Out of Mirkwood
Scribbles-on-Parchment
May 23, 2020
Chapter 42 – Chaos
The whole room was ablaze. Scorching red flames consumed everything in sight in a deadly embrace yet instead of great clouds of smoke choking the air, there was only a fiery heat, so powerful that it made the very air waver as if it too were burning. It was an unnatural heat that seemed to radiate darkness and there was no escaping its grasping flames.
Thranduil was burning alive.
However it was not his physical body that felt the torment, but his very súlë. Even as fatigued as he was, the king could still feel a great loss of strength that should not have been plaguing his soul. As the flames licked at his hands and feet scorching them, the Sinda knew that something or someone had taken much of his power away from him. He had been weakened so another could gain great strength, a strength that was not their own.
Thranduil did not even have the strength enough to cry out as the fire consumed him. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for a reprieve which he prayed would come quickly.
"Nana, his fever has risen," Nalledir laid a cool hand on the king's brow and frowned at the heat that radiated from it.
"What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting."
His mother's scolding brought a faint smile to the young healer's lips. She never changed. Even though he had reached his majority many years ago, she never ceased worrying about him as if he were a mere elfling.
"I am fine," he hoped to distill any lingering thoughts in her mind that he was still unwell, "I have been resting for several hours and my body does not ache as it once did, yet I worry. Why does his fever still rise? Should it not have gone down by now?"
The elleth ran a tired hand through her hair and sighed.
"His fever rises yes, but there is nothing I can do to bring it down. I have tried everything I can think of and more," she cast a glance at her son, "This ailment is like nothing I have ever seen before, for though it is burning his body, it seems to be stemming from somewhere deeper. This fire seems to come from his very súlë and because of this, there is nothing I can do for him. He will have to pull through on his own."
Both mother and son stood for a moment, neither speaking before Nalledir broke the silence,
"Where is Úmmon? I have not seen him since I was brought in here. Did he go with the prince to the great hall?"
"No, I sent him to rest. He did not look well. I believe the stress of this day finally got to him," Narril put a hand on her son's shoulder, "However, I feel that he will not be able to stay away for long. No doubt he will return soon and when he does you and I shall get some rest. Thranduil shall be safe enough with the guards outside and a healer at his side."
Nalledir nodded slowly. Though it was true that his body did not ache as it did before, he felt greatly fatigued and aware that the pain would return soon enough.
"I believe that I shall lay down now for I fear that my body begins to betray me. I feel a great weariness coming over me."
The young Silvan did not look at his mother, for he already knew the concerned look that would be in her eyes at his words. He had never been one to heed the elleth's words, but the great darkness that had settled over his heart at the beginning of this day had yet to release its tight hold over him. Something was warning him of the king's safety, and he was not going to overlook his feelings.
"Shall I call a guard to walk you to your quarters?"
The eldar could hear the worry in his mother's voice and sighed internally. One would think of him at the point of dying by the elleth's worry for him.
"I will be well nana. I wish to rest here in the room. When Úmmon comes then you must go and rest, but I desire to be close if the need should arise for my aid," The younger elf knew this would not be enough to convince her, so he quickly added, "And I will be close to the herb supply should the pain become too much for me."
He turned to glance at the elf to see her reaction to his words. Her amber eyes were clouded with worry but she reluctantly nodded her head.
Úmmon swore quietly under his breath as he noticed the armed guards stationed out front of the royal healing chamber. With the elaborate masks hiding their faces, he had no way of knowing if they were some of the 'traitors' inside the place that his master had spoken of.
The Silvan healer wiped his sweaty hands on his tunic before taking a deep breath and walking up to the door, trying his best to seem calm and collected. He expected to be stopped and questioned but the ellon guards just gave him a nod and moved aside to give him access to the royal healing chambers.
"Narril?" Úmmon called out softly as he pushed the door open, "It is I."
He had no desire to be accidentally sliced open by being mistaken as an enemy.
But you are, he thought as he slipped into the room, you are an assassin in healers clothing. If Narril only knew, she would slit your throat without a second thought.
"I was growing worried that you would leave me to do all of the work."
Úmmon smiled at the royal healer's words,
"Forgive me mellon. I found that I could not rest, my mind kept drifting to the king. How does he fare?" The ellon leaned over the bed that held the still unconscious king schooling a worried look on his brow, "I had hoped he would have awoken by now?"
"As did I, yet his brow continues to burn with fever. The only thing that can be done now is to wait. He will pull through but it will have to be in his own timing and not ours."
The eldar nodded and glanced around the room. He noticed Êmand sitting in a chair at the far side of the room polishing his sword and Nalledir lying asleep in the bed across from Thranduil. There were far too many elves in this room for his liking.
"Does something bother you?"
Narril's soft voice broke through his thoughts.
"No. Not at all. My heart just grieves that everything has come to this. I wish very much that things had been different."
The elleth looked at him with a gentle gaze,
"You have done well mellon. Things will be alright in the end. You will see."
Úmmon's hand tightened around the small blade hidden in the sleeve of his tunic,
"I hope so."
Kélion was growing increasingly irritated. Was this what it was like to be the king? It was no small wonder that his adar had such a short temper. As the clamor in the hall rose another pitch the Sinda rose to his feet.
"Dîn!"
The prince's voice sounded like thunder in the cavernous room and the effect was instantaneous. All heads turned to him and the room fell deathly silent once more.
"My naneth and brother are dead and my adar lies at ill in the Halls of Healing and yet you all summon me here to speak with you. Now give me a moment of silence so I can say what you wish to hear and return to the king," Kélion paused to look at the stunned faces of the elves around him, "I will keep this short and to the point," he continued, "The king lies stricken with poison that attacks his body. However, he is not dead. Rumor seems to be spreading that the lead healers were in on the attack and that is false. They were not behind this attack."
"Then who was it?"
The ellon that had spoken received a harsh glare from Meldir.
"I will not lie to you," the prince said slowly, choosing his next words carefully, "There is a darkness that has begun to seep into these woods and indeed into this very hall. A darkness that can take over the hearts of both trees and elves alike. There are traitors in the Greenwood."
With these last words, the hall broke into chaos. Meldir grabbed the prince's arm and whispered through clenched teeth,
"Nicely done, now we have a riot on our hands."
The Silvan commander began to lead Kélion through the crown of elves casting a harsh glare at anyone who bumped into them. At the edge of the crowd, both ellyn stopped to survey the frantic gathering of what seemed to be all of the elves of the Greenwood.
"Come mellon nín. Let us go back to my adar. They will calm down in time and I have not the patience to deal with them further."
The first thing that reached the crown prince's ears as he neared the Halls of Healing, was a great commotion. He cast a puzzled glance at Meldir and not a moment later both elves froze as they witnessed Êmand running towards them.
"It is Úmmon," the older ellon gasped, "He is the traitor and has locked himself in the room with the king."
The fire had at long last retreated into comforting and cool darkness after what had seemed to Thranduil must have been days. The coolness of the air that surrounded him now was a blessed relief to the Sinda. The overpowering intensity of the flames, even now, seemed to fade into memory.
He stayed floating in the blissful darkness for several minutes. Yet with every passing second, he seemed to grow heavier and heavier as if a great weight were weighing him down. The darkness around him also seemed to be growing lighter with every breath that he took and gradually he began to hear a dim commotion around him.
"I will not let you do this Úmmon. Why have you let your heart grow cold and dark?"
The voice sounded familiar to the Sinda. He could hear a great banging and muffled yelling and he furrowed his brow confused.
"You will never understand," the voice that spoke now was hollow and emotionless, "I have gone too far to stop. There is nothing else for me to do."
There was a loud sound of something shattering causing Thranduil to jolt in surprise. The fog had now all but vanished. Taking a deep breath, the Sinda prepared to pry his eyes open when he felt the cool metal tip of a sword against his neck. Immediately his blue eyes flashed open to find himself staring his attacker in the eye.
Elvish Translations:
súlë – spirit
nana – mother
mellon – friend
dîn – silence
adar – father
mellon nín – my friend