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Revolution  by Laikwalâssę

Revolution

 
 

Chapter 25:  emotional roller coaster

 

……Saeron was first thrown against the barrel and then smacked in the face with full force from the strained cord. Instantly his world went black……….

 

Galion urged his horse onward in a desperate attempt to not strain the rope too much.  He needed to give his friend room and time to tie a knot, securing the barrels to the rope. Unfortunately time was the one thing they did not have.

A whistle from one of the other warriors racing along the river with him caused Galion to go pale after looking ahead. The rocks at the top of the waterfall were only seconds away. He had to make a decision now.

He leaped from the back of his horse, throwing the rope around the next tree trunk. He tied a knot as quickly as possible, and then released the cord. It tightened almost instantly with a twang.

He directed his gaze back over the water and hoped that Saeron had managed to tie the rope to the barrels at the same time. There was no time to shout a warning. With horror Galion saw the tightened rope slap his friend hard across his face. Saeron was thrown away from the barrels and sank instantly under the surface.

Without thinking Galion removed his tunic while running toward the water. He dived into the river, catapulting himself from the shore with a mighty push. He followed the half submerged cord as it was slapping in and out of the water.

Only moments later he spotted the slack body of Saeron and grabbed whatever he could catch. The muddy red coloured water caused his stomach to churn. Saeron was bleeding.

Pushing himself upward he broke the surface and made sure that the head of his friend stayed above the water. With relief he saw that the barrels still bounced up and down on the rushing water’s surface but stayed at the same spot. Saeron had obviously managed to tie the barrels to the rope he had hurled across. Some of the other warriors had already reached the barrels and were now dragging them back towards the shore.

Reaching the shore Galion gratefully accepted the helping hands reaching down to him and relieving him of Searon’s limp body. He scrambled out of the cold water and knelt beside his friend who had been placed on a hastily spread cloak on top of the ground.

Only now could he take stock of Saeron’s injuries. The gaping wound on his cheek where the rope had struck looked horrible yet with proper treatment it would heal quickly. More severe was a broken leg. A warrior was already wrapping a clean bandage around the shin where pieces of broken bone were protruding.

Two other warriors were already busy constructing a litter to transport their prince home. Fortunately the distance was not great. Galion had already sent a warrior back to alert the healers. With a last confirming look that his friend was in capable hands he turned.

He walked over to join Lathorn, his chief commander, who was standing at the shore observing the elves who were dragging the rescued barrels onto dry land. Galion swallowed nervously.

Until now it was not clear if the children had survived. With dread he observed how water poured out of the barrels while they were lifted out of the river. No sounds could be heard, yet the roar of the nearby waterfall might be drowning out any sounds or cries from inside the barrels.

Galion could barely contain his anxiousness. The warriors were taking too long for his liking, but he knew they had to handle the wooden containers with care so as not to add to the children’s discomfort.

Lathron’s stiff posture showed that the commander was dreading the moment the first barrel was opened as much as Galion. The young captain hoped with all his heart that they would not have to mourn ten or more dead children. He realized that he did not even know the exact number of children imprisoned inside the barrels.

When the first barrel was placed on the ground they heard a faint sound, something between a grunt and a sob. Lathron drew in his breath sharply. At least in this first barrel someone was still alive.

With a pry bar the cover of the nearest barrel was removed. Galion was holding his breath. He realized that even if any of the children had tried to get out they would not have stood a chance; Thoran had nailed the barrels shut.

One of the warriors standing by was already half crawling into the barrel and moments later he backed out with a little girl in his arms. The child was drenched to the bone and crying hard but she was clinging tightly to the warrior. Galion heaved a deep breath of relief.

All around him, other barrels were being opened and the warriors were hurriedly removing the children from their wet prisons. But the next barrel Galion helped open dashed his hope that this vile act would turn out well. Cramped in the container were three children, all boys and all dead. The wooden planks had splintered at one side and one of the damaged planks had skewered one boy while the other two had drowned.

Despite the tears in their eyes many warriors clenched their fists in anger and Galion could sympathise with them. Life was precious and the life of children all the more. This crime was beyond understanding or justification.

After half an hour all of the barrels had been opened and the children rescued. Over twenty children had been freed. The total was five dead, six seriously injured and the remaining relatively healthy, even if traumatized, drenched and freezing.

The warriors did their best to wrap the children in cloaks, bandaging scrapes and bumps, spreading salve over cuts and bruises and rubbing numb, cold fingers. But most of all they shielded them from the sight of the more seriously injured and the dead.

The group tending to the injured were hard pressed to soothe the distressed elflings, but tried to assure them that they would soon be home and back in the arms of their parents.

Galion attended to the last group and had the sad task of preparing the little dead bodies. With a heavy heart he looked into the sky and swallowed hard to push his tears away. How could they bring these dead ones home and explain why they had to die? Did the children die because of a political dispute, because of a mind twisted into madness? There would and indeed there could be no understanding the reason for these innocents to have died.

But it was not to be helped. The long desperate procession would soon depart to return home with those they could rescue. A loud yell catapulted Galion back from his morose thoughts while preparing their departure. What he had feared was now happening.

The first parents had arrived. Within seconds the makeshift camp turned into chaos with parents searching for their elflings. Some found them alive, thanking the Belain for their mercy. Some found that their child was injured but nevertheless alive. A few faced their worst fear, to mourn a dead child.

The warriors retreated discretely to give the parents room and time for some privacy but stayed near enough to keep any further harm from coming to the emotionally devastated group. As expected, Galion could hear hard words spoken above all the desperation and grief.

Within a half-an-hour a silent procession was marching back toward the palace. Galion was bone tired but felt that he had to check up on his friend first.

 

…………………………………

 

Thranduil awoke with a start. He jerked upright and nearly cried out at the stabbing pain in his side. Panting hard he sank back on his pillow deliberately avoiding the stern gaze of Thornil, who had rushed to his bedside at the faint sound.

When the pain had receded to a dull ache he carefully lifted his upper body again and Thornil placed a pillow behind his back.

“Thank you,” Thranduil murmured and the healer inclined his head. He was not comfortable with the King moving at all. With much effort and a painstakingly difficult operation he had removed the bone that had pierced his patient’s lung.

More then once during this procedure he had feared he might lose the King when his breathing became too laboured or the bleeding became too much. The already weakened state of Thranduil’s health did not help matters either.

The palace healer waited a few moments until his King had regained his breath. “You should refrain from moving too much, my Lord,” he could not help from saying and he was barely able to suppress his annoyance. When a frown creased his patient’s forehead Thornil sighed.

“A broken rib punctured your right lung deeply,” he explained while handing the King a glass of water. “You were fortunate that the bone remained in place otherwise you would have bled to death within hours.”

Thranduil grimaced at the word fortunate. The grating pain was all too livid in his memory and was still plaguing him. Yet he knew that the healer was right. Despite all the hardships he was lucky to be alive. Yet the still pounding pain reminded him quickly why he was here and what had happened.

“Any news of my son Saeron and the children?” he asked eventually, while fixing the healer with a stern gaze. Thornil however had been the head healer of the palace for many years and easily looked through the King’s attempt to distract him. Seeing that Thranduil was stable at the moment, he played along.

Yet the concerned gaze he directed at Meldrion, the western section commander who was leaning against the wall behind the King’s bed did not go unnoticed by Thranduil. Thranduil jerked again up and Thornil chided himself for not being more careful about alerting the King just yet.

Only now aware of the captain Thranduil turned his head directing his gaze at the warrior. Meldrion had also been in his position for many years and was not easily intimidated by the King’s gaze. He sighed and rounded the bed, so that Thranduil didn’t have to turn too much. Thornil thanked him with an almost imperceptible nod.

Feeling increased pain, Thranduil’s patience was running thin. At the raised eyebrow of his King, Meldrion inclined his head. “My Lord, Prince Saeron was partly able to rescue the children, yet….”

Thranduil swallowed and like during the days in his dark prison the blood in his ears begun to pound with the rhythm of his heart. The captain’s choice of words increased his anguish and the expression on Meldrion’s face did nothing to justify his hope.

Something must have happened to Saeron. Through his own weakened condition and his threadbare bond he was unable to determine what his son’s welfare truly was. Not for the first time he cursed his lack of strength.

Now his people needed a strong King, not a King struggling to hold himself together. Determined to regain control and revamp the mess Thoran had wrought, the King took a deep breath.

Thranduil directed his gaze back at Meldrion. He wanted to know all that had transpired during his forced absence. He steeled himself and his heart against the news the captain and healer were so anxious to avoid presenting to him.

“Well?” he inquired and Meldrion had to blink at the change of his King before his eyes. Although Thranduil was leaning heavily against the headboard of the bed and the pain was written deeply into his face, the King’s tone appeared steely and unyielding. Many a subject had learned to heed that in the past.

Meldrion straightened his shoulders. Injured or not his King had given him an order and he would be dammed if he strained the patience of Thranduil any longer.

“My Lord, your son was able to reach the floating barrels and secure them before they could be pulled over the waterfall. Unfortunately he was badly injured during this process and five children were recovered dead, although the rest survived.”

Without allowing emotion to cloud his face, Thranduil had listened to the report and as short as it was it had told him all that was important at the moment. The details could be added later.

Although he had known that something bad had happened to Saeron the words stunned him. Yet it was the mention of the five dead elflings that made his blood boil, and he clenched his fists unconsciously in anger and frustration.

He directed an icy gaze towards Thornil that forced the healer to swallow nervously. Thranduil was smart enough to guess how the children had died although Thornil understood the unvoiced question about his son.

“Prince Saeron has suffered a severe concussion and a complicated break of his right leg. I was able to align the splintered bone in his lower leg, but he has not awakened yet since he was brought here a day ago.”

Thranduil briefly closed his eyes after a nod of thanks. Quickly he digested the information given. If Saeron had been here a day already, then he himself had been unconscious for at least two days.

Too much time was slipping away. It was high time to act, to strike back and to gather the remnants of his kingdom. With a supreme effort he rose in a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Guessing the reason for the frown on the face of Thornil, Thranduil steeled himself and directed his gaze back at the healer.

“Thornil, do what you must to help me back on my feet, but keeping me in bed is not one of the actions I can approve of. You have ten minutes but after that I want to see my son, and then I must preside over the first council meeting after….the interruption.”

The last statement was directed at Meldrion. If the captain had recognized the short hesitation he did not show it. Thranduil avoided even speaking the name of the elf who had wrought so much sorrow in such a short time. With a bow he quickly left the room to order the assembly of the Council, relieved to not be in the position of the head healer.

Thornil had turned also but not without sending an irritated look at his King. Thranduil studiously ignored the disapproving expression. However moments later the healer returned with a strong painkiller mixed in a fresh glass of water and a bandage that he began wrapping around the King’s chest.

While Thranduil closed his tunic Thornil looked at his King with gravity. “Thranduil, do not overtax yourself. Your injury was serious and the wound can still reopen.”

Nodding the King bound he long hair into a simple ponytail. “I will heed your advice. And now I want to visit my son.”

Thornil sighed knowing that the King would return to his halls only when he had to be carried back. He would have to keep a wary eye on the monarch. Turning he motioned Thranduil to follow him to the next room where the prince was resting.

 

To be continued…………………..





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