Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Mirkwood's Plague II:

Aftermath

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Chapter19 ~ Condolences

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Although he had only intended to take a short walk in the gardens, Legolas found himself wandering into his father's office. The last time he had been in there was during the plague when he had been researching possible cures for the disease. Not much had changed since then. Clearly, Thranduil had been in here at some point as his robe was draped over the back of his chair, indicating that the king had been sat at his desk for some time. Not much else had changed though. The same book that Legolas had been reading in this room remained on the desk, although someone had closed it. Reluctantly, after throwing the heavy drapes open to flood the room with light, Legolas sat down in the chair and opened the book up. He flipped through the familiar pages - his father's journal. He passed his fingers over the elegant Tengwar script. Closing his eyes, Legolas could picture his father sat at this desk by candlelight, filling in his journal – his nightly ritual before he retired to his rooms. His father always filled in these daily accounts of the kingdom, both from a personal and professional viewpoint. This particular diary was his personal one and all the more poignant to Legolas now.

He snapped the book shut again and opened his eyes. Pushing himself up, Legolas went to the large bookcase in which were lined up countless old diaries, kept safe over the years. Legolas opened the cabinet and ran his finger alone the spines until he reached one from 3000 years ago, when he and Rumil were just Elflings. He removed the dusty old leather-bound book, carried it back to the desk and sat down. He opened the book to the first entry that mentioned their names and then pulled Thranduil's robe from the back of the chair and wrapped it around himself, inhaling his father's scent. Once he had opened his eyes, Legolas looked down at the book.

As Legolas read what his father had written about his own birthday party and how he and Rumil had gone to the lake for a picnic, he smiled softly. His father wrote of how he had joined them and their mother in the afternoon and had played with them in the river until the sun had started setting and they could play no longer. Legolas remembered that day well. It had been one of the rare occasions that Thranduil had been able to spend some proper time with his two sons and wife. According to Thranduil this had been one of the best days spent with his children. He had fond memories of the birthday – in fact the last one he would celebrate with his mother. Suddenly he felt reassured by these writings – his father had actually existed. It was also terribly sad, he would never see his father again unless he himself went to Mandos' Halls, a thought he didn't dare dwell on. He couldn't allow himself to even consider it.

Rather angrily, Legolas slammed the book closed and pushed it aside, blinking tears from his eyes. He reached for the piece of parchment atop the large pile on his father's desk and looked it over - notes from the recent coronation. He looked it over and signed his name underneath as proof that he had read it and formed a new pile. Now with something to do, Legolas started working his way through the large heap of documents, throwing himself wholly into the work and even starting to write the letters of condolence, something he hadn't even considered before. After another hour, he found the words simply flowing through his pen. Words of hope and comfort poured from him. Although painful, the words came easily. He simply wrote what he thought he would like to hear at this time, the words that no one had spoken to him so far. He wished he could see every one of these people, speak to them personally about their loss, tell them how dreadfully sorry he was and how proud he was of them.

Legolas didn't realise how long he had been writing until the door creaked open. He looked up, pen poised in his hand, ink staining his fingers, to find Aragorn staring back at him. The man looked relieved.

"There you are. We've been looking everywhere for you." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Mellon nin, I thought Celeborn said that you were supposed to be resting."

Legolas turned back to his writing, having no patience for the man at that moment. "I don't need a lecture, Estel."

Thankfully, Aragorn didn't take this personally, knowing what was wrong. "Legolas, you're exhausted. You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"Aragorn, please go away."

The king sighed heavily. "Whatever you're doing can wait. Or leave it for Celeborn or myself to handle. That's what we're here for."

"I will not have you writing my letters of condolence," Legolas snapped angrily, not even looking up at the man.

Aragorn's face softened and he walked over to Legolas so he could look over his shoulder at what he was writing. The beautiful writing was spoilt only by the shaking of Legolas' hand. However, as much as Aragorn wanted his friend to rest he knew he couldn't interrupt this. He himself had had to write many such letters after the War of the Ring. He placed his hand on Legolas' shoulder but the Elf didn't even flinch, he was trying to concentrate. Giving his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, Aragorn stepped back.

"I'll leave you to it," he said softly, going to the door. Legolas merely nodded distractedly, not even glancing up. "Shout if there's anything I can do." Legolas nodded sharply so Aragorn stepped out the door, closing it carefully behind him.

He was met on the other side by Glorfindel. "Estel, have you…"

"Found him," Aragorn assured, nodding to the office door.

"Thank the Valar. He needs to come back to bed."

"I don't think he should be disturbed yet."

Glorfindel went to push past the man. "What are you talking about?" he snapped, angry at the suggestion.

"He's busy."

"Busy? He's working? He needs to be resting."

Again, the Elda tried to get past but Aragorn stopped him. "Glorfindel, he's writing letters of condolence. Please, just leave him to it for a while. Please. I know how hard they are to write."

"Precisely. He should not be subjected to that right now."

"He wants to do it. I think we should respect that for the time being. We can come back later if he doesn't emerge. Please, Glorfindel, let him do this one thing for his people."

Glorfindel sighed in defeat and stepped back. "Very well." Casting one last concerned look back to the door, Glorfindel followed Aragorn away, leaving Legolas to his difficult but very necessary task.

'Difficult' to Legolas seemed like an enormous understatement. As he came to writing to his old friends, the words seemed to stick in his mind and not flow so freely onto the page. Now scattered around him were screwed up sheets of paper, which had proved to sound wrong, the words not seemed right somehow. Slamming his hand down on the desk in frustration at the thirtieth letter, Legolas glanced despairingly out of the window. This was one of the many things he wished his father or childhood tutor had taught him. He supposed that such things could not be learnt anyway. Despite his mounting frustration though, he put the pen to paper once more and started scratching out the words.

Once he had finished with his friends' letters he started on the people he didn't know, drafting out general condolences. These seemed even worse than the others and he slammed his pen down, running his hands through his hair in despair. This wasn't working. Throwing his father's robe from his shoulders, Legolas shot out of his chair and strode purposefully over to the door. He flung it open, startling the servant waiting out in the hall in case he needed anything.

"Your Majesty," the servant muttered, bowing low.

Legolas ignored the formality though. "During the plague, I ordered lists to be made of the…dead. Were they completed?" he asked sharply.

"I…Yes, sir, I believe so."

"Bring them to me. Quickly."

The servant bowed again and ran off, startled at Legolas' sudden change in demeanour. This was not the kindly prince they all knew and loved, this was a new Thranduil – a truly terrifying prospect.

As soon as the servant placed the list before Legolas, the king knew how utterly impossibly hard this was going to be. There were literally hundreds of names, some he recognised, most he didn't. Beside each name were marks indicating both when they died and how old they were. Legolas' eyes filled with tears when he saw the children listed, a couple as young as two years old, mere babies in Elven terms. He ran his hands down his face. How could he possibly console parents who had lost their babies with mere words? How could he console anyone?

Still this was all he has so, swapping his pen from his cramped right hand to his fresh left, he started writing individual letters to the relatives of everyone on the list before him. Even when the light began to dim and the words before him started to blur, he kept writing, needing to do this for his people.

"Legolas?" Elrond's voice came from the door.

"Go away," Legolas snapped in a croaky voice without so much as an upward glance. "Go away," he repeated in a more desperate whisper.

"You've been doing that all day."

"I said go away," the Elf ground out.

Elrond walked up to him, stepping over the rejected sheets of paper that lay to one side of the desk on the floor. He glanced down at the now large pile of completed letters, covered in Legolas' neat writing and lit only by the single candle burning beside them. The blonde Elf was leaning over the desk, straining to see in the dim light, his hand gripping the pen so tightly that his fingers were white beneath the black ink stains. Elrond could just see his face, pale and strained, even in the soft glow of candlelight. Obviously, he was exhausted, there was no way he couldn't be. He seemed to be using every ounce of his determination to not look up at Elrond.

"Legolas, mellon nin." Legolas studiously ignored him though. "Legolas," the healer repeated, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Come on, you've been sat here all day. It's getting late."

Legolas shrugged him off. "Go away, Elrond. Please."

The healer wasn't going to relent though. Undeterred by Legolas' coldness, he put his hands on the king's scribbling one, stopping the movement completely. Surprisingly, Legolas allowed this as Elrond held onto his hand for a moment before he removed the pen and placed it down on the table. He them pulled Legolas up so he was sitting straight in his chair. Legolas closed his eyes briefly and a shiver rippled through him.

Elrond followed his gaze to the pile of paper on top of Thranduil's old journal. "You've done a lot today," he said softly. "Enough. Come and rest."

"I don't want to rest," Legolas protested firmly.

"Legolas, you're exhausted and you're still not well…"

Legolas picked up the list of the dead and thrust it into Elrond's hands. "How many of their families do you think are going to be resting easy tonight?" he yelled. "How many of them can go home to comfortable rooms and sleep well? The people they love – their parents and children – are dead and we are doing nothing."

Elrond waited calmly as Legolas said this then answered calmly, "We are not doing nothing. We're doing everything we can to help them. It's just going to take some time."

Legolas shot out of his chair and shouted, "Well, it's not good enough!"

"It's all we have right now."

"That's what I'm supposed to tell my people? 'Sorry you're all in such pain but it's all we have'?"

"Legolas…"

"'You've just crowned me king but do you mind if I go and lie down for a while then I'll get around to rebuilding your kingdom'?"

"People will understand…"

"They shouldn't have to. This is what we've come to. Hiding away in the palace, hoping all this will just go away."

"You are not hiding. What more can you do right now?" Elrond asked calmly, even though Legolas had been shouting.

"More than writing letters of condolence."

"Such as?"

"Damn it, Elrond, I don't know," Legolas yelled, swiping his hands over the desk and scattering letters all over the floor. This action seemed to startle him from his anger and he looked down in surprise. "I don't know," he whispered in defeat. Elrond stepped around the desk. "Damn," the blonde Elf muttered, bending down to pick up the fallen papers.

Elrond went down with him and stopped Legolas' frantically tidying hands, taking the papers from him. Legolas slumped, sitting down properly on the floor, his breathing hitching. "It's alright," Elrond reassured.

"I'm sorry," Legolas whispered, passing a shaking hand over his eyes.

Elrond pulled him into a hug. "It's alright."

Legolas leant up against him and let the elder Elf hold onto him for the time being.

"Come on, let's get you back to your rooms."

Legolas shook his head. "I should finish these."

"You've done enough for today. There's no point in tiring yourself out."

"I'm not tired."

Elrond smiled sadly. "Legolas, you can hardly sit upright."

The king straightened and rubbed his eyes. "I won't be able to sleep."

"You could try. At least you'd be laid down." Legolas smiled weakly up at him. "I could try and find you a sedative. It'll put you to sleep for a few hours – a proper healing sleep."

Legolas smiled softly. "Thank you, Elrond but I know that healing supplies, especially sedatives, are in short supply. I'll be alright."

"Don't be silly. Look at you, you're barely functioning and that's not going to change unless you get some proper rest. We can spare a little sedative for the king." Legolas looked away but nodded, knowing Elrond was correct. How could he help people in the state he was in now? The healer stood and pulled Legolas up carefully. "Alright, let's go and sort you out," he said as he walked Legolas slowly through the corridors.

They paused briefly at the healing halls and Elrond snatched up a vial of the medicine, one of only a handful left on the shelf. He then led Legolas back to his rooms, nodding to Glorfindel and Aragorn in the lounge.

"Perhaps it would best if we all left Legolas alone to rest tonight," Elrond said to them softly as the king got undressed in the next room.

"But…" Glorfindel went to protest.

"Elrond's right. Let him sleep in peace," Aragorn backed his father up.

"He'll be knocked out anyway," Elrond reassured them. Glorfindel finally nodded and followed Aragorn from the room. Elrond went back into the bedroom to find Legolas sitting on the bed, waiting. "Just drink this down. It should work fairly quickly." Legolas swallowed the medicine down almost eagerly. "That's it. Now, climb into bed." The younger Elf did so and Elrond pulled the sheets up over him. "Go to sleep now," he whispered even as Legolas' eyes grew heavy.

"Thank you, Elrond," Legolas managed to say before drifting off into a drug-induced sleep.

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