Winter

Summary: A collection of h/c one shots centering around Legolas. In this chapter, the coldest winter the elves have ever seen grips the forest. Separated from his companions and far from home, Legolas finds himself in a fight for survival until help arrives.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien, I just like to play in his world.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! My favorite emails are the ones from saying there's a new review! I know I'm not completely caught up on responding to reviews, but I promise to catch up. I figured a new chapter would be better than a response this afternoon... Back to a more serious chapter this week, enjoy!


Stay awake, Legolas

The young elf was huddled at the base of the tree, trying and failing to stay out of the biting wind. His frozen hands moved to pull his cloak around him before his muddled mind remembered that he had lost the cloak. The elf shuddered and wrapped his arms more tightly about his torso.

Do not sleep.

His king's commanding voice resounded in his head.

Please…

His father's voice was imploring.

Legolas knew he was imagining the voice, was all too aware that he was alone here. But it was Thranduil's voice that came to him in this time of need.

Dawn had to be close, it had to be. Night lasted mere hours, and that was nothing for an elf. Anything was tolerable for a few short hours. At least, that was what he told himself. Then the sun would rise and, although it would still be bitterly cold, it would be better than this.

Others would be searching for him. Surely, it wouldn't be long until they found him. They would have horses and the return journey to the stronghold would be swift. Then there would be blankets and fires and hot tea and warmth.

Thinking of such longed-for things only made the cold more pronounced now though, and he found himself shivering once more.

That's good, the voice in his head urged gently, shivering is good.

But Legolas knew he was not shivering as frequently anymore, and that his body's lack of effort to warm itself should be a worrying sign. A sign that some possibly irreversible line was about to be crossed.


This winter had been long and hard, easily the coldest he had ever seen. Legolas had even overheard some of the older elves in the realm grumbling that they had never before felt cold like this.

With dwindling supplies and no sign of the cold letting up throughout the kingdom, elves who lived outside the stronghold had retreated to the safety of its walls, where fires could be banked and all could stay warm together. The early onset of winter meant their crops had not fared as well as had been expected in the fall. Game was scarce in the bitter cold and biting winds. The king was better able to manage supplies and provide for all when they gathered and worked together. None had complained, but instead packed their belongings willingly, knowing they would return once the season turned.

Legolas had been helping to escort one of the last settlements relocate to the stronghold when this terrible misadventure had begun. They had traveled all day and then camped through the dark and frigid night before continuing their journey.

They had stopped in a clearing near a river around midday to build up fires, eat a hot meal, and regain some warmth before continuing. The only reason the river wasn't frozen over was because it was too swift for the water to freeze. At the time, they had seen it as a blessing, for it provided the means for them to refill near-empty waterskins.

The day was clear and the sun bright, but it did little to warm the frozen air. The elves huddled about the fires, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands together. Although usually not affected by the cold, this year had challenged even the resilient bodies of elves. A night without reprieve from the cold had helped none and all were suffering.

A child had been playing near the river, almost unnoticed in the bustle of the midday campsite. Legolas had seen her and her antics brought a smile to his face. The child was joyfully tossing snow about as much as she could in her warm winter clothes. After so many grim council meetings and escorting so many away from their homes, he delighted in watching one so unaffected by the somber circumstances as he worked to skin a rabbit.

But, as was the way of so many children, she was not paying attention. She was drifting closer and closer to the dangerous banks of the river without noticing it. And although the river itself was not frozen, its upper banks were. It was a steep embankment with icy and snow-covered rocks that even fully grown elves had needed to use caution to navigate when seeking water.

Looking up from what he was doing, Legolas saw how much closer she was to peril. He had shouted at her to move away from the river, but she could not hear him over the gush of the water. And she was getting closer, closer…

He did not know where her parents were—perhaps minding other children, perhaps preparing a meal for this little one. But it did not matter now.

Legolas was on his feet and running toward her, he was so close. He reached out his hand…

But he was too late to keep her from falling. Her foot caught a rock and the small leather boots around her small feet flew into the air and sent her tumbling.

He grabbed her small body and with the last of his balance threw her to safe ground away from the icy waters.

The last thing he saw clearly before the shock of the cold water robbed him of his senses was the child, rolling to her knees and other elves running toward them.

Then he hit the water. The swift current pulled his body under the water and downstream.

He thought this winter had taught him what it meant to be cold, but it hadn't. He hadn't truly appreciated what it meant to be cold until now. The icy water robbed him of breath and of sense. He caught himself just in time to keep from gasping in frigid water as his lungs were robbed of air.

Buffeted by the current and bruised by rocks and other obstacles in the water, he didn't even know which way was up.

He wanted to swim to safety, but he didn't know where the shore was.

Never before had he felt so out of control. It took all of his willpower not to give in to panic.

By luck, his head broke the water and he was allowed a single choking gasp of air before he was pulled under again.

Somewhat more oriented, he tried to surface again, forcing his body to relax in an effort to float, but with no success. He was dragged down. He felt heavy and he couldn't get his head above the water again. Black spots danced in his vision as he fought to hold his breath. It was his cloak, he realized dimly. The heavy winter cloak that offered some protection from the cold winter weighed him down. Rigid and uncooperative fingers moved to undo the clasp. He could no longer control their movements, but he jerked at the clasp and through sheer force the cloak came free and he made it to the surface again, gasping in icy air.

It felt like it lasted hours, but time had little meaning at the moment. Trees on either side of the river seemed to rush by him and he felt a prickle of fear at the thought of just how far from home and help the river was carrying him.

It took him by surprise when his back slammed into an unyielding surface and he was finally still.

Water rushed into his face and he gasped and coughed, fighting to lift his chin enough to get a breath.

He couldn't feel his hands or his feet, but he managed to find enough sense to turn himself around. Rough bark scraped against his cheek and he realized that he was caught on a tree that had fallen into and across the river. It seemed to take a long time to process this information, and longer still to react to it. Eventually, Legolas realized that the tree's roots were still holding the tree in place, and that he could follow the tree to shore. He marshaled uncooperative limbs into motion. Grasping smaller branches with his forearms when his frozen hands wouldn't respond to him, he dragged himself inch by agonizing inch toward shore.

He saw, but did not feel the small cuts the tree's rough surface scratched and carved into his skin. But he did not care. If he was to survive this, he needed to get out of the water. A few scratches were the least of his worries.

After another eternity, he was at the tree's roots. His hands still refused to cooperate, but he was able to drag himself from the water by wedging his limbs into the gaps between the roots, painstakingly climbing them like a ladder.

With a final effort, he heaved himself upward and was free of the water. Gasping for breath, coughing and gagging on swallowed water, he collapsed in a miserable heap at the bank of the river.

When he could breathe well enough to think again, he started to take in his situation. The river had carried him far from his friends and home, he no longer had his cloak, he had no supplies.

And he was cold. So terribly, bitterly cold. It had set into his bones and he felt like there was no warmth left in him, no spark that he could nurture and grow until there was some measure of comfort.

He tried to be positive. His fellows would know where to look for him, all they had to do was follow the river. Though, it would take a long time. They did not have horses with them and would have to travel on foot. They were much closer to home than they were to him. Most likely, they would send someone ahead to the palace and then return with horses. But still, there was rough terrain to contend with, and he was on his own for a while.

He just had to hang on. He just had to last a little while and then help would come.


That had been hours ago now, and still no one had come.

He had given himself some time to recover, and then had slowly begun stumbling toward home, following the river upstream. His joints ached with cold and he fell frequently adding to his collection of scratches and cuts.

Near sunset, he could go no further and he slumped at the base of this tree, its thick trunk helping to protect him from the wind if not the cold. He had drifted and probably either slept or lost consciousness, based on the position of the moon in the sky now.

He had awoken to his father's voice in his mind, urging him not to sleep. But it was difficult because he was so, so, tired.

He knew that he should stand up and move, get a little closer to rescue and to home, force some heat back into his body through exertion. He was finding it difficult to care.

Legolas, his father's voice growled, Get up. You will not be felled by an accidental swim.

He forced himself to his feet and he staggered onward again. He found himself lurching his now uncoordinated body from tree to tree.

That's it, there was pride in the voice now, do not give up.

He was so focused on staying on his feet that he didn't notice the blush that was creeping over the eastern horizon until the first rays of sunlight hit his face. The sun did little to warm him, but it did give him hope.

He bowed his head and took a few deep breaths before continuing his slow trek.

He heard his name and stubbornly pressed on. I know, Ada, I know, don't stop, he thought to himself.

But then he heard his name again, and this time the voice didn't belong to his father.

He looked up sharply. "Here," he tried to yell, but it came out hoarse and quiet. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Here!" His voice was stronger that time.

Abandoning the trees, he tried to run, but only made it a few steps before he fell and couldn't catch himself. He lay on the frozen ground, he had no strength to rise again.

"Legolas!"

"Legolas!"

Those calling for him were louder now, closer. Here, he thought, I am here. He felt the icy snow beneath his cheek. He looked at his hand, just a few inches from his face, and waited.

"Legolas, oh thank the Valar." Hands were on him now, gentle and imploring, then more insistent, slapping at his cheek, "Legolas, open your eyes."

He only realized he had closed them when he opened them again and saw Galathil's worried face hovering in front of him. Galathil was one of his best friends and his lieutenant. Legolas sighed in relief, he could relax now.

"Are you hurt or just cold?" Galathil asked.

Legolas felt his eyes slipping closed again.

"Legolas!"

His eyes snapped open.

Galathil was closer now, "Are you hurt?"

"No," he choked out, "Cold."

Galathil's brow crinkled in concern, "I know." He put a cloak over Legolas and gently turned him onto his back, wrapping the cloak around the ailing elf as he did.

Legolas felt himself drift, but did his best to keep his eyes open. He heard voices around him, but could not rouse himself enough to understand them. He woke more when he was hoisted up and onto a horse.

He started when he felt himself slipping sideways, but a strong arm gripped him firmly and held him more or less upright, "I've got you," he felt another cloak wrap around his shoulders.

He leaned into the warmth from Galathil.

"We should—," he paused to gather his thoughts, "We should make a fire."

"No, we're taking you back to the stronghold as fast as we can. We need to get you warm and we can't do that out here, even with a fire," Galathil said, "We'll ride fast, we'll be back soon, just hang on."

They were moving quickly, the horse moving as swiftly as it could through the snow.

Legolas let his head rest against his friend's shoulder, "Took you—took you long enough."

The grip at his waist tightened, "I am sorry about that. We came as quickly as we could, but the horses can only travel so fast in these conditions."

"You are…here now."

"How did you get out of the river?" Galathil asked, and Legolas could hear the fear in his voice, the worry that he would find only a corpse, or worse, find nothing at all, any evidence of what had happened to Legolas swept away by the waters.

"Tree," Legolas muttered. He knew it was an inadequate explanation, but his strength was waning.

"Hang on, Legolas," Galathil repeated, "Keep talking to me. What tree?"

"Its roots," he started, but the stopped. Not able to find the words to explain.

"Legolas?" Galathil's voice, "Legolas, please!"

Stay awake! His father's voice again.

Both voices were equally real to him, but he could not heed them.


Movement again, hands jostling him.

"Legolas," his father's voice.

Legolas sighed in his head, not wanting to listen to further entreaties that he could not obey.

He was gathered into someone's arms, "You are frozen through," his father said.

Legolas frowned. Real! He thought, his father's voice was real this time. "You're here this time," he murmured as he relaxed into his father's sure grip. Had his eyes been open, he would have seen his father's confused expression.

He felt himself lowered to a bed and hands were pulling off clothes that, while stiff, had thawed some in Galathil's arms on the way back.

"Bank up that fire!" A voice nearby demanded.

"Is the bath ready? Remember, not hot, only warm at first." Another voice.

It was too much for Legolas to try to follow.

Legolas opened his eyes, staring up at the all too familiar ceiling—the healing wards. Rarely had this been such a welcome sight.

Warmed blankets were piled atop him. His head was tipped upward and warm tea placed at his lips.

A warm hand gripped his and he looked to see his father's worried face gazing down at him.

Slowly his body began to warm, and he discovered that thawing was nearly as painful as freezing. His muscles tingled and cramped painfully. His already stiff joints seized. He fought to stay silent, to keep his the groan that continually threatened to escape his throat contained.

He was being manhandled again. It hurt so much more this time and the previously-contained groan escaped.

Slowly, he was lowered into the aforementioned bath and his eyes flew open with a gasp.

Not hot, he had specifically heard someone say the water shouldn't be hot. But it was scalding, it was boiling.

Freezing before and boiling now and it was too much. This water was no better than the river and he wanted out. He tried to fight, to move his limbs, but he couldn't slip free of whoever was holding him.

"Legolas, be still." His father was holding him, then.

"Hot," the word slipped from his lips, "too hot."

"It isn't, Legolas, I swear it. It only feels that way because you are so cold."

He stilled. Biting his lips and bearing it. He didn't agree with his father's assessment, but he trusted him.

Time passed and Legolas drifted, trembling in the water. Eventually, the healers must have realized that he'd had enough, that he couldn't bear it anymore. Or maybe some predetermined amount of time had passed and they were satisfied with the results. He didn't care, he was only glad that it was over.

Warm towels were wrapped around him.

"Don't rub," he heard someone say, "It could damage his skin."

"Legolas?" His father's worried voice was close to his ear.

He opened his eyes again and looked to his father, "I'm glad you're here," he murmured.

Thranduil grasped his son's hand and Legolas felt the strong pull of sleep.

"Is it safe for him to sleep?" He heard his father ask.

Say yes, he thought, please say yes.

"It will not cause him danger, my king. The rest will do him good."

A warm hand covered his forehead, and it was a lifeline as he drifted away.


When he woke, he ached terribly. The feeling of pins and needs throughout his body had not abated. He shifted in an effort to get comfortable, stifling a gasp as the prickling feeling throughout his body increased.

"My prince, are you awake?"

With far more effort than it should have taken, Legolas opened his eyes, an anxious looking healer was watching over him. "Aye," Legolas murmured, "I am awake, though I am still exhausted. How long have I been back?"

The healer smiled at his efforts, "Only a few hours. The cold causes fatigue, rest for even a day and you'll feel much better. And stay out of the cold, of course. You'll be more susceptible to cold for a while." The healer stood, "Stay awake for a bit longer. I'll fetch you some stew, something warm to eat will go a long way toward helping you recover."

As the healer was getting the meal, Legolas pressed himself upwards, taking stock of his body. Everything ached, but he had miraculously avoided serious injury in the river. He could tell the various bruises and cuts he'd gotten on that wild ride had been treated, and he felt better for it.

The healer returned as Legolas was settling himself against the pillows again, bearing a bowl half filled with a delicious smelling stew. Taking the offered bowl and spoon, Legolas tentatively took a sip. The flavor was bold and rich and the warmth of it spread through him pleasantly. "Thank you, it is delicious."

Satisfied, the healer nodded, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Legolas admitted, "my whole body aches, but much better than before."

"That is well. You were lucky, my lord, you avoided any serious frostbite, and though the bruising was extensive, you didn't take any serious injuries."

"The king, he was here when I arrived?" Legolas asked. He was fairly certain his father had been there, but he had been confused and barely awake at the time and could not be sure.

"He was, he sat with you for a while, but had to return to his duties. I'll send a runner to inform him you were awake and much recovered."

"Thank you." He knew his father worried, especially when he could not be with him. "The other elves, from the settlement, do you know if they made it back safely?"

"They did, I don't know the details and expect someone will update you later, but I know they arrived and none are here in our halls."

"Good."

Legolas continued to eat, the bowl was nearly empty and he found himself nodding off again. The healer reached out to take the bowl from his slackening fingers and set it aside. "Rest, my lord."

"When will I be allowed to return to my rooms?" Legolas asked drowsily.

"Soon," the healer replied, "Probably tomorrow once you've regained a bit more strength."

Legolas' eyes were already closed as he nodded in satisfaction before drifting off.


True to the healer's word, Legolas did feel much better the next day. Though he still ached, it was more from the bruises than the lingering cold, and he felt much more alert. They kept him until late in the evening, knowing him well enough to realize that if they let him go before that, he would have gone to work rather than resting. With strict instructions to take it easy and stay out of the cold, which in this weather was a welcome order to remain indoors, Legolas was released back to his own rooms and light duties.

Still dressed far warmer than any of the elves he met on his way back, he made his way to the halls he and his father called home.

He paused at the open door to his father's study. Inside, his father sat at his large desk, bent over a formidable stack of papers and working by candlelight. Legolas knocked gently at the doorframe and his father's eyes shot upward.

Legolas offered a small smile. "Must be interesting reading," he commented—he rarely caught his father unaware.

Father and son considered each other. Legolas saw the fatigue on his father's face and the slight hunch to his usually proud shoulders. Thranduil saw that his son was bundled in a cloak that normally would have been much too heavy to wear inside and the too pale skin of his face. The season had not been kind to either of them.

Thranduil spoke, "I will not say you look well, but you do look much recovered."

"I am, still tired, but much better."

"Come in and sit," his father offered. Legolas walked in and sat on the chair closest to the fire crackling invitingly in the hearth. The warmed air reached him and he shivered slightly, drawing his cloak tighter around him.

Thranduil watched shrewdly, missing nothing, but did not comment.

"Adar, the people we were escorting back, I heard they arrived safely, but no details."

"There are no other details," Thranduil said, "With the exception of your misadventure in the river, they journeyed back without incident. They're already settled in our halls until this dreadful cold leaves us."

"The girl?"

"Unharmed. Her family is grateful to you."

Legolas shrugged, "Anyone would have done it, I just happened to be in a position to act."

"Nonetheless, I think we can assume that no child would have survived a fall into the river. You barely escaped permanent damage from the cold."

Legolas looked away from his father and stared into the fire for a while, he did not want to think about what would have happened if the cold had caused more severe frostbite. Losing fingers or, Valar forbid,a hand would have ended his career as an archer.

Thranduil saw the darks thoughts swirling in his son's eyes, and did not like it. "What conditions did the healers place on your release?"

Looking back to his father, Legolas replied, "The usual—I'm to rest, avoid straining myself. I'm not supposed to be outside for any extended period of time. They say I'm more likely to notice the cold for a time."

"Well, you have been out more than anyone else, you were due some time off in the stronghold."

"Aye," Legolas agreed, "And you are due some assistance. You look tired, Adar."

Thranduil brushed off the observation, "I am an old king and I have every right to be tired. However, you, young prince, look exhausted. Much as I enjoy your company, you should go rest."

Legolas stifled a yawn, but nodded. He stood and with a last look at the warm and welcoming fire, moved to the door.

Thranduil smiled, "The fire has been built up in your room. I checked it myself not thirty minutes ago. Your rooms are positively stifling."

"That sounds wonderful," Legolas replied, "But is that wise? Can we spare the wood?"

"Indulge yourself and me for this one night, Legolas."

Legolas nodded, glad of the answer, "Thank you, Adar, and good night."

"Good night, Legolas."

And Legolas walked away, to his own rooms, a welcoming fire, and a comfortable bed. The cold eased, and he was warm once more.


End Note: Hopefully, my decision that even elves could be afflicted by the cold under extreme circumstances wasn't too far-fetched. It's been so hot these past few weeks, that I wanted to indulge in a little cold. Hope you're safe and well!

Best, Cool Breeze