We Can Make It If We Run

Chapter One: Restless Nights

Apologies if this is a little late for anyone- it's still Saturday for me, but for anyone in mainland Europe, it might already be Sunday. We had relatives around and so I couldn't just shut myself in a room and go on my laptop...

This is the first official chapter, and is the first thing I wrote of the sequel. This one is very much focused on Legolas and Thranduil, and is just one chapter- little bit of angst, and then some fluff, with plenty of father and son moments. It is set about a week after the introduction as well- the stories going up will be in chronological order, every time, but I won't be documenting every single moment, so there will be time jumps where a few weeks pass, etc, in between stories.

The next story after this is much longer, and will cover a number of chapters, and for a while it will pretty much only be Rhavaniel and Belhadron- the story is about the two of them going back to their family homes, and Rhavaniel's recovery from her injuries. That one gets rather angsty at one point, because Rhavaniel and Belhadron have a massive argument, but for that, you will have to wait and see what happens...

Also, headcanon time: Thranduil's nickname for Legolas is Greenleaf- he used it in In a Field of Blood and Stone at a few moments, and will only really use it when Legolas is upset or angry, as in this story. I decided upon this because it's cute. That's it, there's no other relevance for it, it's just cute to me.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, reviews are very welcome.

0-o-0-o-0

Legolas all but fell into his bed. He'd carefully set his long knives and bow next to his bed with his quiver, all within reach, but didn't do much else other than toe off his boots and shrug off his thicker hunting tunic before letting himself fall onto the covers.

It had been a long week.

After maybe two weeks of travelling, they'd finally arrived home. Arrived home, to see countless faces watching and waiting for the news they'd all expected someone else to receive. The soldiers bore it well, both those who had marched to Erebor, and those who had remained to guard the realm. The others left behind, those unaccustomed to grief beyond the facts of it, beyond knowing it existed, did not fare so well when the news was bad.

Nothing had happened whilst they had been gone. In idle moments when his mind strayed too far from the countless tasks in front of them, Legolas found himself bitterly thinking that perhaps something should have happened here. Something to equate everything they'd gone through outside Erebor with what they'd returned to. It would make everything here seem a bit more familiar, in a way.

That had all been days ago. Since then they'd been busy, not even wanting to stop, for fear they wouldn't recognise everything around them. There was so much to do, and in the week since they'd returned Legolas and the other captains, those remaining and the newly promoted to try and fill the gaps of Thenidon and Carandor, had only made a start at rebuilding their army.

Legolas sighed, shifting to try and get more comfortable. Even with everything, he was hopeful. They'd come back from this. He didn't think they knew how to do anything else.

Slowly, the weight lifting from his shoulders, he fell asleep.

0-o-0-o-0

He woke up screaming.

The sound caught in his throat and he choked, the slick feeling of blood still underneath his hands, the iron tang of it still on his tongue. Legolas shot upright, kicking away the tangle of the covers as he rolled and, in one fluid movement, reached over and grabbed one of his knives.

It was innate instinct that had carried him this far and for a moment he stood in a defensive position, knife gripped in his hand. The remnants of the dreams chased themselves around inside his mind and it took a few seconds for Legolas' training, so ingrained by now that he called it instinct, to fade.

When it did, Legolas set the knife carefully down on the bedside table before he let himself collapse back onto the bed. He heaved in a breath, his hands beginning to shake as he dropped his head into them.

Legolas sucked in another breath, trying to will his breathing to slow. He could hear was the rasping sound of his gasps, the beat of his heart in his ears, over and over again, faster and faster, until the sounds overcame anything else, until it was all that he could hear.

He couldn't help thinking that it was better than hearing the screams he'd dreamt.

"Elbereth," Legolas murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. That turned out to be a bad idea. In the darkness all that he saw was the images that were chasing him still, the dead bodies littered across the valley floor, the blood and everything else that came with death.

He could still see Belhadron, sprawled on the ground with blood flowing steadily across the rocks from a head wound. He wouldn't get up. He wouldn't move. Legolas felt the dread gripping at him, clawing its way up his throat, and it was all the worse because he could remember it all from only weeks ago.

His next breath keened out through his throat and Legolas fought to stop himself doubling over. He knew better than this. He could do better than this.

He didn't know how long he sat there, hands shaking as they carded through his hair, tugging on the gold strands running through his fingers. He cursed in a shaky voice, waiting until the rush of blood in his ears began to quieten, until the potency of everything he'd just seen began to finally fade.

With a deep sigh, Legolas fell back on his bed. He was safe. Belhadron was alive and safe, probably deeply asleep in his room a few halls away. Rhavaniel was alive and safe, even if her arm was so mangled that they weren't sure if it would ever heal properly. They were all safe, for now.

He lay there, repeating the words again and again in his mind, hoping that he would believe it if he thought it enough.

0-o-0-o-0

Thranduil paused in the hallway. The torch in the bracket was burning steadily, but was low. It was late in the night, probably actually early morning. The hallway was empty, as it should be. This was the private quarters of the royal family, and nobody entered without express permission, barring a few trusted elves like Thranduil's advisors and captains like Belhadron.

Thranduil waited for a few moments, listening, and then sighed softly. He shut his door behind him with an almost inaudible click and then walked across the hall to Legolas' room, trying to be as quiet as he could. He paused again outside the door.

On the other side, he could hear harsh breathing, and then a low keening noise. His chest tightened, and he nearly threw open the door there and then. The only thing that kept him back was the quiet uncertainty in his mind as to whether Legolas would want him to burst into his room.

Over the past few weeks Thranduil had had some harsh reminders of just how much his son meant to him, how much he would give to keep him and the realm safe. And he knew better than almost anyone here how easily things could linger. But Legolas was a seasoned warrior, a captain and commander and a lot more than just his son.

He didn't know what to do. And he hated it.

Thranduil clenched his jaw, and his hand lingered by the doorknob for what may have been seconds, or what may have been minutes. He didn't pay attention. He was far too busy remembering the past few weeks to pay attention to the time. And with that came all the dread and worry and even fear that he'd been far too busy to let manifest into anything until they'd returned home and he'd stopped, if only for a night.

A thought came unbidden to him, and his hand dropped to his side. He turned on one heel and quietly went back to his room.

0-o-0-o-0

Legolas didn't bother looking up as his door was pushed open. He had gone from lying on his bed to sitting on the end, head buried in his hands, when he'd felt too exposed and like he couldn't get on his feet as quickly. "I'm fine," he murmured through his hands, which still shook no matter what he did.

Thranduil watched him from the entrance to the room. "You are allowed not to be," he replied. Legolas still didn't look up, and Thranduil sighed. He stepped into the room. "Greenleaf," he said tenderly, reaching out and pulling Legolas' long hair out of his face.

Legolas huffed a humourless laugh, and Thranduil smiled, even though the sound made something in his chest twist once more. He carded his fingers through Legolas' hair and Legolas leant a little into the touch, much like he had done as a child. Thranduil could remember long days spent outside, a book in his hand and his young child asleep in his lap as he ran his hand through his soft hair. But the image was overshadowed by that of his son, exhausted and almost driven beyond the edge of endurance, asleep under cloaks in a tent outside Erebor, hair knotted with mud and blood as Thranduil ran his fingers through it. He felt once again the pang of worry and dread that he'd gotten very good at suppressing, when it came to his son being hurt.

Thranduil didn't say anything else, didn't do anything other than slowly run his fingers through Legolas' hair and watch his son's hands tremble in his lap. After a few minutes he sighed.

Legolas looked up, and for the first time noticed the long rolled package that Thranduil had under one arm. Thranduil took his hand back and pulled off the cover to reveal two sheathed swords. The handles were ornate, dark ash inlaid with steel, and the scabbards were made well, if worn. There was a band of green leather around the base of each hilt. They denoted the blades as sparring swords, blunted and useless in a real fight.

Thranduil held one out, wordlessly. The corners of Legolas' mouth curled in the beginnings of a smile. Grabbing his discarded boots, he pulled them on and got to his feet. He reached out and took the sword.

0-o-0-o-0

Belhadron found himself unable to sleep once again, and was wandering aimlessly around the stronghold. He contemplated going to Legolas' rooms, but Legolas needed sleep as much as anyone else, and he didn't want to disturb him.

He'd already spent the first few nights back in the stronghold sleeping on the divan in Legolas' room. After spending weeks staying in a camp of thousands of elves all around them it was a little jarring to be left alone in a room, and though they knew that they were now safe, it could be difficult to remember in the middle of the night. But he hadn't even slept well then, actually falling off the divan on the third night, after a particularly bad nightmare where Legolas had fallen down from Ravenhill and he hadn't been able to get to him in time, no matter how fast he'd run. In the morning they'd both been tired and snappish, and Belhadron had gone back to his own room after that.

He'd spent tonight with Rhavaniel until she had finally fallen asleep, the lines of pain smoothing out on her face. She was healing, but ever so slowly, and Belhadron could tell that she was worried. Her arm was a cobweb of stitches and slowly healing gashes, and pretty much everything that could be damaged was damaged. Tendons, muscles, even the nerves, they had all been marred by the blade breaking through her arm and the poison that followed it.

Belhadron groaned, and resisted the urge to hit his head against the nearest wall in an effort to quieten his thoughts. The stronghold was quiet, though there were a few others with the same idea as him. They nodded at each other as they passed, recognising the restlessness that was impossible to shake.

He neared the indoor training halls, which were often standing empty unless the weather was bad. He knew the rooms well, had spent a fair amount of time in them training over the centuries, and the door to the sparring room was ajar. He quietly walked over and looked inside.

The room was large, with sparring circles etched across the floor. There were banners hanging on the wall, weapons lying organised around the room. On one wall was a large blackboard that they used for some training sessions, and piled beneath it were cloth mats. Belhadron had many memories of being thrown onto the mats, on one memorable occasion by Rhavaniel, who had completely decimated him when they sparred.

For now, the mats were neatly stacked to one side. Two elves were in the middle of the room, and Belhadron watched as Legolas, tunic slipping haphazardly off one shoulder and clinging to his back with sweat, lunged at Thranduil. Thranduil parried the blow and then they were moving across the room, the ringing of steel filling it.

Legolas was on the attack, and Belhadron knew that Thranduil was letting him continue the bout for as long as he wanted to. After all, he'd seen his King fight, and Legolas was not a swordsman. Thranduil could easily end the bout if he wanted to. But then that was hardly the point of this midnight session.

Finally Legolas dropped his blade, the point resting on the floor. He doubled over, breathing heavily. Thranduil wiped his forehead with the hem of his tunic. "You need to watch your left side," he said. "You leave yourself unguarded at times. And keep your wrist strong."

Legolas straightened with a huff. "I get thrown by the weight," he replied. " Swords are a lot heavier than knives. I'll get used to it."

"You'd better do that quickly," Thranduil said. "Again." He tapped Legolas' left side with his blade and then stepped back a few paces, swinging his sword in his hand. Legolas straightened and stretched out his arms. Without warning he suddenly lunged at Thranduil, sword twisting in his hand so the edge was aiming straight for Thranduil's chest. Thranduil stepped back and parried, twisting the blade away. Legolas spun on his heel, and this time he went to the left, protecting his left side. Thranduil nodded in approval.

"Wrist," he reminded him as he parried another blow and pushed Legolas' blade away. Legolas let it slip and then twisted his arm, trying to keep his wrist straight as his blade came around in a wide arc. Thranduil jumped back and rebalanced himself. He watched Legolas for a moment, assessing, and then pressed forwards, going on the attack with powerful strikes. Legolas scrambled to get into a defensive position, but after a few tense seconds began to hold his own, parrying against the blows and letting them slip around him rather than blocking them with his own strength, which was comparatively little against the King's. Thranduil had always been a swordsman, and a very good one at that.

"Left side," Thranduil said as he delivered another blow, and Legolas moved accordingly. Belhadron watched as they fought back and forth across the room, until even Thranduil was breathing hard. They came to a stop and Legolas pulled at his tunic, tugging at the neckline that stuck to his skin until he got fed up and just pulled it over his head. Thranduil pressed his lips together, looking at the smattered yellowing bruises across Legolas' side.

"Is that still a problem?" he asked, the point of his sword hovering just above the bruised skin as he pointed at it. Legolas shook his head.

"No more than the face," he replied, gesturing at the healing scrapes down one cheek. The bruises were starker there, the scrapes red even against flushed cheeks as they healed. Thranduil reached forwards and gently grabbed Legolas' chin, tilting his head to one side as he looked at the scrapes. His lips were pressed in a thin line now, and after a few seconds Legolas pulled free of his grasp.

"There's nothing I can do about either," he said. "They'll heal soon enough."

From the shadows of the doorway, Belhadron raised a hand to his own gash across his temple. That too was healing well enough, though it itched every time he thought about it. The skin was red and raised, the scabs finally fading into new flesh, but he wasn't particularly bothered by it. A lot of soldiers had injuries a lot worse, ones that would scar. Rhavaniel's arm was going to be a network of scars, once it healed. If it healed.

Thranduil nodded shortly. "Again," he said, and he barely gave Legolas time to get into a position before he attacked, driving forwards with his blade. Legolas spun and parried, his hair swinging around his shoulders. He took a few steps back and pushed it out of his face before he thrust forwards, blade scraping against Thranduil's with a screech of steel.

Belhadron watched as the bout continued for a few minutes, Thranduil occasionally calling something out to Legolas as he parried another blow and then aimed for the weakness he'd identified. By the end of it Legolas was panting through bared teeth as he lunged at Thranduil, trying to slip beneath his guard. Thranduil ducked back and caught his sword, and then in some movement too fast for Belhadron to follow, he disarmed Legolas. The sparring sword clattered across the floor, and Thranduil rested the point of his blade at the base of Legolas' throat.

Both were breathing hard, chests heaving. Legolas paused, looking down at the sword, and Belhadron could tell what he was going to do before he actually did it, in the sharp glance to the discarded sword and the curve of his lips in the beginnings of a grin. It was barely visible, but it was there. Legolas, without any warning, darted sideways and grabbed Thranduil's wrist, twisting the sword away from him and Thranduil off balance as he rolled and picked up his own sword in one fluid movement. He turned, and attacked Thranduil once more.

Belhadron watched for another few minutes as this bout progressed, but he had seen enough. He turned with the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips, the sound of steel clashing together fading as he walked away.

0-o-0-o-0

Almost all of Legolas' muscles were aching. He put his sword down, resting his hands on his knees and taking in gulps of air. His sweaty palms skidded over the soft leggings he was wearing and he nearly fell forwards, letting out a yelp of surprise.

Thranduil, snorting softly in amusement, picked up the sword. He sheathed both of them. "I think that's enough," he said quietly. His own tunic was sticking to him, and he too was breathing heavily. Legolas looked up, and nodded. They slipped out of the door, the room falling quiet as they left.

Thranduil didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. Already Legolas was walking loosely, the tension fading from his shoulders as they made their way back to the royal quarters. The halls were still quiet, and nobody moved in the passages that they took.

Legolas paused outside his door and looked over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Thranduil smiled softly. He reached out and gently carded his fingers through Legolas' hair, pushing it away from his face. "You're welcome," he murmured. "Sleep well, Greenleaf." Legolas nodded, and then stepped back and went inside his room.

The fire was still burning in the grate and the room was warm, if not hot. Legolas splashed his face with water, but tiredness was now seeping into his bones, and his bed seemed more tempting by the second. He all but fell onto it again, haphazardly pulling the covers over himself. With a sigh, he drifted off to sleep.

He woke to pale morning light streaming through from the balcony, and Belhadron sitting on the end of the bed with an amused expression as he watched Legolas wake, turning the sparring sword that Legolas had left there over in his hands. He arched a brow as Legolas sat up, looking amused. Legolas huffed a laugh, and threw a pillow at him.

"I take it you didn't sleep too well, then," Belhadron said as they headed down the halls together. Legolas considered it for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Actually, it wasn't too bad," he replied. He slung an arm around Belhadron's shoulders, and for the morning at least, the weight on them lifted, if only a little. "Come on," he said, tugging Belhadron forwards. "We have work to do."

finis

Next chapter will be up next Saturday, and that will be the first chapter of this longer story about Belhadron and Rhavaniel. After that one, Legolas is back, along with Elladan and Elrohir (that story is being written as we speak, and is looking to be another one that will be multiple chapters long). Hope you enjoyed this, and as always, reviews are very welcome. I'll see you all next Saturday!