Rise
Summary: A collection of h/c one shots centering around Legolas. In this chapter, duty waits for no one. Legolas seeks to return to his duties early following an injury.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien, I just like to play in his world.
Author's Note: Finally caught up on reviewer responses, sorry for the delay! For the guests who have left reviews to which I cannot respond with a message, know that I read and appreciate them.
The call for riders had echoed through the stronghold. Legolas heard it clearly and longed to answer. He sighed and pressed gently against his still healing ribs. Nothing shifted, and the pain was tolerable. He was needed. Moreover, he wanted to go. Even still recovering, he could help.
That was how he found himself standing in the healing halls, waiting to request leave from the head healer to join the elves preparing to depart.
Aradhel, the healer in question, approached, his face grim. "Three weeks," Aradhel said firmly, "We agreed that you would stay home and rest for three weeks."
"The situation has changed."
"The state of your health hasn't."
Legolas sighed again, "When we agreed to three weeks, our patrols were not encountering orcs at every turn and your halls were all but empty. Everyone who is able to ride is needed. I am needed."
Even if Aradhel said no, Legolas would not be able to rest. He could not ignore the constant calls for riders. At the beginning of his convalescence, he truly could not rise and help. Far too slowly, he had begun to heal. He felt he was ready, but he needed a healer to agree. And because he was the prince, he needed the head healer to agree.
Aradhel frowned, but did not argue. "Sit," he said resigned, "And take your tunic off."
Legolas complied.
Aradhel unwound the bandages supporting the still healing ribs and covering the cut that stretched most of the way across Legolas' torso, parting gifts from an orc weapon that had struck him hard enough to break ribs and skin, but fortunately not hard enough to puncture lungs. Not a minor injury by any measure, but also far from the worst Legolas had ever had.
The healer did his work quickly and efficiently, pressing firmly against Legolas' ribs and checking the state of the gash. Legolas' face remained stoic, but Aradhel had no doubt that the examination caused his patient pain.
Even a few days ago this would have been intolerable. One week ago, it would have been agony. For a time, he couldn't even sit up, making eating and drinking a difficult affair. Stuck, not just in bed, but prone had worn on him quickly.
Sitting back Aradhel looked at Legolas, "Your ribs are much improved, but still weak. Another blow like the last one would be devastating, far worse in their current state than the last time. And the cut, it is better, but too much movement and it could open again."
Legolas looked intently at the healer.
Aradhel shook his head, "You've only been allowed out of bed for a few days, it is unwise to ride back into battle so soon."
"I do not disagree, but every time I leave here my there is no guarantee of safety no matter my state of health. I only need to know if I will I do myself irreparable harm by going out today?"
"If you injure your ribs again while you're out there, significant damage is possible," Aradhel replied as he began to wrap Legolas' torso again.
"So, I am not in danger just from going, from riding?"
The healer scoffed, "Do you mean to tell me you don't intend to fight."
"No, I very much expect to fight, but that risks injury in any case. I need to know whether I come to harm merely by going."
"You cannot separate the two."
"I must," Legolas said firmly.
Aradhel looked around the halls. The beds were nearly full, and more elves were arriving in need of aid far too frequently. Whatever was going on in the forest, the situation was bad. "Riding out," the healer said slowly, choosing his words deliberately, "should not cause significant aggravation to your existing wounds. But, I urge you to exercise caution. You are neither healed nor at your full strength. The risk of further injury is greater than under better circumstances."
Aradhel tied off the end of the bandage and looked at Legolas, his gaze concerned.
Standing and pulling on his tunic, Legolas replied, "I will do what I can to be careful. Hopefully, I won't even have to come see you when I return." Nodding his thanks to Aradhel, Legolas turned and left the halls.
The healer frowned after the prince's retreating back. Before Aradhel could dwell on his worry for Legolas for too long, another healer called for his assistance and he was forced to turn back to his work.
In his room, Legolas moved deliberately. He pulled on his leather jacket, the only thing he wore that came close to armor when fighting in the dense forest. It was light and flexible, well-worn and it moved with him. It was of fine quality, and had been lovingly repaired many times.
His arm guards were next. He laced them with his free hand and his teeth before tucking the extra string out of the way. He flexed his fist and stretched his fingers, ensuring the tightest possible fit that didn't hamper his movement.
He secured the strap for his quiver across his chest. He had no need to check his arrows, each one was perfectly balanced and fletched.
Sheathing his knives, he did run a careful finger across each blade, even though he knew there would be no nicks or dull spots, having sharpened them himself. But he checked out of habit; the perfectly smooth and deadly sharp edge reminded him that he was ready.
His bow came last, placed lovingly over his quiver.
This ritual was familiar and comforting, performed in the same order every time. He was no longer a prince, but a warrior. And he was ready.
At the door to the throne room, Legolas waived away the guard moving to announce his presence and instead slipped quietly into the back of the room, unnoticed by its occupants. This was his last stop before leading a new patrol south to help reinforce and protect their borders.
He watched his father conduct the business of the realm. Thranduil was in his element. He seamlessly managed input from councilors, pleas from people for help or justice, and regular interruptions from aides requiring a signature or the answer to a quick question.
The last of the business for the day concluded, and the room quickly emptied. Each elf nodded respectfully to Legolas as they left the chamber. When only Thranduil remained, still handling the last of the paperwork from his aides, Legolas moved forward.
He thought his steps were silent, but he should have known better.
"You hide in the shadows when you should sit at my side," Thranduil said, without looking up.
Legolas grinned, "I'm on sick leave, remember?"
His father looked up at him, eyeing the warrior's garb he wore, "And are these your sick clothes?"
"My sick leave is almost over," Legolas replied wryly.
Thranduil scoffed in a very un-kingly manner, "The report I received from the healers indicated that your convalescence should continue for some time yet."
Legolas gestured to the papers still in front of the king, "And yet, need demands a swifter recovery than would otherwise be ideal."
"And you have seen the healers about this?"
"I have. Aradhel himself."
"He approved, did he?"
"Conceded might be more accurate," Legolas admitted.
"And our situation is so dire that my son must rise from his sick bed to go fight?"
"You know it is. And my injuries were not as serious as that, I've been out of bed for days now."
Thranduil sighed. He was all too aware of the need for their captains to be in the field right now. An uptick in both attacks and injuries stretched their forces thin, and their leaders most of all. His son was one of the best strategists he knew, his presence in the south would be significant value added for their warriors.
"When do you leave?"
"This evening, I only stopped to bid you farewell."
Thranduil rose and placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder, "Be safe, and come back."
Legolas bowed, placing his fist over his heart and sweeping his hand out in a gesture of respect, "As my king commands."
Legolas left the throne room and the stronghold. His archers were mounted and ready in the courtyard. A novice warrior handed Legolas the reins to his horse, and he mounted the prancing mare easily—pleased that the ache in his ribs only elevated to a twinge with the motion. Settling himself, he turned and surveyed his warriors. There was no denying that they looked tired, but they also looked ready.
He saw in them the same determination, the same resolve, and the same sense of purpose that he felt in himself. This grit, which he saw not just in the warriors, but all of the people of his home, was why he believed in them and their ability to conquer this present darkness. And Legolas felt confident in his decision. He could not stay behind while his brothers and sisters carried on without him. They too were willing to leave behind the comforts of home and the chance for much needed rest to defend this realm. He could do nothing else but rise with them.
End Note: I've got a couple more chapters that I'm working on, so more to come soon. I haven't had as much time to write lately, but I hope that changes soon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Until next time, Cool Breeze
