Chapter 3:  the horrible truth

………….the Queen was killed and your son is missing……..

The eyes of the King held such incredulity that Galion had to lower his gaze. He had dreaded this moment all the way home. But he was not a highly decorated captain and the chief of the royal guard for nothing.

This message, however, he had hoped to never deliver and he had nearly faltered in his duty. His fear of the task lying ahead of him caused him to block the pain in his thigh from the arrow that had wounded him. He had only urged his horse onward rehearsing the words he had to deliver over and over in his mind. Was there any way he could soften the horrible truth?

Thranduil however no longer noticed the captain. The world around him no longer existed to him. Fervently he tried to contact his wife through their bond but every try ended with the same result.

Not as before, when he had felt Elarynia’s block. He now felt…nothing! Every time he reached her, or thought he had, he plunged into nothingness, a black abyss which was stealing his breath.

Nearly frantic now he tried again and again, yet he was always greeted with silence; a black and dead silence, cold and numbing.

The door opened again and Thalan followed by Thornil hastened into the room. Thornil, the palace healer, had already been informed about what had happened; although when he entered he was not sure which elf would need his services first.

Galion was swaying dangerously on his feet still waiting to be dismissed, while the King, looking extremely pale, gripped his desk for support.

With one glance the healer and the advisor agreed and Thornil steadied Galion while Thalan hastened over to grip the King’s elbow.

Thornil led the captain toward a nearby chair and gently but firmly pressed him down onto the cushions. With dismay he looked at the bound thigh, knowing that if the elf would want to use this leg again the wound had to be treated quickly.

Looking between the captain’s face and leg he carefully loosened the cord to see how much the blood vessels were blocked. He then glanced over at his King open worry on his face.

His stomach was still tied in knots after having received the bad news but he could barely imagine how his King must be faring.

Seeing that Thalan had accomplished getting Thranduil to at least sit down Thornil quickly rebound the captain’s thigh and called for two of his apprentice healers. As soon as they arrived he explained the situation and Galion was carried away. Treating an arrow wound, even if neglected for so long, was well within the skills of his assistants and did not need his presence.

He rose and came slowly over where Thalan was quietly speaking to the King. Thornil observed Thranduil intently. Outwardly the King showed no signs of shock but his trained eye clearly saw the indications of the trauma.

The King was waxy pale and his hands were shaking badly, but the worst was the far-away expression on his face. Thornil was sure Thranduil was not hearing a single word that Thalan was saying. That did not matter however. The calm voice of the advisor was important to help anchor his mind. Hopefully this was preventing a complete mental breakdown.

Still fighting his own jumbled thoughts, the healer admired the serene attitude of Thranduil’s advisor. Then he remembered that the two were more then superior and subject. They had known each other for a very long time and could be called friends if nothing else.

Thalan was Thranduil’s councillor, his confidant, his spy master and many other things as needed. He was never in the front but always available when needed. Just now he was the person the King needed.

Just as Thornil was convinced that Thalan had managed to calm the King down and make him stay here until reliable information would come in Thranduil sprang up and looked irritated at Thalan.

“If you are thinking that I will stay here and wait then you are sorely mistaken, Thalan!” the King said and Thornil cringed. What else had he expected?

Thalan, as surprised as the healer at the sudden outburst, grabbed the King’s arm in a futile attempt to hold him back. Thornil stepped closer fearing this would get out of hand now.

Yet again, contrary to their expectations, Thranduil stilled and looked at his advisor with a mixture of annoyance and cold indifference.

“Release me!” he said in a calm voice. “I will go out there and see for myself and no one…” with this he whirled around and fixed the healer with a stern glare…“will stop me!”

Thornil sighed. He had always known the King as a very self-restrained individual and this behaviour surely attested to this, but what should they do? Could they deny him the right to see his wife for a last time?

Before Thornil could come to a decision the door flung open. Saeron, the King’s second son, was standing white faced in the doorway. No one minded the door banging loudly against the wall behind.

“Is it true?” the prince asked barely able to contain his composure. The King faced his son with a look that made the room’s occupants swallow.

“I do not know, Saeron. I have heard nothing irrevocable so far. I will make sure with my own eyes.”

With that the King rushed past his son leaving a stunned Saeron and a frustrated advisor and healer behind.

………………………………..

Thranduil had rushed past his son his heart nearly breaking at the hurt expression in Saeron’s eyes. Yet this was the only chance for him to keep the last bit of his composure. Seeing the open anguish in his child’s face had nearly undone him and he was not willing to show his weakness to anyone, not even his son. Nothing was certain, yet deep down he knew that he was betraying himself.

He was still not able to establish a connection with his wife, an act that was as natural to him as breathing. It was not that it wasn’t working; there was simply nothing to connect with. Yet his heart still denied what his rational mind was telling him. With the last threads of his sanity he clung to the hope that something other then death was preventing Elarynia from getting in touch with him.

While hastening through the great hall toward the main entrance with his only goal to reach the stables and ride out into the woods and confirm or refute his worst fear, Thranduil tried to connect with his little son. His overwhelming grief from his inability to reach his wife caused him to be unable to establish this bond too. His thoughts and his mind were in too much turmoil. He concentrated his efforts towards getting to the place where the tragedy had happened.

When he pulled the heavy door of the fortress open two startled guards whirled around but quickly lowered their swords when seeing their King storm past them, not even acknowledging them. The King had barely cleared the steps when the door was again opened forcefully and Thalan, the King’s advisor and Saeron were storming out, hastening after their King.

By the time Thranduil had reached the stables, startling a groom by pulling open the doors with a jerk, Thalan had caught up with his liege. Quickly he stepped into the furious King’s way.

“Thranduil, listen!” he said not caring about the irritated looks his shout elicited. “You cannot storm off like this. Please wait until at least a few warriors can accompany you!”

Thranduil directed an angry glare at the elf that would have had made any lesser subject falter. “I’m perfectly able to look after myself. Clear the way, Thalan!”

The councillor had no choice but to step aside and let the King pass. When Thalan inhaled to protest again, Saeron touched the other’s arm and shook his head. His father would not listen to any of them now.

Indicating two horses standing in the aisle, Thalan only nodded and the two elves mounted just in time to gallop after the already leaving King.

…………………………………………….

Thranduil urged his horse forward not caring that twigs lashed into his face and more then once he barely avoided a collision with a low-hanging sturdy branch. The trees sensed the anguish of the elf rushing past them and tried to clear their branches out of the way. The horse was hard pressed to follow the shifting directions urged by its rider.

Thranduil´s world had narrowed to a small tunnel. His only goal was to reach the point where his world might have been destroyed. He knew the route he had to take by heart, having designed it himself, deeming it the safest way home. He nearly laughed out loud. It was this very route that had brought death to the other half of his soul. `Please, Belain don’t let it be true` he prayed for the hundredth time.

Thranduil did not even notice the two elves following him close behind. Saeron prayed as fervently as his father did, that someone was mistaken, that his mother was not dead. He could barely breathe around his anguish.

He had always had a very close bond with his mother. As often as he had quarrelled with his father his mother had always seemed to understand him. More then once she had defended him in the face of his father’s wrath and more then once she had declared to her husband that their second son was so much like her. She said that they shared the thrill of excitement that quickly set them aflame.

It was exactly this character trait that Tranduil feared would one day bring either his wife or his son into a dangerous situation. Maybe his fear had been confirmed this day.

With all his heart Saeron hoped it was not so. His mother was adventurous like him but she was also cautious, rational and she loved her family too much to take any risks. What in the name of the Belain had happened, if his worst fear had come to pass?

Nearly too late Thranduil registered that his horse had cleared the trees and was now entering a large clearing. Almost without thought he stopped the panting beast just in time before it trampled an elf standing in its way.

The horse reared up in startled protest. Thranduil used the momentum to leap from its back landing sure-footed on the ground. Several guards were gaping at him open mouthed.

Saeron and Thalan were as hard pressed as the King to stop their mounts in time. Not as spectacularly as Thranduil they also dismounted, quickly trying to assess the situation within the clearing.

Thranduil looked around with narrowed eyes. The ground was littered with orc carcasses and also with the bodies of many elven warriors. In his anguish he even had trouble counting the number of fallen warriors and guards. He only registered that from the ten warriors and the five royal guards, who had accompanied his wife, only a few remained in the clearing.

He didn’t know if all of the missing guards were dead or away chasing surviving orcs. He didn’t care. His gaze was solely fixed on a guard kneeling next to a body.

He swallowed hard when he saw the embroidered hem of a familiar gown next to the guard’s knees. The figure of the elf obscured the rest of her body but he did not need his eyes to see who was lying there in the dirt.

With a barely restrained cry of anguish Thranduil hurried over and fell to his knees beside the warrior who kept his eyes on his hands folded in his lap.

Only now was Thranduil able to fully view his wife. Elarynia was lying on her back her eyes closed. Her face was pale, and her features were relaxed as if in deep sleep. With a questioning gaze the King looked at the guard who he now recognized as the healer of his royal escort.

More sensing then actually seeing his King’s gaze the warrior slowly shook his head. Long before the arrival of his liege he had lost his fight to save a life he had never imagined in his worst nightmare to be forced to fight for.

The simple gesture of the warrior snapped the thin cord of hope that Thranduil was still carrying; the hope that all had been a mistake, that his wife was still alive. Now the whole horror came crashing down upon him. The truth was that Elarynia was dead and there was no denying it. The wet red patch of blood staining her gown could not be overlooked either.

Strangely he was unable to shed a single tear. The grief choking his entire being was too overwhelming. He could barely breathe, could barely grab a coherent thought or any thought in fact.

He could only stare at the still body unable to comprehend that she would never again open her eyes; never direct the infuriating smile at him that had instantly convinced him that this was the woman he wanted to spend his unending life with.

Thranduil had also not noticed that the clearing had fallen completely silent. The warriors and guards stood immobile. They had no idea how to handle the situation. What could they say or do to help assuage the overwhelming grief radiating from the King who was now kneeling beside his dead wife?

Saeron, at first as shocked as his father at the sight of his mother, had slowly walked over, his body already shaking with wracking sobs. He did not hold back his emotions. He did not care that all eyes were directed at him in sympathy or averted in shame for witnessing his anguish.

Saeron had sunk down beside his father resting his head on his mother’s chest while crying openly. Thranduil was unable to comfort his son. No words of solace could leave his mouth. He only felt numb, cold, and dead.

Suddenly however Saeron jerked his head up and looked around with wide eyes. “Where is he?” he whispered and when no guard was answering him he shouted: “WHERE IS HE?”

Startled at the shout the King raised his eyes and looked irritated at his son. “Saeron!” he chided, yet without force in his voice. The King’s second son however did not mind his father’s reproaching tone. “Ada, where is Legolas?” Saeron repeated forcefully while squeezing his father’s shoulders in a bruising grip.

The pain and the shout seemed to have some effect however. Thranduil’s head jerked around and he searched the clearing as if Saeron would have had the chance to overlook something.

If Thranduil had been thinking that his worst nightmare was finding his wife dead, he was mistaken. His heartbeat quickened and his breath caught. Above the shock in finding his wife dead he had nearly overlooked that Legolas was missing.

Slowly he rose when the realization sank in. Not only did he have to suffer the death of his wife, his youngest child was missing, possibly already dead by now since orcs were involved.

Taking deep calming breaths to chase away the dizziness Thranduil strode toward Threlan, Galion’s second-in-command of the royal escort. The warrior straightened and swallowed already anticipating the question his King would ask him. He did not have to wait long. When Thranduil had reached him the guard struggled to not avert his eyes.

“Threlan, what happened here and where in the name of the Belain is Legolas?” the King asked in a tightly controlled tone. Threlan flinched knowing that his answer would not please his liege. His voice far from steady the guard looked straight at his King.

“My Lord, when we arrived, the attack had already happened. We found the Queen wounded. We quickly dispatched the orcs and one warg, yet from the time of our arrival there was no trace of your son. After the battle Prince Galadhion went in search of the elfling.”

The King looked at the guard incredulously. Another fact had until now escaped his notice. Galadhion was also not present and he had not even noticed it until the guard had mentioned his oldest son.

“Are you telling me that the orcs have taken my youngest son?” the King said, barely able to contain his composure now. The guard did not even blink. He could quite imagine how emotionally worn out his King had to be, he himself was not faring any better, yet he had no answer for his liege. The guard was charged with the responsibility of the Queen’s safety, and they had failed.

After the guard had ended his short report Thranduil sank to his knees unable to keep up any pretence. His wife was dead, his youngest son was missing and his oldest had run off after a band of orcs while overwhelmed with grief and guilt. What good could possibly come out of this?

To be continued……………………………