Hello, and thank you for stopping by to read this story! It is my first attempt at a Lord of the Rings fanfiction, which is why I started with a one shot, and I hope you'll bear with me as I begin to explore writing in the incredible world of Middle Earth! (All owned by Tolkien, not me!)
It has come to my attention that there are many stories that consist of the same thing. Legolas gets hurt, Legolas gets killed, Legolas gets kidnapped, and so on. Now, does anyone ever bear in mind what Thranduil must be going through during times like these? Often not. Our poor Elvenking is hardly given any thought, cast aside as a cruel and unkind King of a dying land. To me, he is not cruel. He is not unkind. He is a caring father and an overwhelmed King who always does his best to rule justly. Have you ever taken a moment to realize that being a King and a single Father can really take its toll? He is so much more than people give him credit for, and this is a fanfiction story that, in a sense, pays tribute to him.
Inside of the Mirkwood palace, a little Elvish Princeling wriggled and squirmed about in his haunted, troubled sleep. He moaned as nightmares took their hold on his young, innocent mind, and he soon cried out in sheer terror and woke abruptly. His wide, sapphire eyes darted around his room, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he realized he was no longer in the wretched dream world, and he pulled the soft blankets over his head for a sense of comfort that never came.
He scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to make the bad dream leave his head, willing himself not to tear up from the frightful scare he had just experienced, but it wouldn't. He feared that if he was to fall asleep again, the nightmare would only return to take its hold, and he couldn't help but be afraid.
He decided to stay in his own room no longer, and climbed out of bed. His bare feet could be heard through the silent palace as they pattered across his room and out into the hall. He wondered briefly if he was the only one awake at this time of night. He quickly ran up the stairs to the only room he knew would hold comfort for him; the room of his father.
The little child didn't knock. He was much too frightened from his nightmare to be by himself a moment longer, so he opened the door and rushed inside, not forgetting to close the door behind him with a small creak. He made his way over to where his father sat atop his bed, reading a book on top of the covers and sipping from a delicate crystal goblet of wine. His long, fine blonde hair was missing its crown, but besides that the King of Mirkwood still looked elegant, and exceedingly so. He did not lack his usual regality in any way, and he prided himself in doing so. He glanced up as his only child rushed over to him, jumped up on the bed, and snuggled in beside him. It was a welcome surprise.
Thranduil carefully set down his goblet and book, gazing at his son with unusually warm eyes. "Legolas," he crooned, "what is the matter?" The King let his slender fingers run through the fine hair of the young Prince as he stroked his head gently, cradling his son close in an affectionate, fatherly way, full of all the love he had in him.
Legolas only snuggled in closer to his father. "I had a bad dream," he confessed, his voice muffled due to his little face being pressed into his fathers robes. To Thranduil's dismay, Legolas was trembling. "I was scared, ada," he whispered, "I still am. I don't want to go back to my room tonight."
"Oh dear, not a bad dream," Thranduil sympathized. "You are absolutely welcome to spend the night, pen tithen. Please don't fret any longer. I am here for you, and I will protect you always."
"I know," Legolas said, a small smile lighting his features. Thranduil was relieved to see that his sons trembling had stopped, and hugged him closer. "Thats why I came. You can always make the bad dreams go away."
Thranduil felt his heart lighten at the sweet words of his son. He knew without a doubt that he would never tire of hearing those simple, lovely words. He could tell that Legolas was sleepy, so he gently lifted him up with strong arms, singing softly his sons favorite lullaby with a beautiful tenor voice as he rocked him to sleep. Legolas began to drift off, relishing this moment. It wasn't often his father sang to him since mother had passed away. Oh, but how he loved hearing his father's voice. Thranduil too relished this moment with his entire heart, dreading the days when his baby boy would grow up and no longer desire the love he had to give.
"My little Legolas," the Elvenking murmured into the soft, flaxen hair of his precious babe. "Ion-nin, before you sleep tonight, please promise me one thing."
Legolas looked up at his father with his bright blue eyes. "Yes, Ada, anything," he said, sincerely but sleepily. His own curiosity at this odd request was what prevented him from drifting off any further.
"Promise me that you'll remember, always remember, how much I love you."
"...I promise."
...
It was many years later. Sitting alone in his chambers as he went over the latest papers from the most recent council meeting, Thranduil grew tired. It had been an excruciatingly long and boring day, and he wanted nothing more than to down a goblet of red wine, take a relaxing bath to provide relief to his stiff muscles, and have a nice nap. Sadly, he couldn't do any of those things now. He had work to do, and a kingdom to run. To abandon his royal duties as the King of the Woodland Realm, if only for a few hours, would not be wise.
A knock sounded at the door, light and antsy. The young Elvenking glanced at it in mild curiosity. "Come in," he called, a hint of weariness in his tone. If it was a guardsman with an issue for him to solve, or a council member coming to bring him more papers to look over, he would certainly be driven mad.
The door opened, and to Thranduil's great delight it was not a council member who stood there but his son, Legolas. He entered the room, dressed in his usual hunting garb. Thranduil could guess that he had just returned to the palace from a patrol out in the woods, and the Elvenking eyed the muddied camouflage browns and greens distastefully. Thranduil couldn't say he was surprised in the slightest, though he did wish his son would change in to more suitable attire upon entering the palace. In his mind, it wasn't right for a Prince to not be at his finest at all times.
Legolas gave a light chuckle when he saw the unmasked disapproval in the eyes of his father as his outfit was examined, but the laugh quickly died on his lips upon taking a closer look at Thranduil's tired face. There were dark circles under his eyes from lack of proper sleep, and Legolas thought he looked gaunt, like he wasn't eating properly either. Legolas often worried for his father, believing that he worked himself too hard for the sake of his kingdom. "Ada," he asked, "are you feeling alright?" A crease appeared between his brow as his features scrunched in worry, the only thing out of place amidst his smooth face, and his father couldn't help but notice in that moment just how grown up and observant his son had become.
"Yes, Ion-nin, I have merely been busy," Thranduil forced a strained smile for the sake of his son, and though he saw right through the façade, he decided to leave the matter be. It was no use pointing out the necessity of breaks, he knew his father would only dismiss the comment and work himself even harder. "Why have you come? Is there something you wish to discuss?" There evidently was - Legolas didn't often visit him in the middle of the day for no reason. As a Prince, Legolas had duties of his own to attend to, so it was not surprising he didn't have much time of late. His father understood that all too well. Thranduil tried not to let a sigh escape his lips as he was struck with the realization that is was actually only the middle of the day, and not nighttime as he had thought prior. He thought of all the political matters he had yet to solve, as well as the council meeting he had yet to attend, and refrained from cursing under his breath.
"Yes, you see," Legolas began, getting straight to the point, "I have recently received a letter from Aragorn."
"Oh?"
"There have been mass amounts of Orcs coming and raiding Gondor. They have been acting with the utmost cruelty, mercilessly killing many unarmed citizens and ultimately doing their best to destroy the people in the town and reclaim it as their own. The place is in turmoil, and Aragorn fears that he won't be capable of faring by himself for much longer, as much as it pains him to admit."
Thranduil's gaze became sharp and piercing as he noted where this conversation was headed. "The petty problems of men are of no concern to us," he pointed out brashly, now knowing full well why Legolas had come to see him. "Their lives are short, and their strength is lacking. I must advise you not to waste away with worry over those who are not worth the help."
Legolas flinched, and he too knew full well how his father would react at his next request. The bitterness and mistrust that Thranduil harbored in his heart towards the race of men hadn't lessened very much over the years, much to Legolas's dismay. Legolas and Aragorn had formed a friendship that had only flourished, and he intended to keep it that way. Though he treasured his friendship with the King of Gondor deeply, he knew that his father still didn't approve of their camaraderie.
Now it had been a year since the ring was destroyed by Frodo and the fellowship, and Aragorn had officially taken up his rightful position as the King of Gondor. Though he had been having difficulties with his reign as king, as he was still getting used to it, though it helped that he was naturally gifted with the talent of leading, having taken the place as leader after Gandalf's death, and had faced this new challenge well. It also helped that he now had Arwen, the daughter of Elrond, at his side as his Queen. Legolas could tell from the wording of the letter he had received that Aragorn was in some serious trouble, and was truly worried as to the state his kingdom would crumble to if the Orc attacks were to continue for a prolonged period of time. Wanting nothing more than to show his father the necessity of aiding his dear friend in Gondor, he tried to think of the best choice of words to use with which to state his plea.
He settled on being blunt.
"I wish to ask that you let me go to Gondor," he said strongly. "I could be of great assistance to Aragorn, and he truly needs the help. He wouldn't have written to me if that wasn't the case. Saes, ada."
Thranduil shook his head, pushing a long strand of blonde hair behind his pointed ear. "No," he said with finality, "I will not have my son going out to risk his life for a human, even if that human is a King." His sharp gaze softened as he saw the raw pain flit across his child's eyes. "Legolas, you must come to see reason and understand that he isn't worth the risk."
Legolas was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was hushed. "...What if that human is my best friend?"
Thranduil finally let out a small sigh. He knew it was no use arguing with his stubborn son, but he was just as stubborn himself, so he continued to try and make Legolas see what he believed to be good sense. "The answer is still no. I will not have you putting yourself in danger for a mortal; how many times must I tell you that?"
Legolas's blue eyes narrowed as he realized that his father would not back down, and he began to grow angry. "You let me journey across Middle Earth with a bunch of hobbits and even a dwarf, let alone men! How is this any different? Sauron has been destroyed, so this should even be safer than the dangers I've faced in the past!"
"It was the council who chose you!" Thranduil exclaimed in retort, his own eyes crackling. His infamous temper was rising to the surface, and Legolas knew it was dangerous to venture into these waters. "It was for the good of Middle Earth that the ring be destroyed, and even then I wasn't certain it was worth the risk. I was beyond worried when the council returned to Mirkwood and found that you weren't with them! I nearly tore Elrond apart!" He wearily shook his head, trying to drown the memories of that most dreadful day. He had never told Legolas how difficult it had been for him before, when Legolas had gone out with the rest of the fellowship to destroy the ring. It had almost completely broken him to pieces...
"What risk!?" Legolas yelled, his angry voice breaking into Thranduil's somber thoughts. "You hardly care if I go out on patrol each day, risking myself against venomous spiders and parties of Orcs for the sake of Mirkwood. You never talk to me except when I've done something incorrectly or when there is something politically wrong, and you never help anyone unless it provides some sort of benefit to yourself!"
Thranduil looked at his son, his lovely only son, in shock. His eyes widened, he couldn't seem to find any words with which to defend himself. Was this what his treasured child really believed? Did he truly not know how much he cared? That he loved him with all of his heart? That the reason he left him be each day was because he believed him to be in need of his own personal space? That the risk that haunted him all the time was losing him, the one light he had left in his dreary life?
"You are blind to the fact that I am perfectly capable of handling my own," Legolas said, his voice returning to its usual volume. An array of emotions flitted through his voice as he struggled to cope with the harsh anguish and hurt in his fathers troubled eyes. A look that his own words had caused.
"In that case," Thranduil said, his own voice becoming stony and cold, "you will take heed of my words without offense, for you believe they come from the mouth of one who does not care. You will not be going, Legolas, and that is final."
"Ada-" Legolas began again, trying his very best to reason with his overbearing father.
"Don't you dare ada me," Thranduil snapped. "You must learn that I am not just your father, but I am your King and you will obey me, Legolas Greenleaf. Get that clear right now."
"Well, in that case I am going to disobey you, not as your son, but as an elf subject to his King's unfair and unjust rule. If you can't understand... If you can't see how important friendship is, how important this fight is to me..." He trailed off, looking away from his father. His fists clenched in an effort to keep his body from trembling.
"Do you not understand? I cannot loose you! I can't, not after... Legolas, you can't go! You wont!" Thranduil's voice had risen in rage, and he stood up, looking at his son with stricken grief. It was too much. There was honestly too much risk in letting Legolas go and fight for Gondor, whether it was for a man or an elf. He had already faced so many battles in his life, and just imagining him going head first into another frightened him beyond belief.
Legolas still wouldn't meet his fathers gaze. "If you keep denying me the permission to aid my friend," he said quietly, "then you might just loose me."
Thranduil stiffened. "Is your short lasting friendship more important than your family? Than your own well-being?"
"Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the good of others."
"Which is why you should stay home!"
"And for what? Your own good? While the people of Gondor suffer? I can't let that happen," Legolas stated. "I won't. Thusly, I will be taking my leave for Gondor as soon as possible."
"Legolas, I swear, if you so much as step a single foot out of Mirkwood, so help me..."
"Farewell, Aran-nin," Legolas said with an exaggerated bow, and with that he stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Thranduil had half the mind to call Legolas back, or to chase him down the hall and demand he see sense, but he decided against it and pitifully put his head down on his desk. Oh Legolas, he mourned in silence, where did I go wrong?
...
Legolas left for Gondor before the sky had darkened that evening without bidding his father so much as a single farewell. He left word with the palace guards, and before they could inform Thranduil of the news, Legolas had vanished along with his horse, already long gone. When the news of Legolas's departure finally reached his ears, Thranduil couldn't say he was surprised in the slightest. No, Legolas had always been a stubborn one, running headfirst into things without thinking, and the King often feared that his stubbornness would be the death of him. On this particular occasion, he meant it rather literally.
Besides being angry at his son for purposefully disobeying his orders, he was also thoroughly saddened. He kept replaying the argument they had exchanged over and over in his mind, and anguish soon took its hold. The words Legolas had spoken in his fit of rage had deeply hurt the King, leaving him feeling troubled and distressed. He always tried his hardest to be a good father, and while he knew for a fact that he was a much better ruler than an Adar, he didn't think he had been doing quite that badly. Legolas's words sure had opened his eyes to the worst. Since the Queen had died, Thranduil had severely doubted his abilities as both a ruler and a parent. He had tried to swallow that doubt for the sake of his beloved son, but it was returning to the surface again, and there was nothing he could do about it.
More than anything, Thranduil desperately wanted to ride out after his son and stop him in his path before he reached the horrors that would soon await him at Gondor, but he refrained. He knew at the back of his mind that if he did try to interfere in any way, his son would be driven to hate him even more than he evidently did now, and that would be a pain worse than much else.
While his father sat alone in grief and confusion, Legolas rode purposefully towards Gondor. He wasn't planning of stopping much during the journey, as he wanted to arrive as quickly as possible for Aragorn's sake. His friend needed him, and by Gladriel he was going to arrive soon!
Legolas was doing his best not to dwell too much on Thranduil, but whenever the Elvenking's name crossed his mind he felt a sharp, unavoidable pang of guilt shoot through his chest, sending waves of sadness through his heart. He felt truly horrible for what he had done to his father, and he could only guess at what he was already going through what with running Mirkwood and all. He realized then that he often overlooked the amount of work Thranduil did for not only him, but his entire kingdom. He sighed, fixing his gaze on the trail in front of him and his steed. He wished more than anything that he could take back his hurtful words, but he assumed that he would most likely only endure Thranduil's wrath instead of his own sorrow if he returned to Mirkwood and tried to apologize.
He rode on.
Thranduil looked out the window, watching from the palace as the weather outside grew dark and stormy. He did not fail to notice that his son was out there battling the elements at that exact moment on his journey to Gondor. He swallowed the thought, and for each long day over the even longer week the Elvenking waited in hope for Legolas to return home. He was nothing but disappointed when his son never returned.
It was the eighth day of Legolas's absence. A man came riding up to Mirkwood on an ungroomed horse. As he drew near, it was quite evident that the man was rather ungroomed himself. There was a large gash that ran along his arm, and he wore tattered, dirtied clothes. Upon arriving at the front gates of the Mirkwood palace, he dropped his few weapons and practically begged the guards for an audience with the King, claiming that he desperately needed help that only he could provide. Thranduil rushed down to see what all the commotion was about, hoping it was Legolas who had returned home, just before the guards were about to kick the poor traveler back out onto the street.
When the Elvenking saw it was but a man, all the hopeful light left his eyes. "Go," the Elvenking instructed his guards, tiredly, though not unkindly. They went, leaving the ragged man alone with their great monarch.
Thranduil turned to the newcomer without much interest in his troubles. Typically he would show concern for the poor traveler, but right now he was not in the mood. "I do not care about who you are," he stated, tossing his long red cloak over his shoulder. "And I won't feign my interest for your benefit. All I care about is where you came from and why you wished to request an audience with me."
The man looked down self consciously, as though he was just realizing his situation for the first time. "I came from Gondor," he said with a gruff voice. "I was sent by his royal majesty, King Aragorn, to pass on a message to both you and the Prince."
"The Prince has left to Gondor," Thranduil said bitterly, his words coming across with more harshness than he had planned. Noting his tone, he added with more kindliness, "now, what is this message?"
"Prince Legolas isn't here? He left?"
"Yes, to Gondor," the Elvenking explained again with a growing air of annoyance. "He left little over a week ago. I expect he should have arrived at Gondor already."
"Oh, no…" The man trailed off, his eyes glazing in worry. He looked seriously frightened, his expression becoming downcast and his posture displaying nervousness. "He will surely be hurt…"
Thranduil's sharp ears perked up at that. "What are you talking about?" He snapped, an unmistakable edge creeping into his voice. "Explain now."
The man rushed into an explanation without hesitation. "Well you see, Your Highness, King Aragorn sent me to tell both you and your son to stay put in Mirkwood and ignore the note. I came here as quickly as I was able, but as I feared, Prince Legolas has already departed."
"Why in the world was this note even sent?"
"The Orcs have taken over Gondor," the man paused to shudder, "they are angered by Saurons defeat. In a way of expressing said anger, they made their primary goal to capture Aragorn and forced him to write that letter with the hopes of luring more royalty and those of high status into their captivity. Legolas is in grave danger," he said, reflecting on the terrors he had witnessed firsthand in Gondor, "for as I am certain you know, Orcs especially despise those of Elvish blood. They send in more of their powerful troops all the time so there is never a lacking number of them, and while many of the townspeople of Gondor have managed to flee, a few unlucky people are still there, doing their best to fight back but ultimately failing. Aragorn is in captivity, or he was the last I checked, alive but unable to escape. I would not be surprised if he was being held to lure Prince Legolas there, where the Prince will be taken hostage as well. We need help, and if you say your son is already at Gondor, I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if he needs help too."
Thranduil looked away, his eyes unfocused. He closed them to calm himself, processing the big load of information he had just received. Legolas was certainly in trouble… Oh, he knew this would turn out badly. If only that foolish child had listened to him.
But if Legolas hadn't gone Aragorn may have died, and Legolas would have always blamed himself for it, stuck in a broken life full of misery and regret for all eternity. Both he and Thranduil would have never been able to forgive themselves then.
Confound it all. There was only course of action to take.
"Guards!" Thranduil called over his shoulder, his frigid blue eyes snapping open. Two guards came rushing over to their King immediately, awaiting instruction. "You, see to it that this man is taken care of in the hospital wing," he said to the first guard. "And you, alert a dozen of our strongest troops to be at the ready to depart within the hour. We are going to interfere with a battle."
The guards exchanged bewildered glances. "If you don't mind me asking," the second guard spoke up, "where is this battle at, Your Majesty? Where are we going?"
Thranduil looked at the guard, his gaze piercing and rather dark. The guard felt himself slightly recoil. "We are going to join the fight at Gondor between King Aragorn's people and an army of Orcs. I have reason to believe Legolas is in trouble there."
"Should we not ready the entire army?"
Rather than scolding the guard for questioning his command, the King decided to explain his decided course of action. He would have felt so much better about his odds by readying the entire army, but decided against it because somewhere he had to draw the line between what was best for his people and for his son. Risking his whole army in a battle that wasn't even at Mirkwood was not an option. "No. I will not risk the entirety of my army over a single battle. I am assured a party of twelve will be enough to bring Legolas home to safety. I hope you don't object," the Elvenking finished dangerously.
The guard looked at his King nervously, knowing better than to question the wishes of his ruler. He trusted that Thranduil knew what was best and nodded, turning to go and ready the ordered patrol. As he watched the guard walk off, Thranduil's heart pounded in his chest out of growing fear for his son. He knew that Legolas could fare well enough against small groups of Orcs; if that wasn't the case Thranduil wouldn't have ever let him go out on patrols, but to have a whole army aiming for him would surely be too much for any Elf to take. The Elvenking thought he would be lucky if Legolas was even still alive when he arrived.
He then went off to prepare for the journey to Gondor. Trusting the guards to take care of food and weapons, he himself got into the proper armour and battle wear. He chose weapons, deciding to bring with him a fine array of daggers and two long, deadly swords of Elvish make. When the Elvenking was ready, he checked up on the rest of his small group of Elven warriors. He saw to it that they were prepared as well. When he was sure they were, he mounted his elk, leading the group away to Gondor. All the while, the well-being of Legolas weighed heavily on his mind.
He, so similar to his son in some ways, rode onwards without much rest or sleep, traveling along the same fast route Legolas had taken before him. He knew he was pushing both himself and his warriors to their limit with this nonstop travel, but he was forced to continue, pushing down fatigue for the sake of his son. The rest of the small patrol of Elves followed the Elvenking without question, for they too feared for the Prince. Everyone at Mirkwood was very fond of Legolas, and none wanted to see him in danger. They also all knew of the threat that an Orc army held.
After many days of tiresome travel, the group finally reached the outskirts of Gondor. The captain of the guard heavily hinted that Thranduil stay put for the time being, and that a group of the Elvish warriors could be sent out to scout, but the Elvenking would have none of it. Thranduil took offence to this. He wasn't some King incapable of holding his own, and didn't need to be protected. He had seen and participated in many more fights than most present would be able to claim, and he felt a responsibility towards his warriors, feeling the need to keep them safe along with his son. They were all his people, and they were all of importance.
He turned down the offer of the captain, and ordered that the warriors all take a short break before investigating the battle, something he stressed he would be taking part in. They ate and rested, regaining their strength, and were soon ready to go. They climbed up to mount their horses again, Thranduil sitting at the head of the group upon his glorious elk.
They cautiously ventured into Gondor. The deeper they went, the more ruin lay in their wake and the louder the cries of battle became. It was soon evident to Thranduil that the fight was much larger than he had expected, and this only worried him further. He began to doubt whether his small group would be able to hold their own, and wondered whether he should have listened to that guard back at the palace and brought more of his warriors to accompany him on this now daunting rescue mission.
They drew ever closer to the battle, and when it was in sight Thranduil motioned for the rest of his company to stay quiet. "I will signal to you when I want our presence to be known," he said. "Until then, hide amongst the rubble and do not draw attention to yourselves."
Slowly they crept forwards until they were forced to dismount to retain their stealth when the battle became too close. Luckily, remaining out of sight and staying silent was an easy feat, as Elves are stealthy by nature.
The substantial amount of destruction at Gondor was something so horribly sad that none of the Elves present had been prepared for it. People were running, crying, and trying to find a way out of the wreckage that once was beautiful Gondor. Orcs were everywhere, fighting men and outnumbering them three to one. Most of the women and children had been evacuated, and the peasant men left were holding their best against the Orcs, but Thranduil could tell that if this continued over the next couple of days, their foremost efforts would not be enough. His eyes scanned around the battle scene for a glimpse of Legolas, or even of Aragorn, but neither were anywhere to be seen. He hadn't expected to see them, as they were probably in the Orcs stronghold, but he had hoped nonetheless.
"My King," one of the Elvish warriors spoke up, "the odds are against us." He was only voicing what everyone else was thinking, and the Elvenking glanced at him.
"I can see that, I am not blind," Thranduil said dryly. "I can only hope that our strength will make up for our lacking numbers." It was a statement meant solely for reassurance purposes, and not for holding any actual truth. Thranduil was feeling dreadfully overcome and unsettled.
The Elves were ordered by their King to look for Legolas, and to avoid as much of the battle as possible. Thranduil didn't want to have any death on his hands today, and the longer they all waited to draw attention to themselves the better.
After little over an hour of watching from a distance, Thranduil's eyes were drawn to a man fighting two Orcs at the edge of the battle but thirty feet away. Thranduil caught himself admiring the fierce skills, intensity, and determination of this fighter. The man had his back towards the Elves as he fought, quickly disarming the Orcs and bringing them to their knees. Then the man turned around, and Thranduil squinted to try and make him out. His eyes widened in shock as he realized who the man was.
Aragorn.
Thranduil stumbled back in shock, telling the Elves to wait for him right where they were. From there he left his very bewildered company in his wake as he ran to meet Aragorn. The King of Gondor was taking a moment to examine himself for wounds and catch his breath when Thranduil reached him, unsheathing his own two swords as he officially entered the battle grounds.
When Aragorn caught sight of Thranduil, he only stared at the Elvenking in shock, unable to believe that he was really there. He took in Thranduil's attire, from the armour to the weapons on hand, and he knew in an instant that he had come to reclaim his son. He realized with a jolt that Legolas was most likely the only thing that Thranduil would enter a battle that didn't concern him for. He himself looked forward to the children he planned to have with Arwen, praying silently for her own safety. Thankfully, she had escaped the battle days ago with only a few minor injuries.
"King Thranduil," Aragorn said, getting over his initial shock at seeing the King of Mirkwood at his side. "I-"
"Estel, where is Legolas?" asked the Elvenking, cutting off Aragorn mid-sentence. He didn't do it to be rude, it was just that the worry he had over his son was getting to him. "I need to see him; I need to know if he's alright."
"I had a feeling you'd ask that," Aragorn murmured with a sigh.
"Well, of course," Thranduil retorted, his ears catching the softly spoken words. "Why else do you think I came, to help out the likes of you?" He spat, his voice and temper quickly rising. "Now where is my son?"
"Come, King of Mirkwood, let us step out of the way of battle before I enlighten you," Aragorn said, not at all having a second thought about Thranduil's unkindly tone. The Elvenking complied, but not before roughly shoving Aragorn out of the way to slaughter an Orc coming in for the kill. He wiped the black blood from the blade of his swords before sheathing them, and the pair walked a safe distance away from the fight. Thranduil turned to look at Aragorn with expectant eyes.
Aragorn began to explain. "I was overpowered and taken by the Orcs as a hostage," he started. "They forced me to write that letter Legolas received in the hopes of luring more valuable people into their dastardly clutches, and they succeeded in doing so. Legolas came, as you already know, and he managed to rescue me at the cost of his own freedom. He told me to run, said he was right behind me… But he wasn't. The Orcs got him, and they have him in captivity as we speak. I would have turned back, but I would have been highly outnumbered and there was no use in the both of us getting captured. I sent a messenger back in the hopes you would come, because as you can tell, we need the help. Legolas needs the help, and it is help that I regrettably can't provide for him on my own."
"So you left him," Thranduil said quietly, looking past the King of Gondor to the battle raging beyond him. Legolas was there, in the clutches of some horrendous Orc, and he was here. Safe, when he should be protecting his son.
"Going back for him held too much of a risk. I am truly sorry, if I could have saved him I'd have done so in a heartbeat."
Risk. Now why did that word sound all too familiar?
"What of your own men? Are they of no use to you in battle? Surely you should have been prepared for something like this," Thranduil inquired.
"Gondor most certainly is not in its prime, and it wasn't even before the Orcs staged their attack. My people were hardly expecting a battle so soon after the destruction of the ring," Aragorn indignantly stated, shaking his head. "They have done their best to hold their own alongside me, bit their greatest efforts are still not enough. We were all caught off guard."
"That I can see."
"Your son was so willing to provide us support," Aragorn reminded. "What of yourself?"
"I prefer not to waste my efforts on the likes of men," Thranduil said, turning away. His head was tilted forward, a long curtain of light blonde hair obscuring his face. His tone was distraught, and Aragorn could only imagine the emotion that must be swimming in that penetrating gaze. "Now I must go reclaim my son. Are you coming, or are you only going to hinder me further?"
"I will come," Aragorn complied, "but not for your sake. Legolas is my friend; he does not deserve the suffering the Orcs are surely putting him through."
Thranduil silently agreed with Aragorn's last remark, but made no outward sign of it. He headed over to his company of Elvish warriors, still hidden in the shadows of the wreckage as they had been instructed. "Come out and follow me," he called to them, and they obliged. "We will follow this man, the King of Gondor, to where Prince Legolas is being held. I must stress that you only fight if necessary, for our main goal is to free one of our people, not to get caught up in a battle that isn't our own."
The Elvish warriors nodded in agreement, and with that they were off. All unsheathed their weapons, running in a group through the battle with Aragorn fearlessly at the head, Thranduil flanking him on his right. Orcs came near, trying to diminish the group, but their attempts were in vain due to the ferocity of the warriors. Most Orcs were thankfully preoccupied with fighting other men, so when the Elves and the King of Gondor did run through, very few Orcs paid them heed. It was odd, but they took it as a blessing amidst all the horrors surrounding them. Only one elf was felled by the time the group reached their destination.
"There," Aragorn yelled over the roar of the surrounding battle, pointing with his sword towards a group of Orcs atop a hill only about ten feet high. "That is the central group, where Legolas was taken. It is not the main camp, but where the leader surveys the battle below."
Thranduil nodded, slashing at an oncoming Orc. He loved the small thrill of satisfaction that came with the decapitation of the pitiful creature. It made him so elated to know that he was freeing these creatures; freeing their wretched heads from their miserable shoulders.
"Daro," he called, and his company immediately fulfilled the command. "Do not sheath your weapons, but follow."
They slowed as they neared the central hill, and the Orcs atop it spotted them. One grinned, and gestured towards two behind it to step forwards. They were holding something - or someone - and as Thranduil neared the hill he could tell who it was without a solitary doubt.
His heart almost stopped.
Legolas's long blonde hair was unkempt, and small lacerations were visible along his arms and legs. There was a deep purple bruise on his cheek and his head sagged in weariness, but overall he was conscious and very much alive. Thranduil was honestly surprised that he wasn't in worse condition. It seemed that the Orcs hadn't kept him for mere sport, but were holding him for ransom. He didn't have a clue as to how he would manage to retrieve his son, but just the fact that Legolas was alive made him breathe easier.
They reached the foot of the hill, and Thranduil stepped up so that he was beside Aragorn. The head Orc stared down at them with what could only be described as a ravenous glint in his eye. Almost immediately, as though through some sort of unspoken command, the fighting around them ceased as the Orcs waited to hear what their leader was about to say, hurriedly slaying any men nearby, silencing them forever.
"What have we here?" The leading Orc said in a deep, gravelly voice, looking over the group. Thranduil tried not to wince as the dark tones scraped at his delicate ears, and noticed that many of his warriors were unable to help but flinch. "A company of Elven scum and a man have come to grace our presence? Do my eyes deceive me?"
Thranduil decided in that moment to speak up against the verbal abuse, though whether he did so to retain his dignity or out of mere selfishness, it was difficult to place. "You may wish to mind your tongue," he stated evenly, though not without an unmistakable hint of malice. "You are in the presence of two kings and some of the finest warriors Mirkwood has to offer." It was incredible how he managed to keep his head held high, his cold gaze unwavering against the venom in that of the Orc.
"Kings?" The Orc leader narrowed his eyes, the glittering black pupils flitting from face to face. His gaze rested on Aragorn, and then again on Thranduil; if the Orc hadn't recognized the royalty before him prior to this moment, he most certainly did now. "Ah, I see," he said, looking pointedly at Aragorn. "You are the King of this wretched place." Aragorn returned the look bravely with his own lurid glare, standing his ground. It was then the Orc turned his gaze back to Thranduil. "And the Elvenking, if I am not mistaken," he said with a grunt, narrowing his eyes to slits. "Why have you come? Surely it isn't for the release of a single elf? Never in my life have I heard of a patrol, led by the Elvenking himself, come to the rescue of one of their own under such threatening circumstances. What makes this one so special?"
Thranduil looked a moment too long at Legolas. "That is of no concern to you."
"Oh, but is it not?" The Orc mocked, gravelly laughter rising in his throat. "I would think it to be my concern. I mean, this elf is my prisoner, is he not?" Thranduil said nothing at this and the Orc smiled, his blackened teeth visibly showing. "Do you not care for this elf as much as I had thought, then?" Again Thranduil was silent, his intense gaze resolute.
"Let us see."
The Orc strode over to where Legolas was being tightly held at each arm by two Orcs. There, without warning, he swung his fist into Legolas's stomach, hard. The Prince, not having expected this, let out a sharp gasp.
Thranduil visibly flinched, beginning to lose his composure. "Stop! Leave him," he ordered, his voice raised in a shout. The Orc turned to face the angered Elvenking, and he let out another laugh.
"I guess he is important," he said, "if the Elvenking cares for him." Thranduil gaped in shock. They really didn't know they held the Prince of Mirkwood, did they? He couldn't believe how high their stupidity was. "Now tell us who he is to you, or else we will slay him where he stands." Wow, they honestly didn't know. Orcs never ceased to amaze him.
Thranduil glared up at the Orc, his shock quickly being replaced by worry and contempt. Cold beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and he stole another glance at Legolas. One of the ugly Orcs that was holding him pressed a blade into his neck, drawing a bit of blood from the fair, pale skin of his son. It trickled down his collar, staining it red. Legolas stared back at his father in unhidden apprehension, not minding the pain in the slightest if enduring it meant saving his father from a fate much worse.
"He is… My son," Thranduil spoke quietly, wondering what the Orcs would do with such information. Now that they knew, they could demand practically anything. Surely nothing good would come of this, as was to be expected.
Thranduil didn't like the look of glee that light up the Orc's vile face. "Your son? So we have the Prince in our hold, do we?"
"Yes," Thranduil sighed, "that would be correct." He forced himself to stand strong, and willed his voice not to waver. That was when a scary thought came to mind; if it came down to it, would abandoning Legolas have to be viewed as an option? He shook his head to clear the dreadful possibility. "I am here to demand that you return the Prince of Mirkwood to us."
"You really aren't in a position to be making demands of me, Your Majesty," the Orc retorted. "Though I guess we could make a deal of some sort. Give me an offer."
Thranduil could tell this was a set up, and a crudely spoken one at that. "Name your price," he calmly replied, setting a cool exterior for both the sake of himself and the warriors behind him. He couldn't appear frightened. "I know not what would be appropriate for the likes of Orcs."
Th head Orc gave a snarl. It was blatantly obvious that he hadn't missed the insult of the statement. "I want to warn you now that the longer we wait to figure out a deal, the more pains your son will suffer through." He motioned to the Orcs holding Legolas, and Thranduil could only watch with widening eyes as the blade was pushed deeper into his son's throat.
Oh, that irrational, reckless child whom he couldn't help but love with his entire heart… If only he had listened, Thranduil thought to himself remorsefully. There was no way Legolas would be able to escape or get rescued without a deal of some sort being made between himself and the Orcs. The way the blood spilled from his deepening neck wound wrenched his heart, as he couldn't bear to see his son in any sort of pain. There was no Elven money with him, no jewels, no treasure of any sort. If there was, that would have been an easy way to solve the issue. In the time it took to send his Elves back to Mirkwood to get money with which to barter, Legolas could be seriously hurt, maimed, or even killed.
"I do not have any money with me right now," Thranduil said carefully, knowing he was entering dangerous waters in this conversation. "Is there anything else I could give that would result in the immediate freeing of my son?"
The Orcs exchanged amused glances amongst each other, enjoying the vulnerable position the mighty Elvenking was being put into. "Hmm," the Orc said, thinking. The tension was there, thick and growing. "Not much would be up to the worth of the Prince." Suddenly its evil eyes shot up, and it smiled in sadistic pleasure at the thought that had just entered its head. "Ah, there is one thing, the only thing, besides money that would be of enough worth for me to release the Princeling."
Thranduil looked at the Orc with a glimmer of hope. "What is it?"
"You."
Thranduil stiffened, certain he had heard correctly but not daring to believe it. They wanted him. In exchange for his son, they wanted him. He could only guess what they would do to him, and he suppressed a shudder at the thought. But if it was for his beloved Legolas to be saved, for his light to be kept alive...
"Ada, no," Legolas cried, only to be silenced by a painful slap by once of the Orcs, leaving an angry red mark on his cheek. The Prince didn't care, he just stared at his father, willing him not to sacrifice himself. If his father got hurt because of his own daft mistake, he would never forgive himself.
Thranduil stepped forwards, ignoring the hand Aragorn laid on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him back. He forced the cry of his son to leave his mind. "Get your hands off my son this instant," he said sharply, "for he is your hostage no longer."
"So do you accept our deal?" The Orc asked, that hungry gleam bringing light to his eyes once more.
"Yes," Thranduil said, glowering at the Orcs still holding Legolas. "So let him go. Now."
"You heard him," the lead Orc barked. "Unhand the brat, and go collect the real prize."
Prize. So thats what they thought him to be.
The Orcs did as they were told as soon as the command left the lips of their leader. They dropped Leegolas, practically shoving him to the ground, and made their way down the small hill to lay claim to the Elvenking. Legolas leapt up immediately, rushing past them and reaching his father first.
There was pain in his son's eyes, much to Thranduil's dismay. "What did you do?" Legolas cried, "Ada, I will not let-"
"Legolas, a long time ago I made a vow to your mother to always protect you, and I plan on keeping true to my word," Thranduil said, a small, warm smile on his lips. He saw the Orcs coming for him out of the corner of his eye, and looked around a final time to see if there was any way out of this. As he had thought, there was nothing, not that he could see. Aragorn, Legolas, and his small company of Elvish warriors were heavily outnumbered on every side by Orcs. Fighting them now would be a self-proclaimed suicide, as Orcs stood blocking every possible way of escape with their weapons at the ready. Running and fighting wasn't an option.
"Come on, Your Majesty," one of the Orcs said, taking Thranduil roughly by the wrist. The second Orc came up on his other side, pushing him forwards. Thankfully he didn't trip. He knew that if he resisted in any way the lead Orc would send his army after his son, and if that were to occur, Legolas would be killed for sure. He was grateful for Aragorn restraining Legolas in that moment, holding him back from going at the Orc singlehandedly. At least he now knew Legolas cared for him, however slightly.
"Let my son and his company safely leave the battlefield," Thranduil said. "His release was part of the bargain, and that release means he and the rest can leave Gondor without fear of being harmed." The Elvenking looked defiantly up at the leading Orc standing atop the hill, and awaited a response. He saw Legolas try to interfere again, stepping forwards in protest, but was silenced by a harsh whisper from Aragorn.
"Escort them all out of Gondor," the Orc leader boredly conceded, looking around at his own army. Turning to the group of man and Elves, he added, "know that if you step foot in Gondor again, you are fair game to be killed. There will be no mercy shown. You have been warned." With that, the Orcs gathered around made a barrier with their bodies and began to forcefully lead the group away from the battle. Now that only the small amount townspeople of Gondor remained, Thranduil knew that they would be slaughtered for sure. They just didn't stand a chance, and was amazed that he actually cared for their well-being. The Orcs would win this fight, and they knew it, which was bad enough as it was. To them, they had already won. They had practically gained the land they had come to take, and were making off with a valuable prize; him.
Thranduil was suddenly broken from his thoughts when he received a hard blow to the back of his head. He blacked out, and the last thing he recalled was his head hitting the hard ground, and the jeering of many an Orc.
King Thranduil awoke quite a time later to a throbbing headache. His eyes opened wearily, and he blinked a few times as he tried to adjust to his new surroundings. As he looked blearily around him, the day's events came rushing back to his mind, and he became fully alert. He didn't want to give the Orcs the pleasure of catching him off guard any more than necessary. He had given them that opportunity enough already, he realized with bitterness.
He began to wriggle, trying to get into a semi-decent sitting position. It was a rather difficult task, for he found that his wrists and legs were bound together by a tightly woven rope, the coarse fibres irritating his smooth, sensitive skin, leaving irritated red rashes in its wake. His wrists were tied behind his back in such a position that made it difficult to move a single finger, much less his entire hand.
The Elvenking managed to sit up properly after a few minutes of struggling. Then, after realizing that trying to free himself from his binds would result in but a fruitless attempt and wasted energy, he took a better look at his surroundings.
He was outside, on the dirty ground, in a clearing. No longer atop the small hill in the midst of a raging battle, he now sensed he was at the Orcs stronghold. Tents adorned the encompassed area, and there were packs of food and weapons scattered lazily about. Yes, this was no doubt this was the Orcs main encampment.
It was very quiet.
After a few more minutes of sitting alone in silence, an Orc came into the clearing. Thranduil kept his chin up as the Orc, who happened to be the same leading Orc whom he had bartered with earlier, walked over to him until he was but a few feet away. His expression remained unreadable as the Orc examined his face.
"It seems the King has finally awaken," the Orc said in a derisive manner. Thranduil glanced around the camp again, and he could see that there were more Orcs coming out now. Their beady eyes were glowing in the dimming light of the sun. They formed a wide circle around their prisoner, all wanting to get a look at the helpless Elven figure before them. That's when another dreadful thought struck him - they didn't need him around. The only reason he would have been brought to this central encampment would be solely for the sport and enjoyment of these foul creatures. He would be humiliated and disgraced for their pleasure, and he was thoroughly unnerved. He drew in a breath, expecting nothing favourable.
"To think that this pitiful thing is the reigning figure all Elves look up to," the Orc spat, drawing his full height before the powerless King of Mirkwood.
"Yes, Lord Bersouk, such a sad creature," a different Orc responded haughtily, a grating cackle emitting from its black-stained mouth. Bersouk, so that was the name of this Orc leader. Thranduil glowered indignantly up at the Orcs from his place on the ground, his eyes holding a vicious look that he was in no position to give.
Bersouk took in the look the Elvenking was shooting him, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. So the King still has his dignity, Bersouk thought with a savage snarl. As quickly as the annoyance had come, it passed again, returning to calmness. No matter, he will be stripped of it soon enough. I will have him grovelling on his knees, pleading for my benevolence.
He strode over to Thranduil and lifted him up with a forceful hand around the Elvenking's neck. Thranduil gasped for air and tried his best to writhe free of Bersouk's strong hold. "You- Unhand me- Orc- Scum," he snarled in between ragged breaths. The Orc heard his words quite clearly, and enraged by the not-so-subtle insult, he hurled the Elvenking hard and thew him to the ground a good few feet away. To overpower the Elvenking and have him admit eventual defeat at the hands of an Orc would mean Bersouk would have officially defeated the Elves and the citizens of Gondor. That was why the tyrannical Orc leader was so keen on bringing harm to the Elvenking.
Thranduil struggled to push himself off the ground, looking in alarm as Bersouk came lumbering over to deal him more harm. "You are weak," the Elvenking said callously, shaking his head to free himself of the throbbing pain he felt there. "You are too weak to dare fight me when I have no binds. You fear me at my full potential."
The Orcs watching around the camp looked at one another as they tried to decipher any possible truth to Thranduil's words. Bersouk was especially miffed, because he personally knew what a threat Thranduil would be without his binds, and because the words of the Elf were making his own soldiers doubt his strength.
Bersouk let his fist fly. It hit the Elvenking hard in the face, and his nose began to bleed. It was then that Thranduil made a vow to himself to never give this wretched Orc the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, no matter what pains he was to be forced to endure.
He suffered many a heavy punch and kick, his body becoming badly beaten and bruised. The Orcs watched with sadistic pleasure as Bersouk landed blow after blow upon the aggrieved Elvenking, but Thranduil had yet to scream, and Bersouk was losing patience quickly.
"You can't hold up forever," Bersouk growled.
"Try me," was Thranduil's defiant reply.
There was a series of booing that came from the observing Orcs. They wanted to see a King destroyed in spirit, not just in body, and they were no longer receiving the entertainment they longed for.
Bersouk unsheathed a small dagger, and holding Thranduil's face in place with his hand, delivered a long, slow laceration. It reached from his temple to chin, thankfully avoiding his eyes. Spots swam before the Elvenking, pulsing and spinning. He bit his lip hard and closed his eyes as the knife was dug through him. He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't cry.
He thought of Legolas, and the lyrics to the song he used to always sing to his son when Legolas was but a baby entered his terrified mind. He didn't know why the song came to him so suddenly, but he was beyond glad for the small distraction. Focusing on something besides the pain helped him to not break his well-kept composure.
The stars still shine,
But my love for you burns brighter.
As long as they last there
You shall never wonder
Why, after this
Must sorrows be more than mild?
It really doesn't matter
My lovely little child.
Sleep, the night is calling
Now, the trees protect
You are safe with me
Melin le, melin le...
Though it was just a simple lullaby sung by father to son, it acted as a comfort nonetheless. Thinking of his beautiful boy filled his breaking heart with joy, and the next hour of torment dealt out by Bersouk passed without Thranduil letting out even the smallest whimper. He was bleeding and bruised everywhere by the time Bersouk and the rest of the Orcs had finally began to tire of beating him, and though his spirit was intact, his physical body was not in the best shape.
He now harboured at least two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a crushed wrist. His left leg had a deep gash down the thigh, and there were sharply stinging lacerations all over his body. Most of his armour had removed by grubby Orc hands leaving only his thin tunic and leggings underneath, neither of which provided very good protection. Bersouk, not at all fearing Thranduil would dare try to stage an escape in his poor state, left him laying broken on the ground with a promise of worse the next day. The rest of the Orcs soon dispersed, sneering, taunting, and yelling foul things at the Elvenking as they left. When he was certain all the Orcs had gone, he curled up on the ground, favouring his right shoulder, and quietly hummed the Elven lullaby. As he did so, he imagined that he cradled a baby Legolas in his marred arms. It was only then he allowed a single tear to slide down his cheek.
He barely slept that night. Darkness came, bringing with it a cold breeze that caused Thranduil to shiver an made his teeth chatter. When he finally managed to enter into the sleep he so craved his eyes even closed out of pure fatigue, which was unnatural for an elf, and his slumber only lasted for an hour or two at best. He woke to the dawn as it was just beginning to shine through the black of night, and he lay in silent wait for the horrors that would surely face him on this new day.
Bersouk returned, staying true to his word. The torture continued, but by the end of the day the Elvenking still had yet to scream. This only fueled Bersouk's anger, and again he promised worse for the next day. When Thranduil still didn't make a sound, filled with prideful defiance, Bersouk swore he would do him harm every day, worse and worse, and only when Thranduil screamed and begged for the end would mercy be shown.
Mercy, ha. Thranduil didn't believe in mercy anymore. How could he, when there were still monsters like this in the world?
Yet a little, annoying voice at the back of his head kept tempting him. Feel no sorrow, feel no shame, and come tomorrow, feel no pain.
If he gave up, if he let out a piercing cry as Bersouk so wished, he would be given peace... Probably peace through death, but it would still be better than what he was enduring at the moment. He wanted to, oh, how he yearned for some sweet release. The aches and pains pounded and stung his body, to the point where it all became unbearable and caused him great suffering from even the smallest movement. As a last ditch attempt to relieve his suffering and escape his anguish, he swung his head back hard on the ground, willing himself to pass out. His efforts were in vain, and he found himself still awake and in even more pain.
What have I done to deserve this? He silently sobbed, finally breaking down. He had no idea how long he had been there, in the Orc encampment. After about five days, he had lost count. The only thing that made it all slightly bearable, that made life worth living yet, was the fact that Legolas was still alive. His precious son still drew breath, and that alone gave Thranduil reason to live.
He slammed his head back repeatedly in a fashion most lacking in regality, but he didn't care. He was certain he looked like a madman, but he didn't give a single thought to his ridiculousness or the side effects of his imprudent actions. He craved unconsciousness and the exit it would provide from the real life agony he was being forced to endure. This was worse than the great serpents of the North, and he remembered the blinding pain from that ordeal with great detail. No, this somehow managed to be more contemptible.
He slammed the back of his head as hard as his body would allow onto the cold, hard ground before him, and with a sickening thud, he finally reached the realm of oblivion he so wished for. His body lay spread in an uncouth manner, and the fallen Elvenking was not awake to see the blood that spilled from his now cracked skull as he drifted off into sleep. A restless sleep, but sleep nonetheless. The crimson blood streamed down his long, matted blonde hair, staining it red.
Although he wasn't awake, tears streamed from his closed ice blue eyes. They ran down his scarred face, leaving wet trails in their wake, and he was unable to wipe them away.
Blissful unconsciousness.
...
"He is stirring! Hir nin, he is waking up!"
"Ada? Ada!"
"Step back, Legolas, I must see to him."
"No, I beg you, give me but a moment alone."
"Alright, but only a moment."
Thranduil winced, recoiling as a soft hand gently brushed across his cheek. He scrunched his eyes tighter, unable to deal with another day of the Orc torture he expected. The voices were hazy to him, still in a half dreamlike state, and he was unable to make out the hushed words. "No, go… Away, he choked out, his voice unnaturally raspy. He tried to twist away, biting down a yell that rose in his throat as the pain from his wounds came to his attention. He was shivering, and he couldn't control it. He hated looking weak, especially in front of an enemy, but as long as he didn't scream his efforts wouldn't be in vain. He had to keep up this charade even if it killed him, his tenacious attitude lasting till the end. "You have done… Enough… To me,' he broke off, coughing up what he realized was his own blood. He took a ragged breath, fighting for self control over his now violently quivering body.
"Ada, oh, Ada…"
Ada? What? Thranduil thought he was hearing things, assured his ears had deceived him. He tried to get away, pushing even more when another hand went to hold down his shoulders, keeping him gently in place. Though the hold was light, he couldn't suppress a grimace when a jolt went through his most pained shoulder. He mistook this gentleness for a false sense of security and braced himself for a kick, or something of that crude nature. It was difficult to stay commanding when in what was by far the lesser position. The struggle was too difficult, as the hands that held his shoulders in place were by no means letting go, so he let his body go slack. His eyes were still scrunched closed.
"Ada, please, you're okay now. You're okay, you're okay, I promise! Ada, saes avo vado… Avo vado…"
That didn't sound like an Orc. It couldn't be. Thranduil hesitated, and forced himself to open his eyes. They adjusted to the bright glare of the sun, which was shining high in the sky. The Elvenking looked around him, and he soon saw that there was a lone figure standing over him. His eyes honed in on the figure, and they filled with shock and disbelieving delight. The thought crossed his mind that he may be hallucinating, but he quickly dismissed it. This was all too real. "Ion-nin," he breathed, looking at the frightened but unharmed face of his son. "Ion-nin… It-" he broke off, coughing again, and his body wracked in spasms of pain.
"Do not try to speak," Legolas said, looking down at his father. His big blue orb eyes filled with worry and pity, and Thranduil couldn't look anywhere else. The Elvenking felt a wave of shame shoot through him regarding how his son had to see him in such a state. He was always supposed to be stronger, especially in front of Legolas, and it was mortifying to lay here broken while his son fretted over him. If anything, it should have been the other way around, though Thranduil was exceedingly relieved his son didn't have to experience pains such as his.
"But what… What happened?" The Elvenking murmured, more than curious as to how he had been saved.
"Aragorn ended up writing a real letter to Gimli shortly after he was freed, telling him of my capture," Legolas recounted. "The message went through, thanks to a very speedy messenger, and Gimli was able to gather a dwarf army of little over fifty. It was a close fight, but with the three small parties of Aragorn's men, the Elven warriors, and the dwarves, we were successful and infiltrated the Orcs central camp a week after you were taken away. The Orcs have fled, and Gondor has been reclaimed."
Thranduil closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky sigh. "Dwarves," he muttered to himself, "it had to be dwarves." Sweet Gladriel, he was saved by men and dwarves… Life truly couldn't get much worse. He wasn't going to thank them just yet, either. That would most definitely be pushing it. "How long… Was I…"
"Asleep?" Legolas finished for him, sensing the difficulty Thranduil was having coping with the Dwarf rescue. "Three days. We - I - have been getting very worried over your wellbeing. There were moments when we believed you dead, and then we found you at the Orc camp…"
Legolas's mind flashed back to that terrible moment. He, along with Aragorn, Gimli, and the rest of the group, had broken into the camp after many tiresome hours of fighting on end against the vile Orcs. In the camp, there had been a huge number of the evil creatures waiting for them, and only after they were all slain had Legolas come across his father. Thranduil had lain passed out on the ground in the middle of the camp, surrounded by the rancid bodies of many a dead Orc. He had lain seemingly lifeless, his skin extremely pale, as though he was already dead. When Legolas rushed over to him, he had stirred for a moment, only to cry out and try to move out of the firm grasp of his son, fearing he too was an Orc come to bring him harm. Then Thranduil had gone limp again, blood still oozing out of fresh wounds, broken and beaten and completely disgraced. Legolas had felt tears rush to his eyes as he looked at his father, wondering if he would ever get the chance to apologize for the hurtful words spoken what now seemed like years ago. Words he lived now to regret with his entire heart.
"…I knew not what to do," Legolas finished. "Amin hiraethia," he whispered sadly, the apology low and sorrowful.
Thranduil opened his eyes again, confused. "Ion-nin… Whatever do you… Have to be… Sorry about?" He fought for air, doing his best not to let Legolas see how much each breath hurt.
"Everything," Legolas murmured, his own breath hitching in his throat. "Ada, what I said before, I meant none of it. I was angry, I was foolish, and the words I spoke were untrue and unkind. I wished to take the words back the moment I spoke them, but it was too late, and I wish to apologize now. I can only hope you will find it in you to forgive me for my behaviour, though I myself do not believe I am deserving of such."
"Oh, Ion-nin," Thranduil breathed, not caring whether or not there was anyone else near. "If one… Is in need of apologizing… It should be myself... Legolas…"
"Nay, Ada, do not push yourself. You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who is to blame for this mess," Legolas reasoned. After a moment of hesitation, he said, "Ada?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I understand what you spoke of before, about risk. If I had known this would have happened to you, I would not have come."
Thranduil smiled to himself. Despite his pain, the bond he once shared with Legolas had returned, now stronger than it had ever been before. "It was for the best…" Thranduil murmured, his mind starting to become overrun with sleep. "You were… Not harmed… That is all that matters…"
"Hardly, Ada! What of yourself? It is my fault-"
"Nay, Ion-nin… All is forgiven…"
Legolas shook his head, a weight lifting off his chest. Though his father had a long ways to go healing wise, he now had hope that things could return to the way they had been before. He beamed.
"Ion-nin?"
"Yes, Ada?"
"Melin le, Ion-nin. Melin le…"
Thranduil trailed off into silence. His eyes stayed open, glazed over in a normal Elven sleep, and Legolas knew in that moment that his father would be okay.
They would both be okay.
~ The End ~
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one shot :) There was this one line I used, "Feel no sorrow, feel no shame, and come tomorrow feel no pain," that came directly from the lyrics of the song 'Goodbye Stranger' by Supertramp, so I don't own that. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and I love reviews! Below are the Elvish words I used in my story, if you didn't know what they meant already. That is all! Have a lovely day.
Ion-nin ~ My son
Ada ~ Father
Saes ~ please
Avo vado ~ don't go
Amin hiraetha ~ I am sorry
Aran nin ~ my King
Melin le ~ I love you
Pen tithen ~ Little one
Daro ~ halt
Hir nin ~ my Lord