Chapter 19:  breaking free

Thranduil pressed his ear against the door but try as he might he could not hear anything. He estimated that three days had passed since Thoran’s last appearance.

To his surprise the pain in his right side had lessened but he was not sure that this was a good sign. His entire torso felt somewhat numb. Even the manner of pain had changed. The piercing pain, which had initially only appeared when he was moving or breathing deeply had changed to a dull permanent ache tormenting him even when he was sitting still.

However a day ago someone had brought him food -- a delicious meal no less. This was surely not Thoran’s doing and Thranduil thanked his benefactor silently. He had been asleep or unconscious and had missed the opportunity to get in contact with a possible ally. Even a fresh tunic had been shoved underneath the door at some time. It was not one of his own, but it fit him nonetheless. Again, he had missed contacting this possible ally.

The hearty sustenance and the fresh water had done him good and restored some of his hope. The clean tunic felt heavenly against his still filthy skin. The blood stained, torn and repulsive one was ripe for disposal, nothing else.

As worried as he was about the fact that he had missed someone who was not in league with Thoran twice, he had other thoughts that plagued his mind awake or asleep.

What had become of the children Thoran had imprisoned two doors further down the corridor? Thranduil could not say how many had been gathered, but he was sure that it had been at least ten. Since the door had been closed behind them he had not heard any sound from them; no crying, no calling, no sign that they were even there! How had Thoran managed to silence them? Thranduil had not even finished this train of thought when an icy hand was gripping his heart hindering his restricted breathing even more.

Thoran could not have killed the children? Thranduil closed his eyes. Not even Thoran would go that far! The pain in his heart intensified because he could not answer this question with a clear: ‘No!’

Panting hard the King was sliding down the wall not caring that the fresh tunic was getting torn and soiled. For hours he had tried to get in contact with the elflings, he had shouted and had beat against the stone wall until his hands were bleeding but he had gotten no response. Either the children were dead or no longer there.

When the desperation threatened to drown him he did something he had not done in a long time. The King of Mirkwood opened his senses and channelled his entire mind’s power to flee his hroa and get in touch with his people, with the trees and with the living nature all around these unyielding stone walls. While shutting out his conscious perception he intensified the trance until he was able to cast off all earthly fetters.

First all was blurred and somewhat diffuse. But the more he concentrated his spirit, the more the shapes of trees and stones, of animals and leaves, and of grass and water became clear.

He could nearly smell the freshness of the meadow in the great clearing not a league east from the palace. He could almost feel the spray of water from the underground river where it left the crevice under the palace and rushed westward. He was aware of the earth beneath his bare feet when he walked along the woodland path.

And suddenly it happened. He could again hear the music; the ever present background noise that only elves could perceive, the very essence of their existence.

With growing vigour he indulged in the intense feeling he had missed for so long and almost forgotten. He was able to breathe in deeply without feeling the piercing pain that had been plaguing him now for over eight weeks. He felt no hunger, no thirst and his skin soaked up the rays of the sun while his mind soared over the roof of the great trees.

His mind soaked up the energy greedily and he dove back into the sheltering forest to inhale the intense scent of the trees, the leaves, the bark and the earth.

Hovering over the limbs of a magnificent oak he narrowed his focus and searched for the fea of his people. He didn’t have to search long. The various feelings that beat against his mind made him reel back at first. It was not their multitude, but their intensity that shocked him.

The predominant emotions were those of great uncertainty, fear and hate. Those feelings were unusual for his people. Long ago the wood elves had learned to live with the shadow that was encroaching into their land. True hate was a rare feeling among the firstborn.

Thranduil of course realized that these feelings were aimed at Thoran and he directed calming thoughts throughout his forest, stenghtening the confidence of his people. Yet he did not want to weaken their resolution to stand against the elves who had stirred so much unrest. He was intent upon ripping away the shock and lethargy, and strengthening their resilience and hope.

Of course this was not a message that his people would understand like spoken words, yet he transferred his strength and his hope to withstand the enemy. In his weakened state, he could not make the contact as intensive as he wished, nor reach as far as he had hoped, yet the connection would be sufficient enough to leave an imprint on a spirit here and there.

His fea’s expedition outside was like consuming a drug. He felt intoxicated by the time his body demanded his spirit back which was still confined in the black prison of the storeroom. For one second before he lost consciousness he felt content. Should he never leave this prison alive he had, for a last time, felt his beloved trees and had been able to get in contact with some of his people.

…………………………………………………

Prince Galadhion had sent two scouts to accompany the guard who had brought the message that orcs were gathering in the south. An hour ago they had come back to report. Great numbers of the foul beings around the dark tower was nothing unusual but the scouts reported clearly that the orcs were gathering systematically to march against the settlements in the south. This was new.

Usually orc attacks were uncoordinated and dilettantish. Now their strategy was plain to see. They had quickly recognized that the patrol schedules had changed. Whatever power directed them had reacted quickly and drawn the right conclusions. The orcs would take full advantage of the elves’ predicament.

Even though the former attacks were ragged the elves had suffered great losses throughout the years. Yet the orcs would now assail them with a great number, and without the usual levels of border guards ranged against them, the settlements in the south would be lost.

Three days ago Elladan of Imladris had sent a messenger bird toward his home requesting his father to send the warriors waiting at the borders of the sheltered valley. As grateful as he was for this offer and help, Galadhion was realistic enough to know that the help would never arrive in time to assist any efforts.

He could only hope to hold the orcs in check for as long as possible until help arrived. Therefore he had to send all the warriors he had at his disposal into the south. Fortunately most of the warriors and guards had withdrawn from Thoran’s grasp and gathered here in the forest, but it was not nearly the full contingent that Galadhion could usually command.

Additionally, it was a motley crew of many different segments of Mirkwood’s warriors; members of the Home Guard, as well as members from all four border sections. Galadhion was thankful for every one of them, but it was nothing compared to the organized and specialized units he was accustomed to working with.

Their troops were incomplete. Yet the forest was great and there must have been other gathering places such as this where the warriors would assemble. Or so he hoped. He took a deep breath when he thought about the elves which had followed Thoran willingly. Their number was not that great, yet they were a force to be reckoned with and by no means could be underestimated.

In case of a confrontation they would have to fight against their own kin and this he feared the most. Family members and friends would have to fight against one another for their conviction and this was the worst thing he could imagine.

Their first concern however was to stop the orcs or at least prevent a massacre. Galadhion hoped that the settlers would now see reason and retreat further north immediately. He would lead this mission himself and he hoped that they would not arrive too late.

He had already transferred the command over the warriors and elves here to Saeron and assembled as many members of the border guards as he could without thinning the protectors of the woman and children too much. He grimaced while he let his gaze wander over the group. The elves left behind would be easy prey for any attacker, whether they had a few more warriors or not.

Just as he was about to mount his stallion Legolas come running across the clearing, ducking under the nervous prancing horses to reach him. Galadhion swallowed and bent down to catch the blond elfling. When Legolas was secure in his arms he directed an irritated glare at Isiwen trying to catch the fleet-footed elfling.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but in one unwatched moment he slipped away,” she said while she stopped and made a hasty bow. Galadhion had not missed her slightly accusing undertone. He softened his gaze at her and instead directed a stern look at his brother.

“Legolas, you are supposed to behave and follow Isiwen’s…..”

“But, Gal, listen!” Legolas demanded while pointing into the trees. “Can you not hear it?” The Troop Commander closed his mouth and had already forgotten what he had wanted to say.

He directed his gaze at the trees. The leaves were rustling against each other and the branches swayed as if they were in a strong breeze. Yet there was no wind which could cause this. Galadhion directed his gaze at the sky above the clearing. There was not one cloud.

His let his astounded gaze wander over the clearing. Every elf, adult or child had risen and was listening to the trees. The breeze ruffled the long and unbound hair of the elflings. Warriors and citizens alike stood there amazed.

Suddenly two little hands enveloped his face. He directed his gaze at his brother, still in his arms. “Gal,” Legolas whispered. “Open your senses. Listen!”

As if a switch had been turned on, Galadhion staggered back against the tree behind him when a strong emotion swept over him. He needed a moment to realize that the sound did not come from outside, but from within.

He swallowed at the intensity of the feeling. There were no words but emotions, loving feelings that enveloped his fea and strengthened his resolve and hope. A look at the sparkling eyes of his little brother confirmed that he was not dreaming.

Legolas nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s Ada, it’s Ada!” the elfling cried and fat tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Galadhion could only nod. Yes, their father had somehow managed to get in contact with them, yet when he looked around he could see that the message was not limited to their family. All of the elves had received it. Galadhion could only stare. His father rarely displayed his power by using some of the magic still dominant within the elves of old.

And Galadhion was sure that this message had been sent throughout the whole forest. It was just what the elves of Mirkwood had needed; a beacon lighted to show them that there was still hope.

When someone touched his shoulder Galadhion nearly jumped. Legolas had snuggled against his chest and had closed his eyes contently.

“You should leave,” Saeron said softly and opened his arms to receive the sleepy elfling. “You cannot get a better signal!”

Galadhion nodded still drunk from the emotional sweep a few minutes before. Now all had passed. The trees were as still as before and no sound could be heard. Everyone in the clearing was still thinking about the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Galadhion was sad that the moment had passed and the contact had ceased. Yet he knew now that his father was strong enough to encourage his people to fight on.

He could never have achieved with words what his father had just accomplished. He kissed the brow of his little brother now secure in Saeron’s arms and clasped arms with him.

“I will leave now, brother. I wish you luck with your endeavour.”

“As do I, Galadhion. Please come back to us,” Saeron retorted while he set Legolas back on his feet, but not without clasping his little hand firmly.

Galadhion nodded and looked carefully at the elfling looking back at him with bright eyes. No tears this time, no tantrum? He heaved a deep breath.

Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Surreptitiously he stole glances at the faces of the warriors accompanying him. Their gazes were directed towards the south, their expressions grim and resolute.

‘Thank you, Ada!’ Galadhion thought while he spurred his horse forward. Saeron and Legolas waved their brother goodbye.

‘May the Belain watch over your path,’ Saeron prayed as he picked up the elfling and returned to the clearing. His mission would be as dangerous as that of his brother, yet he would undertake it with the same resolve. Now it was high time to strike back!

To be continued………………..