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His eyes weren't yet dull, so maybe it wasn't too late. There was hope. Pink coloured blood stained his mouth, but his lip was busted so maybe it wasn't as it looked. There was a chance. But even as Thranduil reached his son and took him in his arms he knew. It looked just like…
"Legolas? Can you hear me?"
The young Elf coughed and nodded.
"Adar?"
"Don't speak. Lie still."
There was no magic that the Elvenking knew that could save him in time and no mortal medicine that could do anything now. He would lose his son. The statement held some comfort; it ended vain hope. All he could do was make his son comfortable. He held him close like he had years ago.
"Lay down," His voice broke with the lines of the old lullaby, "Your sweet and weary head. Night is falling…" He ran his hands through the matted blonde hair and smoothed it out as he sang. Against his chest Legolas was breathing less frequently and more shallowly. He wanted to close his eyes and look away, but he also wanted to remember every detail of the face before him, suddenly so peaceful. The song was ending and he could think of no more. His child had loved to sing, and sang so much.
"Gi melin, Leggy. Wait for me. Meet my father."
And there was no more breath. A faint wind passed as he felt the spirit of his son leave his body. In a whisper so soft that the stones on the ground couldn't hear him, he made one last entreaty, "Keep him now, hiril vuin. He's yours now. I did what I could. Forgive me."
AN: Translations courtesy of
Jeepers. Not my best, but emotional enough. "Into the West" just hurts, so have some hurt to go with it.