Warning: Terribly slow chapter coming up X)

Chapter 9

"I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."

- Gandalf

It was the guard that discovered the problem. He had heard the excitement Tarburz and his men created, and had been curious what they had done to the prisoner. So when he peered into the cell eager for a helpless, angry Elf, he was disappointed to find a terribly immobile one. But the more he observed, the more it seemed the Elf was not breathing. A little disturbed, his first instinct was to bang the doors to rouse him up. When that did not work, he thought about going inside to check for himself, but then his eyes strayed nervously to the dead Orc inside as he remembered what happened to the last guard that tried that. After all, the Elf may be feigning illness to try to lure him in in order to escape like last time. Just to be sure that was not the case, the Orc picked up a stone – not bothering to choose a small one – and threw it at Thranduil. It hit his side, but he gave no indication of pain. He was as still as a corpse. This chilled the Orc as he is sure to be blamed should the Elf die, so he cautiously cracked the door open and stepped into the cell, making sure to keep the pointy end of his sword outstretched in front of him.

Thranduil was lying face down; arms tied tightly yet limp behind his back; his once silky hair was now sticky and stringy with blood, dirt, and sweat; and he was definitely unmoving. The Orc prodded him with the tip of his sword, and when he did not respond, he lowered his guard and stooped down to examine him closely. He could see Tarburz had been especially creative with this one with the collar and all. He turned Thranduil over on his back and put a finger under his nose to check for any breathing. It seemed as if he waited for an eternity, but no air touched his skin. Even more nervous than ever but unsure of what to do, he ran back down the hall to where the other Elves were kept. He was going against orders not to let any of the Elves see the king, but punishment for that was probably better than for if the Elf king died.

Despite much hissing and cursing from the prisoners, the Orc managed to find an Elf that claimed she was fairly adequate in emergency healing. The Elf's name was Ravoneth and she had learned the ways of the art of healing by watching her mother serve in the healing houses for generations. She was confident she could fix whatever ailment the king was suffering from.

But nothing could have prepared her for the state she found Thranduil in. As soon as Ravoneth saw the lifeless body on the cold floor, she pushed the Orc aside and flew into the cell to immediately check for vitals. Never mind the various injuries covering his entire body, his pulse and breathing were barely there. Getting his breathing back to normal would be her priority.

"Oh, the poor soul! What have they done to you my Lord…." She kept muttering prayers and curses as her hands traveled all over his body for examination.

Whispering reassurances to herself and forcing her hands to stay still and in control, Ravoneth felt around the tight collar to unfasten it. Then, with great anger, she untied the hideous black gag around his mouth and tossed it away as if it burned her fingers. She apologetically spread Thranduil's lips apart to see if there was anything else blocking his airway, and true to her instincts, found another wad of black material lodged deeply in his throat. Disgusted at such great displays of cruelty, she wasted no second in pulling out the culprit of Thranduil's suffocation. Hope flared wildly within Ravoneth when Thranduil retched weakly, but he could only gasp as he did not have the strength to draw in full breaths just yet. She could tell he was still unconscious judging from his lolling neck and drooping eyelids. Ravoneth remembered how her mother once brought back to life a careless child that had almost drowned in the Enchanted River, and decided to use the same technique on him. Time was crucial.

She checked inside his mouth to make sure there were no more foreign objects inside. When she checked that the airway was clear, she carefully tilted his head back and compressed his chest, hard, multiple times. When Thranduil remained unresponsive, she pressed her lips against his and blew air into his lungs. Misunderstanding her actions as an act of love, the Orc impatiently pulled her aside.

"No funny business She-Elf! You're not here to mate with him. If he's alive then you're done here."

Frustrated at the creature's ignorance, Ravoneth shook his arm off.

"You fool! That was not a kiss. Do you not see that he has suffocated because of your sport? He is dying as we speak so I will not have any more folly from you right now. Speak no more for you foul the very air he should breathe, Yrch."

The Orc stood dumbstruck with his mouth gaping like an idiot as the only word that reached his tiny ears was "dying." He watched dumbly as Ravoneth continued her resuscitation attempt until, miraculously, Thranduil finally drew in a long and painful breath.

The world seemed to burn brightly around him as all his senses were hammered by so many stimuli at once. His body felt like lead, but his head was as light as air. He was upside down yet right-side up, sinking yet floating, awake yet asleep at the same time. Ravoneth almost lost her grip on him as he squirmed and kicked in her arms. Thranduil moaned until it evolved into a series of tormented cries. He was almost like a newborn baby taking in his first breaths, except that this was not a beautiful picture. It was agonizing not being able to breathe, but drawing breath hurt his lungs even more. As Thranduil struggled to gulp in air into his shriveled lungs, his bloodshot, silver eyes darted wildly around the room, stopping at nothing in particular. He seemed severely disoriented, almost panicky. It tore at Ravoneth's heart to see her king so broken up. For her and the other prisoners, it was either death or prolonged death. Thranduil was still alive even though she could read the history of multiple tortures on his body. How he had withstood such suffering alone for so long was beyond her comprehension.

"Hir nin Thranduil, it is alright. You are alive. You are well." She could not bring herself to say that he was safe.

Thranduil's terrified eyes met Ravoneth's disheartened ones. She cringed. Never before had she seen him so vulnerable. But Thranduil's eyes softened – almost lit up – when he realized that it was one of his subjects holding him. His shaky hands wanted to reach out to touch hers, but they were still held together with rope. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and with a voice destroyed from days of torment, croaked,

"No. Thank you for surviving…." His voice almost broke into a sob, but he caught himself at the last second.

These words touched Ravoneth like the laments sung at a funeral. Long-suppressed tears streamed down her face as Thranduil slithered back into a deep sleep. She cared little that the Orc was still behind her, watching them exasperatedly, and sobbed uncontrollably into what was left of Thranduil's tunic. He had just been to Mandos and back, yet he thanked her for surviving. Ravoneth had only seen him on official occasions from afar, so she had never known how much he truly valued his subjects. She only knew him as a proud, just, yet cold king. She regretted that he had to endure such harsh ordeals. He looked so sick.

She was still sobbing when Tarburz stomped into the cell after hearing all the echoing throughout the dungeons. He looked pathetically at the scene before him and demanded details from the surprised guard.

"I told you to not let any prisoners see that one." The dangerous tone in Tarburz's words did not miss the guard and he gulped silently. "I will deal with you later."

Tarburz pulled out his broad, sharp sword and sunk it into Ravoneth's back without a second's hesitation. A gurgling noise issued from deep in her throat and she gazed at Thranduil who was totally oblivious to the horrible spectacle playing out before him. Her lips parted in an attempt to utter one last word, but death won the race and Ravoneth fell to the floor never to shed another tear again. Her fingers were so powerfully intertwined into Thranduil's tunic that the Orcs had to cut off the fabric to effectively remove her.

Tarburz gave Thranduil one last look before leaving the blood-coated cell.

"Give him some proper food and water. He'd better be alive by the time the Elf army gets here," growled Tarburz. And he slammed the door shut, irritated that the guard's better judgment saved his skin from the wrath of the Nazgul.

The Anduin was as great as ever, basking in the sun like no one was looking in all its freshness and glory. Elrond smiled to himself as he laid eyes on the fresh water. They were already halfway there. Of course, the forest itself would be the most difficult part to navigate if they did not keep to the road, but he could worry about that later. So far, the road over the mountains had been smooth for his army, and the sky was crystal clear, seeming to wash away the prevalent evil in the world. A cool breeze blew in from the east, but it made Elrond shiver for it came from the forest carrying the darkness with it. A strange ambience was in the air and the Lord of Rivendell felt like he was being watched. The very water seemed to whisper warnings to him, and he unconsciously fingered Vilya. Erestor, his chief counsellor, dismounted his horse and walked up to Elrond trying to seem casual.

"My Lord," he whispered, "I am sure you have felt it as well."

"How many?"

"One, I believe. But he may be a scout or a spy. There may be hundreds waiting in ambush somewhere."

"Hmm…"

He certainly did feel a presence nearby, but it did not feel hostile. Perhaps it was just another wanderer or a refugee. Nevertheless, it was better to be safe than sorry in these treacherous times. As Erestor suggested, he could be a spy.

"What do you think we should do?" he asked.

"Perhaps it is better to capture and question this person rather than let him go. We are vast in numbers after all."

Elrond trusted his counselor's advice and nodded.

"We wait for the cover of night. When it gets dark, take several warriors and seek out this invader. The rest of us shall make camp here. And make sure to set up a watch around camp," he added as an afterthought.

"It will not take long."

True to his word, Erestor brought the mystery spy not long after the dark took over.

"Lord Elrond."

Elrond looked back at Erestor and gave a short laugh. There, in the middle of Erestor's men, looking down sheepishly as a scolded child would, stood Celegon.

"Forgive me Lord Elrond. I have gone against your orders as a healer," he mumbled.

"Why am I not so surprised?" muttered Elrond, "Come Celegon. You must be tired and hungry."

"You are not angry nor surprised, my Lord?" asked a befuddled Celegon. He had expected him to give him an earful or send him back with an escort in the worst case scenario.

"Well, Mirkwood Elves are not known for their wisdom," he stated matter-of-factly with raised eyebrows. The confused warrior was lost so deeply in Elrond's words that he missed Erestor's amused look. Elrond merely chuckled and led Celegon warmly to the campfire where supper was being served. He handed him a cup filled with a very small amount of some clear liquid.

"Drink this. It will help sooth your body after that trek in the mountains."

Celegon obediently gulped down the liquid, and he immediately felt the effects take place. Following the pace of Elrond's army while being discreet at the same time was, admittedly, very tiring especially since his body was not fully healed yet. But the liquid seemed to wrap itself around his bones and muscles and caress and shape them back into place. His courage and determination even seemed to benefit from the drink, making him see the world through rose-colored glasses.

"What is this, Lord Elrond? It is a most pleasant drink!" he exclaimed.

"It is miruvor, a strengthening cordial. It has a most wonderful effect on the weariest of souls. I brought a flask just in case."

"Ah yes, I have heard of such a drink, but never have I had the honor of tasting one before. I feel healed in both body and spirit!"

Elrond chuckled again and this time brought him some meat and wine. Celegon could not help but lick his lips at the delicious food the company has brought. His hand absentmindedly reached out, but abruptly pulled back. Elrond gave him a curious stare.

"My Lord, I cannot-" Celegon gulped, "I cannot feast whilst my kin suffer. The Orcs will definitely not have fed them well."

Elrond nodded understandingly, yet gave him a stern look.

"I understand your dilemma, but did you not follow us against my orders so you could save your kin? What good will you do if you starve yourself to death before you make it to the kingdom gates? Eat well, for tonight is the only night we will feast like this. From tomorrow, we will not be able to light fires once we enter the forest of Mirkwood. Then, you may happily accept the rather poor portions of food we shall be forced to prepare."

Realizing his foolishness, Celegon humbly accepted his plate but tried hard not to delight in it too much. It was so delicious, but he could not feel comfortable eating and drinking while Talia and the others were in pain. Elrond chose not to comment on Celegon's hesitant eating, but rather tried to change the subject.

"Let me tend to your wounds. You are still my patient after all. In the meantime, you must tell me how you made it this far in your condition."

Celegon smiled at the flashbacks to his tiring journey and was about to elaborate on it when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Elo! Who is this? Celegon! So it is true!" It was Rumil, surprised yet ecstatic at his new friend's appearance. Celegon smiled broadly as well; the first true smile in a long while.

"Rumil, this is a wonderful reunion."

"A wonderful reunion indeed! You tricked me you sly fox," joked the Lorien Elf. "I heard rumors about an Elf that was caught following us, so I came straight away thinking of you."

"You could not have been more correct my friend," laughed Celegon.

Rumil's sharp eyes looked the Elf up and down, noting the undisguisable tiredness, and in a more serious tone asked, "How are you? It is a miracle that you did not faint on the way."

"Lord Elrond has been a most generous host as you can see from my plate full of delicacies and body full of bandages!"

"And whose fault is it that you are covered in bandages?" asked Elrond in a mockingly annoyed voice.

"Be careful Celegon. If what they say is true about Lord Elrond, I would not get on his bad side."

All three Elves laughed in good humor. Rumil's presence greatly assured Celegon's heart. It was strange considering their short friendship and an even stranger encounter. Perhaps it was because they shared a brief yet treacherous quest together. Nevertheless, the night conversation revived Celegon's spirit and strengthened him for what was to come in Mirkwood. Celegon was sorry to see him go the next morning.

The next day, as Elrond's army prepared to leave the familiar lands and enter Mirkwood, Rumil halted and bowed. As if he was expecting it, Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"As I have told you Lord Elrond, I take my leave."

"Safe travels Rumil. You will always be welcome in Rivendell."

"You are leaving Rumil?" asked Celegon, "So soon!"

"Sadly yes. As much as I would like to ride with you to your kingdom, I am needed elsewhere. Lothlorien was not exactly peaceful last time I left it. The Orcs are getting bolder, and I worry for my city."

Celegon's eyes were downcast. He of all people understood the responsibilities of a warrior to his kin and Lord. Still, it was bitter to see a good companion and friend leave. He urged his horse closer to Rumil's and stretched out his arm. Rumil clasped it in response.

"Safe travels, Rumil."

"As to you, mellon-nin. We will meet again."

The marchwarden of Lothlorien parted with Elrond's company, his quest completed. Celegon took one last look behind him before re-entering the woods of his home. While a few Rivendell Elves looked around nervously at the menacing forest, Celegon breathed in deeply the fresh aroma of the greenery as they seemed to welcome him and invigorate him with their energy. The trees whispered excitedly to one another as they witnessed the entry of Celegon and the Rivendell army. There was hope for Mirkwood yet.

While the Rivendell army was an unexpected player in the Nazgul's game, the long awaited army of Lothlorien was quickly approaching Mirkwood after having received Haldir's message. Led by Celeborn, 1,000 Elves were riding in perfect formation to liberate the Elven realm. Galadriel had looked faint when she heard the details of Thranduil's fall. Both she and Celeborn knew of the strategic importance of Mirkwood to Sauron, so it had been critical that the kingdom be kept standing. While Thranduil had done an exceptional job in keeping Mirkwood as it was despite the disadvantageous circumstances, it would seem that even he had his limits.

"We were fooled once again by Sauron. I should have seen through the attacks on Caras Galadhon, but I was too blinded by the diversions," Galadriel had raged. Celeborn had embraced her tightly as if to squeeze the guilt out of her.

"Please do not blame yourself my Love. That was Sauron's plan all along. Remember that he had always been very cunning."

He stroked her cheek lovingly and reassuringly. Galadriel gave him a small kiss in return.

"Elrond would have sent reinforcements before us. I will also ride with 1,000 Elves. We will save the kingdom and make sure the enemy no longer mocks us with his trickery," proclaimed Celeborn.

Celeborn tightened his grips on the reins. The fall of Mirkwood was disturbing to all. It seemed that while all eyes were on Gondor, the enemy had furtively taken hold of the Elven realm. He only hoped that Thranduil was alive and not too many Elves suffered, but Celeborn knew it was a false hope. Nonetheless, that false hope drove Celeborn's determination to get to Mirkwood as quickly as possible. At this rate, they would arrive in about two to three days, which was much too late in his standards considering the amount of time that had already passed since the actual siege. He could only pray that Elrond arrives first to switch the odds.

The players were moving to their positions, the board was almost set. The second battle for Mirkwood would soon begin.

I really wanted to make a few changes to the previous chapter, but then that would ruin the whole story. I guess it is my fault that I did not think thoroughly enough on the matter. So we'll just go with what we have!

This whole chapter was kind of slow because it was about setting the board for the next big battle, the first being the actual Mirkwood siege. I'm not good at writing battle scenes, but I will try my best to make the fight epic! Legolas and Gimli are finally about to fulfill their roles for this story too JI can't wait till I get to that part.