Chapter 7:  sorrow and anger

The King of Mirkwood straightened his shoulders. He only had to step through the door, a simple act he had done so many times before. But never before had it been so hard.

Again he adjusted his formal robes making a futile effort to get his nervousness under control. It had been a long time since he had last attended a funeral for a family member and he had hoped to never have had to do it again.

When he descended the steps and walked onto the green where the funeral pyre was erected he would be forced to accept what his heart still denied; his wife was dead and no power in this world would change that.

With a shuddering breath he wondered how he would find the strength to face this at all. The permanently hovering palace healer was testimony enough that at least one other person feared for his stability. Thranduil laughed a bitter laugh. He had already had one breakdown he would not disgrace himself again.

Yet he was barely able to breathe, his anguish was so painful. As if the death of his beloved wife was not bad enough, fate had deemed it proper to rip his soul further asunder. After three days of searching there was still no trace of his youngest son. Even knowing their forest well the warriors were unable to find the missing prince or determine what had happened to him.

Thranduil was finally losing hope. Even if he would not accept his son’s death until his body was found, it was more then likely that the little child could not have survived this long in Mirkwood. The forest was too dangerous. Even if Thranduil was still clinging to the bond that was connecting him with his child he knew that he was lying to himself.

His inner perceptions were jumbled and confused. He had always been sure of his feelings before but was now in a state of utter mental desolation.

When his herald cleared his throat a third time Thranduil opened the door with a jerk and stepped outside. He took a deep breath, seeing his sons standing to the left and right sides of the entrance. They each had their eyes directed toward the green. He was grateful that he didn’t have to look at the anguish in their eyes.

However his resolve was tested the moment he began to descend the steps. There was not only the pyre looming in his peripheral vision but at the bottom of the steps another trial awaited him, one that he was not sure he was prepared for.

Only half an hour earlier his parents-in-law had arrived to attend the farewell ceremony for their only child. It would already be hard for him to maintain his composure but to be in the presence of Elarynia´s parents was not something he was looking forward to.

Knowing that he would not achieve anything by delaying further he determinedly descended the last steps, his eyes fixed on the pyre. Only when he reached the waiting couple did he look at them with a blank and emotionless expression on his face.

Lady Serinde was leaning heavily on her husband’s arm her red swollen eyes clear testament to her sorrow. Calendur´s expression was as stony and unwelcoming as ever. He had never shown the least bit of sympathy toward the King of Mirkwood.

“I welcome you to Eryn Lasgalen. I hope your journey was uneventful,” Thranduil intoned the traditional greeting. The words sounded as hollow to his ears as they sounded to all the others standing nearby. Calendur glared at him with blatant disgust.

“Blessedly we have arrived alive while travelling through your cursed wood, Thranduil. This sadly could not be said for every traveller.”

Without another glance or word the Lorien elf turned and marched toward the pyre further disregarding any additional protocol. He ignored the indignant gasps and angry glares he received from the others as well as the shocked expression on his wife’s face.

Thranduil did not even blink. He had never much liked this stubborn elf from the other side of the Anduin, and the rejection was mutual.

Calandur had been against his marriage with Elarynia and he had never made a secret of this. Now he was blaming him for his daughter’s and grandson’s death.

Thranduil could not even hold it against Calendur for thinking like this. He knew he should never have allowed Legolas to accompany his mother, yet it was idle to think these thoughts now. Elarynia would also still be alive if she had not disregarded all precautions. But what would this defence for his decisions achieve him? Nothing!

Someone was squeezing his arm and Thranduil looked up, startled. “I apologize for my husband,” Serinde said with a soft voice. “He did not mean it the way that it sounded!”

Thranduil accepted her words, giving her the benefit of the doubt. He knew that Calendur was well aware of his words and that he meant every one of them. Calendur would never forgive him but that was meaningless to him since he could not even forgive himself.

Pushing all disturbing emotions to the back of his mind Thranduil concentrated solely on the ceremony, trying to get it over with without any further incidents.

He had never been one to avoid a challenge before, but now he only wanted to get to his rooms and close the door behind him. Aware that all eyes were directed at him he marched forward until he had reached the pyre. He did not raise his eyes; he could not bring himself to look at the wrapped body of his wife. He had already said his farewell in private.

He sensed the presence of his sons at his back. This gave him some stability, yet he had never felt more distanced from them than now.

When all the murmurs had died down he took a deep breath.

“We have gathered here to bid a final farewell to our beloved Queen, who the Belain deemed necessary to call home.”

Despite a conscious effort he was unable to banish the bitterness from his voice. The sounds of weeping around him let him swallow. Fortunately Calendur, standing with his wife on the opposite side of the still unlit pyre, refrained from making any further comments.

At this point, Thranduil did not care. He was emotionally too worn out to feel any sympathy right now.

A barely restrained sob behind him caused him to turn around. He wondered why the blank expressions on his sons’ faces did not touch him. What was happening to him? These were his children after all. It was his task to comfort them and to talk of courage to them, yet he said nothing. He felt empty, drained and dead inside.

When the torch was lit Thranduil turned again to receive it from the head of the Queen’s personal guard. With a detached manner he bent forward and ignited the pyre in several locations, ending by throwing the torch beneath it. The dry wood caught the flames quickly and soon the whole pyre was aflame.

As was tradition among the wood elves relatives and friends of the Queen stepped forward and each recited something that reminded them of her. These were often small and unimportant things, minor public or private incidents and memories, but every one of the stories was touching.

Thranduil only partially listened. He could not endure hearing how well loved his wife had been and how much everyone would miss her. What about his own loss? Who cared how much he would miss her?

Looking across the pyre he saw that Serinde had again lost the fight with her composure. Calendur had wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder, yet his gaze was blankly directed unblinkingly at the flames.

Thranduil took a deep breath when Saeron touched his forearm. “Let us return back inside, Ada,” he said softly. Thranduil blinked. He had not even noticed that the speakers had ceased and that the ceremony was over. Nodding he followed the gentle tugging of his son’s arm.

Galadhion had already turned and was climbing the steps ahead of them. A ring of warriors was now surrounding the collapsed pyre giving their Queen the final honour.

From the corner of his eye Thranduil realized that Thalan was escorting Elarynia´s parents inside. He made a mental note to thank his friend later.

When he had reached his office Galadhion was already turning into a side corridor. Thranduil looked up.

“Galadhion, Saeron, I want to speak with you two!”

This was not a request but an order and the brothers understood this clearly. While Galadhion followed the invitation reluctantly Saeron slipped into the room the grimness back on his face.

The Crown Prince had barely closed the door when the King whirled around. “Galadhion, Galion told me that you were not in your office today and I have still not received a report about why your escort did not meet your mother’s group!”

While Saeron looked aghast at his father, Galadhion lowered his eyes. There it was again; the unspoken but underlying blame. He had failed to protect his mother.

“You will receive my report shortly, my Lord,” Galadhion replied with a neutral voice his eyes still at the floor.

Saeron bristled. Could his brother not defend himself? Had he nothing to say?

“Report, bah! Nothing will be changed with a stupid report,” Saeron spat glaring at his brother.

Galadhion whirled around and before Saeron could blink only inches separated him from his brother’s angry face.

“And what do you know of this?” Galadhion cried gripping his brother’s tunic by the collar. “You were not even there. So please do me a favour and refrain from commenting on a situation you cannot judge.”

Although surprised, Saeron was not intimidated. “You were supposed to protect her!” he cried forcefully shoving his brother back. “WHERE WERE YOU?”

Irritated Galadhion glared at his brother after he had regained his balance.

“Had she waited, then nothing would have happened! But she had to get her way. She was so much like you!”

Before Galadhion had the chance to utter anything further Saeron had leaped at him with an angry cry and knocked him down. Like days before in the woods he balled his fist and was about to punch down. But this time Galadhion was not unprepared. He intercepted Saeron’s fist and landed a hard blow on his brother’s face instead.

Saeron was thrown back, the right side of his face already beginning to swell and glowing red. Stunned for a moment he jumped back to his feet and again launched himself at his brother. Soon both younger elves were rolling over the floor.

Both being equally tall and well trained in hand-to-hand combat, neither one was able to get the upper hand. Saron´s nose was bleeding heavily while Galadhion was fighting with a right eye that was swollen shut.

Saeron was beside himself with fury. Why was his brother always reacting with indifference? Didn’t he feel anything at all? Just when he was about to punch the face before him again a strong hand interrupted him and pulled him forcefully up from the floor.

Galadhion came to his feet without help. Expecting his father Saeron looked at the angry face of Thalan with surprise. He had not even realized his father’s advisor had entered the chamber.

“I’m very disappointed in you two!” the tall elf said in a low tone, yet his voice did not betray his underlying anger.

Saeron snorted, still held tightly in the vice grip of Thalan, while Galadhion lowered his eyes. There it was again - indifference! Saeron was inclined to attack his brother anew when Thalan shoved him back forcefully.

“Saeron, stop!” he cried and this time his fury was clearly visible on his face. “Your father needs your assistance, not this constant quarrelling!”

Something in the tone of the advisor made both brothers quickly turn their heads toward the King. Saeron had already been wondering why his father had said nothing so far.

The sight caused both brothers to swallow. Their father was sitting in a chair with his head bowed surrounded by three healers. Judging from the tense expression on Master Thornil´s face something was very wrong.

Wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve Saeron started to move forward when Thalan blocked his way again.

“Leave, Saeron. You have wrought enough havoc for today.”

Saeron looked bewildered at Thalan and for a moment it seemed as though he would punch the councillor, but he caught himself in time and only glared at his father’s advisor.

“Thalan, clear the way! I have to look after my Adar!” Saeron said, yet his resolve was already crumbling. Past Thalan he could see that Thornil was quietly speaking to his father.

“I have to apologize,” Saeron added with a soft voice.

Thalan relaxed his stance, yet he did not move. “Not yet, Saeron. He needs to rest!”

Quickly his anger flared up again. How dared Thalan try to deny him speaking with his father?

Yet hadn’t Thalan said that their fight had been the reason for the King’s condition? Saeron swallowed. One more reason for him to apologize.

With pleading eyes he looked up at Thalan. However, the elf did not move.

“Leave, Saeron. Please!” the advisor demanded and Saeron finally conceded. Briskly he turned. Where was Galadhion? His brother had obviously already left the room! Had he expected anything else?

To be continued……………………………