the elfling effectively.

Thranduil balled his fists. Whose children were these and why were they being brought down here into the storerooms?

Then he laughed a mirthless laugh. What a ridiculous question. Thoran had found the perfect means to secure his position and prevent an attack. No one outside, warrior or citizen, would dare to strike against the palace. No elf would risk endangering the little ones.

Now Thoran had made the one step that would forever separate him from elven society, regardless how this would end. Thranduil had long pondered how he would handle Thoran when all this was over; if it if it ended in his favour, that is. But now Thoran had made his decision for him. He would never again have a place in any elven society on Middle earth.

When another loud command silenced the last of the crying children the King hold his breath. For some minutes nothing could be heard until a loud bang indicated that a heavy door had been slammed shut. Because he could no longer hear any voices of the children he guessed that they had been imprisoned in a storeroom similar to his own.

For a second he pondered pounding against the stone wall to let the little ones know that he was here and they were not alone but quickly he reasoned that it would be futile. The stones were much too thick. He would only exhaust himself and achieve nothing. His condition wouldn’t allow such an action anyway.

Yet he remained at the door when another sound could be heard. Fist he could not identify what caused it but after the third massive object had been moved past his door he was sure of what was happening. Someone was rolling the huge barrels they used to transport goods from the palace to Esgaroth down the corridor.

He narrowed his eyes. Why was Thoran bringing the great oak barrels down here? What purpose would they serve? Ten more barrels rolled past his door before someone opened the door to the storeroom where the elflings were held and began rolling the barrels inside.

The King could only hear the shrieking of the frightened children while they crowded into one corner of the room to make room for the barrels.

Thranduil’s blood ran cold. What was Thoran planning? He balled his fists in anger as again some slaps could be heard that silenced the elflings. This made no sense. The children were secure enough in the store room. He had no means to break free and surely no child could either. What were the barrels for?

He could no longer sit here and do nothing. While the elves passed his door to get back upstairs, he pounded his fist against the wood, ignoring the up flaring pain.

“Open the door at once!” he cried as loud as his tormented lungs would allow him. To his surprise the door was pushed open so quickly that he had no chance to get out of the way. He was shoved back and impacted hard with the wall behind him.

He could not prevent sliding to the floor when the stabbing pain exploded again in his right side. Panting hard to dispel the dizziness and get rid of the stars dancing before his eyes, he lifted his head.

An elf he had never seen before and a second one close behind him stood in the open doorway. “Look, our King is still alive. He is tougher then Thoran expected. This will really not please him!” the one in front sneered.

Thranduil suppressed the impulse to respond because he simply had no breath to spare. Rising to his knees and then to a standing position he fixed the elves with his green eyes. “What are you planning to do with the children? Let them go! They have nothing to do with this!” he demanded with a barely restrained voice.

As if really pondering his demand the elf closest to him hesitated before he stepped even closer. Near enough that Thranduil could feel the other’s breath, the two tall elves glared at one another.

“You are very much mistaken, your Majesty. They have everything to do with it and they will have to bear the consequences of your failure.”

Thranduil swallowed not sure what this statement meant. But before he could retort anything he was interrupted. “Spare your breath, Thranduil. As Thoran said, you are no longer important to us. We are punishing the children for the stunt your warriors attempted a few days ago.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. What was this elf speaking about? Had his warriors tried to attack the palace? What had happened?

His thoughts raced. How could he stop this madness? How were they going to “punish” the children? That thought alone caused his gut to cringe.

The elf seemed to read his thoughts for he stepped again closer.

“This is your last chance, Thranduil! Abdicate and call your warriors back or the next generation of wood elves will have no future!”

Thranduil paled which his opponent could fortunately not see in the dimness. Thoran did not only mean to use the children as hostages he would kill them if the situation changed for the worse for him.

The elf was mad. It no longer made sense to think of him as a reasonable counterpart. He had to be removed by any means necessary.

“Well?” the elf only standing inches away from him demanded.

Thranduil lowered his head and closed his eyes. He could not do this. Help now had to come from outside. He hoped that Thoran would not put his threat in practice immediately. Thranduil could only hope to buy some time.

When the King did not give an answer, the elf laughed and turned.

“That's what I thought!”

The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

To be continued…………………………..