Disclaimers: Unfortunately I don't have a Lee Pace. Not the original, and not any of his characters. Written for enjoyment only.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Sickfic.

Rating: T

Summary/Set: Starts in the middle of Legolas' good bye scene in TBOTFA. Thranduil wants him to stay and luck has it he might've found a way.

Note: Yes, I am aware that this is version nr X of an injured Thranduil after the battle, but I assure, there still are plenty more versions unwritten that my mind cannot leave alone no matter how hard I try. Also, if you read my Reinforcement-theme stories, you will find the analogy brought into play again.

Pairing: Various, not a ship oriented fic. Will gravitate towards Thranduil/Tauriel simply because that's my boat.

Mirkwood's Prince turned away. He was done. Done with the complications of life, family and love, done with the heartache of fighting for Tauriel when there was no reward or as much as hope to be had, done with waiting for his father or his friend to open their hearts to him. The flight response won out and he wanted nothing to do with any of his old life, not till he had a good break of having to even think about them. It didn't matter to him where he went, he may as well go to where Thranduil had suggested, but an actual decision over that could wait as well. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, bar for a chance to clear his head and ease the painful numbness in his heart that has been growing there for years spent in Tauriel's company.

"Legolas." His father's voice sounded different and it stopped him in his tracks. He didn't remember ever hearing him so vulnerable and pained, so odd. The prince wasn't sure where to place it.

"Your mother loved you. More than anyone, more than life." The disclosure accentuated Legolas' pause. Never did his father speak of his mother, why was he doing it now? He looked back to give Thranduil his dues, thank him for the declaration. His king was already thanking him, one hand extended in a gesture of offering his heart, a motion he had not seen from the older elf for decades. Odder yet, was how the royal seemed unbalanced by the gesture, swaying and having to reach with his other hand to support himself on the stone wall behind him.

It gave Legolas yet another pause as he reciprocated the thank you sign. His forehead furrowed, "are you injured?" He took interest. He couldn't completely disregard the fact that Thranduil was pale and unsteady on his feet, could he?

"Not gravely," Thranduil admitted. Though now that the élan keeping him fighting and trying to find his son was no longer necessary, he had to acknowledge that the pain in his side was rather disorientating and that he would probably have to sit down if he didn't want to throw up. "It is of no importance," he assured Legolas.

The Prince took a step towards him, "where is everybody?" He asked suspiciously. It has only dawned on him now that Thranduil was so unusually alone, without his guards and usually sizeable entourage of devotees and servants.

"No more elvish blood for dwarves," he grit out regretfully as an explanation, his imposing form leaning unnaturally forward as he braced himself and propped his forehead on his fist placed on the wall for support.

"Only yours." Legolas concluded, words measured and weighty as realisation dawned.

"It wasn't for them." Thranduil spat. But for his son, always, if necessary.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. As it were, Tauriel came here to save his love, Legolas the same, and Thranduil followed for reasons similar, defending a loved one. It was a heavy weight, the awareness, and guilt grabbed his chest, but then he blew out the air and shook his head disapprovingly. The stubborn bastard should've taken Feren at least. He stepped close, standing at attention at arm's length. "Let me help you to your healers. You need help," the younger elf stated.

Thranduil blinked up at his son, mind and heart tearing in so many pieces it left him dazed. Or was that the pain. He shouldn't be this affected by the blow of an orc. Main important thing that Legolas was there. His son was still there, he didn't leave. And the king would cling at every opportunity to keep it that way, for as long as possible, if it was only till the boy helped him down the mountain. Unlike in any other circumstance when he would've refused help out of pride and standing, Thranduil nodded minutely and reached out a hand to place on Legolas' shoulder.

"Alright?" The archer asked worriedly in response, searching the king's pale face and pain filled eyes. "Is this satisfactory?" He meant the support, "can you make it down?" The prince probed with a renewed interest in the wellbeing of his king.

The ruler scoffed at him and made the first step, using the support offered. It was Legolas however who guided him through the ruins with mild encouragement, steering him in the right direction of the maze of corridors and remnants when his father's steps faltered or hesitated. Though the trek was silent bar from quiet words from Legolas indicating direction, the walk was far from being without interaction, the kind they've not had for a long while. It wasn't that the prince had played close attention to his father, he had done that on many occasions other times in a routine manner, it was how the king let him react and support him in his needs as they manoeuvred their way to the part of the ruins that had crumbled enough for no walls to remain standing.

Half way, Legolas instinctually decided that putting his arm round the older elf's back was necessary and because of no objections it stayed there. Thranduil leaned on him, then towards him more and more, to the extent he practically ended up with his head on his son's shoulder. It unnerved Legolas, dread gripping his chest tight. So when they've reached the light provided by the pale winter sun and the part of the show that could still glow and was not stained by blood, he stopped by the wall and manhandled the older elf to lean on it, so that Legolas could look him in the face. "Ada." He started, some of his previous aloofness still evident, but concern seeping through. "Where are you injured? How bad is it?"

Thranduil grimaced, "I don't know myself," he admitted, "take the chest plate off," he suggested.

Legolas nodded and reached under his father's cloak to find the fasteners and buckles and took to remove the item expertly, as he had done on many occasions when he was younger and he was taken out on his first patrol outings in the forest, Thranduil not letting him out of his sight. In a different life perhaps, it seemed such a distant memory. The older elf couldn't supress a low groan enough however this time and his eyelids fluttered as Legolas handled his left side. It was immediately obvious to the prince why, there was a great huge bash-in at his flank, most likely caused by a falling boulder or the blow of an orc if it hit directly. He quickly pulled his arms round the ruler and let him lean onto his shoulder once more, a position that now looked more of a hug than anything else with them facing each other. The weight was heavy, so fearing that the king could not support himself he suggested, "I will lower you down," he let him know, "let's look at your injuries."

The fairer haired elf was reluctant to let go and extract himself from the hug. He knew that Legolas had not meant it that way, that it was only a by-product of the support, and he would not show such emotion himself by choice, but fact remained that embracing his son was all he wanted to do at this point in time, and that the needing physical support was a good decoy. He grunted in displeasure when his back side hit the hard, cold ground, having to admit to himself that perhaps he had underestimated the pain that engulfed his side. It was that side too, his bad, burnt side and although he needed no illusion to cover dragon induced wounds so much lower than his face, past damage to muscle and tissue made his current injury worse. He hasn't paid much attention to it earlier, but now that Legolas was lifting and parting his garments, even Thranduil had to admit that the sight did not look pretty. Several of his ribs were broken, he knew that much, but one of them was out of place and threatening to pierce his skin any moment from the inside out and a big dark contusion was forming under it.

"There's blood, filling up your belly," Legolas concluded at a loss. It explained why Thranduil was getting weaker but it wasn't something he could do much about, it wasn't like he could press a hand on the wound and slow it down. And he wasn't very good at the ability of healing, and certainly not good at it without athelas. "I'm going to get help," he decided, looking around desperately. Moving the older elf didn't sound like a great idea now, it might cause more harm than good.

"I am alright, ion-nin," Thranduil felt the need to assure him as he did not like seeing his son troubled, "it is unlikely to be a mortal injury, I've had a lot worse."

"Nevertheless, I'd like it to be seen to," Legolas was determined. "Don't move, I'm going to get your healers," he stood and turned without looking back to break into a run. He only went half a corner though before bumping into Tauriel's crying form as she uselessly kept kissing her fallen dwarf. It irked Legolas and pierced his heart as well, but he paused for a moment, contemplating if she would be of any use if he'd asked for help. Tauriel was more adept at healing than him and she was the closest to where it was needed. Then he discarded the idea, she didn't seem in her right mind to do anything. He would go for proper healers. "My father lays injured behind that wall because he came to protect me, all alone. I will come back with aid. Watch out for him." He gave a half-hearted plea as he took to the crumbling stairs. He wasn't sure if she had even heard her or knew he was there, or whether she would care.

Tbc