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Revolution  by Laikwalâssę

Revolution


Chapter 23:  death is too much mercy

Thoran did not resist when one of the warriors pressed him into the dirt. He knew that he had pushed his luck and lost. This insight had not just come to him; he had recognized it for days.

He still stood entirely true to his conviction, yet here in the capital the circumstances had changed. In the dangerous south, where constant threat and death were an everyday occurrence it was easy to find minds whose thinking were similar to his own.  Yet here, far away and in relative safety, those hot-headed thoughts had quickly cooled.

In the settlements around his own, many agreed that it was wrong to desert the south and would even argue openly against the King. However, here the overwhelming presence of Thranduil tied their tongues against better judgement.

He had misjudged how far his fellows would go. Also, considering the many reports he had received before he had come to the north; he had expected many more elves would be ready to follow his lead.

He had met enough like-minded elves around the palace to bring his plans to fruition, yet the total refusal of the warriors to join in with his plans had surprised him. Many of the warriors were of Silvan origin but even most of them had denied him fealty.

Yet, all had gone well at the beginning until he had imprisoned the King. Then the indecisive ones had suddenly turned away and even the adamant followers had questioned his tactic. What should he have done? Drink tea with the King and bid him to abdicate? Thranduil had not listened to him in the past why should he have done so now?

Now he had to pay the price for his arrogance and overestimation.  Many of his followers would also pay for their support of him. Thranduil would not take the act of high treason lightly. Elves did not practice the death penalty, but Thoran was sure Thranduil would find a way to make his life miserable for the rest of his days.

Knowing that he could not achieve anything right now he complied and waited for his chance. They were all so naďve. He would feign his defeat and then when the attention had diminished he would strike again. He could no longer reach his goal but he would make the triumph of Thranduil a bitter one.

 

……………………………………..

 

Thranduil was panting hard, his hand still pressed against the wall for support. After the barrels were out of sight he had closed his eyes momentarily and prayed that Saeron would be able to rescue the children in time. He knew how marginal the chance was. The river was running swiftly and not far from the palace it cascaded down into the stone terraces. The children would probably not survive this if they even were alive that long.

As much as he worried about the children he also worried about his son. Saeron was impulsive and reckless. He loved testing his limits and had paid many a hard price for his imprudence. The ironic aspect of this endeavour was that Saeron would need all his courage and more to rescue the elflings. Saeron would undoubtedly do this, therefore Thranduil´s heart was filled with fear the minute he saw his son leap after the barrels.

After the stabbing pain in his side had lessened enough to allow him to breathe without passing out he opened his eyes and looked at Thoran who was being held down by one of the warriors. His first impulse was to punch the smug grin from his face. But this feeling had changed into cold indifference. He was as guilty as Thoran. He had ignored the many signs that this elf was a bit too ambitious for much too long. He had not listened to others around him warning him to be watchful.

When the elf had unexpectedly appeared this morning in the door of his cell, Thranduil had instantly known that a decision had been made. Thoran did not even look at him, he only motioned his two followers to hoist him up and before he could blink he was squeezed between them and being dragged down the corridor.

Thranduil was determined to suppress any sound of pain the rough handling was causing him. His efforts to walk unaided did not work however; instead he was just trying not to pass out. He was sure that Thoran had now decided to get rid of him. Whether he had succeeded and no longer had need of him, or if he had capitulated and was now disposing of him out of frustration, he did not know. But it did not matter. The result for him would be the same in the end.

Thoran did not drag him toward the underground river for no reason. With minimal effort he could push him into the swiftly running water and, injured as he was, he knew he would only have a minor chance of survival. Thranduil briefly closed his eyes, sure that his captors would drag him wherever they wanted him to be.

He felt for his bond with his children and was dismayed when he realized that he could not get into contact with Galadhion and Legolas. But he instantly felt Saeron. His second son had to be near, and if he would place a bet on it, he was already inside the palace.

Carefully inhaling deeply he opened his eyes and some hope returned to his heart. Maybe Thoran had not yet succeeded. That he had achieved his goal Thranduil doubted anyway – the distress that was reaching him from all around was too great. Both Elves and nature were in an uproar, and this seemed to indicate that Thoran´s plans had not worked.  Yet, a cornered animal was all the more dangerous.

Cursing his helplessness, Thranduil thought hard about how he could support his son and his fellows already entering the palace. Thoran would not expect a reaction from him but he would be dammed if he let this bastard walk his halls as he pleased.

However when he and the three elves had reached the end of the corridor Thranduil narrowed his eyes. He knew this place well and his foreboding had not betrayed him. This was the cavern where the underground river could be charged with goods and where many necessary things were stored for the winter.

Would it end thus? Would Thoran push him into the river and be done with it? He doubted that anyone would be able to react quickly enough to come to his aid.

Yet Thoran did not direct him toward the river but instead pushed him against the opposite wall where his captors simply released him without warning. With much effort he prevented himself from falling to the ground but not without letting out an involuntary cry of pain. Thoran did not even look at him as he crossed the room toward the wooden platform where goods were heaved into the water.

Only now Thranduil saw that at least ten barrels were already on the water bound together and bouncing there up and down with the current. Only a long, strong rope bound to the balustrade kept them contained. Thoran unwound the rope and had some difficulty holding the water jarred barrels under control. He turned his head and looked long at Thranduil. His despicable grin was back on his face.

Thranduil´s thoughts raced. Why was Thoran grinning so evilly? The barrels were valuable, yes, but nothing that could not be replaced, and surely nothing that if released would move him to any decision.

His eyes travelled again to the barrels and then he heard it! Faint and barely recognizable sounds could be heard above the roaring of the river. He heard sounds of crying intermingling with pounding and hammering. Thranduil’s heart constricted. Were the sounds coming from the barrels - from inside the barrels?

Setting his face in a mask he directed his gaze at Thoran. The elf momentarily stopped grinning and swallowed when the cold look hit him, yet his confidence quickly returned.

Raising his chin high Thoran returned the cold stare. “That’s the price you are now paying for not listening to me, your Majesty!” he sneered and in this instant the river quieted as if it wanted to give the King a chance to hear the horror of what was happening. Thranduil could now clearly make out the voices of many children crying and pleading, screaming, or simply whimpering, overcome with fear.

Thranduil let out a cry of rage. No! Thoran was mad! He had crowded the little ones in the barrels and was now attempting to drown them in the river – no, not attempting, he was already doing it! He could not suppress his horror at this event and it was clearly reflected on his face.

Yet before either of the two elves could react they both looked up at the sound of running feet approaching. Thranduil and Thoran alike fixed their gaze upon the tunnel entrance, yet for different reasons. While Thranduil hoped for help at the last minute, Thoran’s face froze.

Thranduil had already known who was coming down the corridor but just as quickly as he had recognized this he knew that Saeron would come too late. Thoran had only to release the rope.

As he had feared, when Saeron rounded the corner Thoran raised his hand. Thranduil cried out, “Saeron stop and turn around. Take your men and leave this place. That is an order!” If Saeron obeyed him, it might placate Thoran and save the children.

His son stopped at the sharp command and incomprehension was written all over his face. “Adar, what?” was the only thing he was able to say. With now pleading eyes he tried to hold his son back, as much as he wished him to interfere.

“Saeron! The children!” he cried desperately. “The children are in the barrels!”

 

……………………………..

 

Thranduil had known that his warning had come too late. Just as he had uttered the warning Thoran had released the rope.

Now the barrels were lost, the children were dead, and he too was maybe losing a son this night. The fact that Thoran was under custody now gave him no satisfaction. The damage was already done and regardless of what he would do with the traitor it would not bring the children or his son back.

Again he extended his senses out to connect with one of his sons but again he could feel nothing that satisfied him. He knew that his physical condition was the cause for his inability to feel his bond with his sons, yet the fear that all three could be harmed nearly stole his breath. Saeron was in grave danger; that he could feel as clearly as if he was seeing it with his own eyes.

When the paralyzing silence and inactivity after the shock had passed, raised voices echoed through the cavern. “Your orders, my Lord?” one of the guards holding Thoran down asked.

The King straightened. “Remove him from my sight and make sure that he does not escape.” The guards only nodded and dragged Thoran away.

Immediately two warriors took up positions to the left and right of their King, ignoring his annoyed looks as they each grabbed an elbow. They gently, yet determinedly, guided their King toward the room’s exit.

“I can walk on my own,” Thranduil muttered even if he was very glad for the support. Knowing their King, the guards only smiled and ignored the words. Thoran was led away and Thranduil did not even turn when the door to the storeroom, which was again being used as a cell, banged shut with a hollow sound.

He would think about Thoran later, now he could not leave the lower level of the palace quickly enough. He had to determine how his sons fared, especially Saeron. His inner self was in too much turmoil to allow for steady non-emotional responses.

Mounting the stairs however taxed his meagre strength more then he was willing to admit.  He was again panting hard when he finally reached the top, by now very glad for the firm grips on his arms. His vision was beginning to blur and again he cursed his weakness.

Much to his dismay Thornil, the head healer of the palace awaited him with a more-than-worried look on his face. He had no time for this now, too much had to be achieved. Yet at the same time he knew that he was betraying himself. In his actual condition he would achieve nothing; he could not even stand without aid.

The narrowed eyes of Thornil challenged him to deny his need but Thranduil was experienced enough to refrain from questioning the healer. In fact, he knew that in a few more minutes he would disgrace himself by falling flat on his face. He could already feel fresh blood dripping down his right side.

Thornil only waved two additional healers over, signalling them to accompany the injured King toward the healing rooms.

“I cannot go to the infirmary now!” Thranduil tried again to protest. “Saeron is…” Further words died on his lips when a hand was placed on his arm. Thranduil looked up and into the worried face of Luindil, his councillor. Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Luindil had helped Thoran to arrest him, yet the blank mask of his advisor’s face looking back at him made him swallow his comment. He would deal with all this later.

“My Lord, if you will allow, I will gather what news I can about Prince Saeron and your other sons.” Thranduil made a split second decision. “You must inform me as quickly as possible.” Luindil bowed and left and no one saw the grimace on his face. Only semi-conscious now, Thranduil made no further protest when the healers guided him toward the healing chambers.

To be continued……………………





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