Agony • Concealed Memories | | Thranduil

13 • The Northern Waste

Thranduil awoke for the first time in an empty bed, tired and listless. He had hardly slept a wink all night. There were so many thoughts floating around his head, so many terrible, worrying thoughts. Nightmares plagued his mind.

He stretched out his arm beside him, towards the warmth of his wife, but only felt emptiness and coldness. He got up and looked around the silent room. Only the birds outside filled the room with sound.

Thranduil got out of bed and trudged to the window, where the first rays of sunlight just peaked over the tops of the trees and dipped them in gold. Still a whole day to go before they would return, with some luck before nightfall. He changed his clothes and freshened up, and then walked towards the dining room to eat his breakfast alone.

The room was silent. There was only the sound of Thranduil's cutlery occasionally banging against each other. He sat on his chair, lost in thought, wondering if his wife and son had had a good night's sleep. Whether they had succeeded in picking the berries. Whether they were there at all.

Would they be all right? Maybe something had happened. No, that was just his imagination. Thranduil frowned, his head playing games with him. His wife was a good fighter and he had sent his best soldiers with her. But his son, his son could not defend himself. Was it wise to let him go? It was good for him to learn more about the woods and explore more territory, but he was still young and inexperienced.

Thranduil picked the last piece of elven bread from his plate and stood up. He had enough of all those nasty thoughts in his head. Maybe a walk would calm him down.

He was wrong. As his feet moved through the gardens, his thoughts kept racing. Next time he would go with them, that was for sure. He could not bear to be so separated from the two souls he cared about most. As he sat on his throne, his head seemed to be pounding, so much was going through him. He looked for something to distract him, but nothing seemed to work. Not until a guard came rushing up to him and bowed before his throne. Thranduil was hoping for good news, a visitor or a problem he could solve to set his sights somewhere else that his family. Nothing could have prepared him for the elf's message.

Your Majesty," the elf said. His chest heaving violently up and down.

Thranduil waved his hand, indicating that the elf could continue talking.

There is news from the Northern Waste,' he continued, and Thranduil sat up straight. 'The people say the Frostwyrms are active. The males have destroyed villages, they have never been so aggressive.'

'Were they expecting help?" asked Thranduil then. He was certainly willing to help the humans, but the elf shook his head. 'It was not a request for help,' the elf continued, looking at the king with concern.

'Tell me, what did they expect from me?'

'It's a warning.'

'A warning of what? Thranduil was now sitting on the edge of his throne. He studied the elf's face, the worried frown, the drops of sweat at his hairline. Why did the watchman dawdle so?

The eggs, Your Highness, the eggs have hatched.

Thranduil froze. It can't be! He sprang to his feet. 'According to the calculations, it will take another 50 years.'

'It is the truth, highness.' The elf bowed deeply, until his knee touched the ground, while Thranduil descended the stairs of his throne. It did not exist. Why would people lie about it? What did they have to gain from a lie of these proportions? Nothing, Thranduil realised, nothing, because it would not be a lie.

'What do you want us to do?'

Thranduil stared at the ground. There was only one thought going through his mind, his family. His wife and child were out there, in the woods. The Frostwyrms were not far from them. He had to save them.

Get the horses ready. We leave within the hour! I need as many men as possible. Let them say goodbye to their families. This may be their last battle.