Summary: In his efforts to take care of his people, Legolas forgets to take care of himself.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Author's Note: I'm back, and it's only been about a month! I have a long one shot for you this time. Thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to review. It would be great to hear what you think about this one too! Also, I'm always on the hunt for ideas, if you have any suggestions or prompts, let me know.
Exhaustion
His head snapped upward and his eyes flew open, he had not realized he had closed them. Schooling his features, he regained his composure. He could not remember ever being this tired before.
The councilor was droning. There was no other way to describe it. And, he had been at it for hours. It was clear that the councilor found his job fascinating as he shared the most nuanced details of his work.
Legolas, while he recognized its importance, just couldn't get excited about a new plan for crop rotations in the northern fields. Apparently, it was so unexciting that he had inadvertently nodded off.
Eyes flitting about the room, he was relieved to find that no one seemed to have noticed his lapse.
Except his father. Thranduil's eyes were boring into his. Well. That was unfortunate.
He was almost glad that he was leaving for a patrol that afternoon. Almost. Mostly he was just tired. But since he had to go anyway, he might as well escape a lecture from his father. By the time he returned, his accidental afternoon nap would probably be forgotten. Probably.
The councilor finally concluded and Legolas resisted the urge to sigh aloud in relief.
"Thank you," Thranduil said, his voice as regal and gracious as always when he was in court, "That was very thorough."
Legolas nearly snorted, but managed to stay silent. Thorough? That was an understatement. Had the councilor merely been thorough, Legolas would already be in the armory, fletching arrows in preparation for his departure.
He forced himself to focus on his father's comments again and just in time. The king was going around the room, asking for any concluding remarks before adjourning for the day.
"Prince Legolas," the king queried, "Do you have anything to add?" The king's eyes were narrow as he focused on his son. He was well aware that Legolas had not been paying attention for the better part of the last hour.
Legolas, for his part, considered it a victory that he only caught himself actually falling asleep once. On a normal day, meetings such as this one were boring. But today, even before the meeting had started, his eyes had been tired and heavy and he could feel the beginnings of a headache wrapping its way around his temples.
Inclining his head politely, Legolas answered, "No, my king, thank you."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him ever so slightly. Legolas doubted anyone else noticed the silent exchange between father and son. And then the king moved on to the others seated around the large table.
Legolas was ready. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, he was on his feet and out the door. It couldn't be considered rude, they had all been dismissed. To the extent that anyone wondered at his abrupt departure, everyone but his father would suspect that it was because he had to leave soon.
Thranduil missed very little, and he did not miss his son's abrupt departure. Scowling after the youth, he was prevented from following him by a query from one of the councilors. And then Galion was there, updating him on his schedule for the rest of the day. Already, he was late for the war council.
He glanced again toward the door where his son, now long gone, had disappeared.
While not pleased that Legolas had been inattentive during the meeting, he was also concerned. He had never before noticed Legolas actually falling asleep during a meeting. It was worrisome. Especially as Legolas planned to ride out for a patrol that same day.
He made a mental note to try to speak to Legolas before he departed.
But he never did. He spent the rest of the day behind schedule and trying to catch up. By the time he had a free moment, it was well into the evening. Legolas and his patrol were already gone.
Thranduil wasn't overly concerned. It was a short patrol. Legolas was due some time in the stronghold, perhaps upon his return he could take leave of patrols for a time and rest.
The patrol was meant to take a week, but three weeks later, Legolas had yet to return home. Most of the elves he had ridden out with had been sent back, but he had taken command of another regiment and was helping them to fortify a particularly contentious area of the forest.
He had not intended to stay out this long, but each time he had needed to decide between staying and returning, it had made more sense for him to stay. He could do more good here than in the stronghold.
The unending patrol had kept him busy, and it had kept him from rest. Riding out and staying with one patrol was tiring in and of itself. Switching from one patrol to another involved additional travel and more logistical challenges. Further, the orcs, bold enough to be active day and night in this always shaded part of the forest, caused unceasing trouble. Watches had been increased and several small skirmishes had broken out. None had turned deadly, but all had resulted in wounds that would be better treated away from this dark part of the forest, which meant sending not just the wounded back, but healthy elves to escort them.
Everyone had a worn, slightly desperate look about them. And if Legolas was worse off than the others, everyone was too tired to notice.
Earlier, Legolas had briefly seen Galathil, his close friend and lieutenant, when he passed through while leading another patrol. Galathil had stopped to check in with Legolas and verify where his patrol was needed, but he had needed to move on quickly.
Galathil had noted the dark circles under his friend's eyes with concern. He debated whether to say anything, he knew they were all stretched thin at the moment, but spoke up as he was about to leave. His gentle query about Legolas' wellbeing was quickly dismissed. Legolas assured him that he had not been injured and that he found rest when he could.
It was true enough. He had not suffered any injuries save for the unavoidable scratches and bruises since leaving the stronghold weeks ago. And he did rest when he could. But opportunities for rest were rare and all too short.
Legolas had seized upon brief opportunities to rest, whether such an opportunity lasted minutes or even precious hours. But as the weeks dragged on, he found not only less time to sleep, but also that it was more difficult to fall asleep.
He had heard it was possible to be so exhausted that the act of falling asleep became difficult, but he had never personally experienced such a phenomena. It was dreadful. The headache that had begun as an intermittent annoyance had become a permanent, unwelcome companion. His eyes felt dry and scratchy. His brain felt muddled and dull.
But he knew his job well. Centuries of training and experience meant that he could perform the duties required of him even without conscious thought. Often, he found that he could not recall what he had done in the previous hours, but when he went to check on certain tasks, he discovered that he had completed them. It was disconcerting, but he was glad that he didn't seem to be slipping too badly. He took it as a sign that he really was alright. If he started missing things, then he would have no choice but to return home. The thought that he might endanger his friends alarmed him to no end. But he was still functional and, for now, could stay.
And that was when everything went wrong.
Deep into the night, the orcs attacked. It was coordinated. It was not another of the minor skirmishes they had encountered over the past weeks and months.
The elven forces were briefly overwhelmed before they were able to organize and respond effectively.
Those first moments, where it was uncertain whether they would prevail, had been confusing and chaotic. There was almost no warning and then their enemy was upon them. The elves were well trained, and knew what to do, responding almost instantaneously to the threat.
From the trees, they had eliminated many of the foul creatures. Some of their number, Legolas among them, then pressed their counterattack from the ground, beating back the orcs with knives and swords.
They were outnumbered and wave upon wave of orcs crashed into the elves' established line of defense. The advantage of numbers in this war had always been with the creatures of darkness. Whatever hole they came from, they were numerous. They had bodies to spare and were not concerned by how many of their number fell on any given day, there were others to take their place.
The elves relied instead upon skill. No loss was acceptable. The loss of an immortal life was an infinite loss.
Numbers versus skill.
On this night, numbers had the advantage in the beginning, but skill prevailed in the end.
Legolas was starting to feel sluggish when he realized that fewer enemies surrounded him. Before, his knives whirled in an endless dance, felling one orc and immediately moving to the next. His training served him well. He did not have to think. His movements were natural and automatic. His body knew what to do even if his mind was slow to react. With fewer enemies around, he could pause now and then. He could breathe and take stock of his fellow warriors.
It was near dawn and the battle had been ongoing for several hours.
He felled another orc and turned, looking. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and though he felt ready to drop, he was vigilant and searched almost manically for the next fight. But it was over. They had won.
Thank the Valar.
The sun rose on a weary and nearly defeated contingent of elves. But they had done their duty, they had held the line and protected their home. The cost was great, though. Four dead, and many more wounded.
Relying on his training, Legolas had made it through mostly unscathed. He recalled the fight only in flashes. Now, in the aftermath, he fought the crash that usually followed a battle. He still had to coordinate the care for the wounded and arrange for their return to the stronghold or there would be further losses.
He himself was carrying a wounded warrior home. The elleth had been engaged on the ground when she had been struck by an orcish arrow. The wound was poisoned and she was all but senseless as Legolas mounted his horse behind her, spurring the mare towards the stronghold.
The ride back was nightmarish for them both. Legolas was grateful that his horse knew the way and needed little direction from him because it was all he could do to keep both himself and the elleth upright.
The intensity of the headache that had so ceaselessly plagued him had increased tenfold and he could barely keep his eyes open.
Every time he felt himself fading, he rallied, forcing himself to think past the fatigue. He was needed. He was needed by his kingdom. But more importantly, right now, at this moment in time, this warrior needed him. He had to get her back safely or she too would die. Pressing his heels firmly to the horse's sides, he asked the mare if she could go faster. She didn't disappoint, finding more speed within her and she raced along the forest path.
They arrived in the courtyard in a flurry of activity. Two elves quickly approached the prince and reached out their hands for his injured companion, gently taking her into their arms and whisking her away to the healing halls.
"My prince, are you injured?" another healer asked.
"No," Legolas replied, shaking his head.
The healer nodded, not inquiring further, there were many who still needed aid.
Absently stroking his mare's neck, Legolas asked her to walk and took her back to the stables. Protocol would have him dismount before actually entering the stables, but it was relatively quiet here and he decided he didn't care. He let the horse walk all the way into her stall, ducking his head under the stable beams as she did so.
Once in the stall, Legolas wearily swung his leg over the horse's back and slipped down to the ground. When his feet hit the soft bed of hay in the stall, he paused for a moment. Resting his forehead against the horse's warm back and letting his eyes fall closed. One hand entwined in the horse's mane kept him on his feet, when the idea of sliding to the ground and sneaking a few precious hours of rest was tempting. But he could not, there was too much that required his attention. He only needed to make it a few more hours, and then he could rest.
The horse nickered softly and turned her head, bumping his elbow with her nose.
"I know," Legolas mumbled, "I know." He pushed himself off of her and walked with heavy steps to the side of the stall. Not bothering to open the door and go and get what he needed, he instead leaned over the door, letting his feet come off of the ground as he reached for the brush, just managing to grab it without toppling head over heels out of the stall.
With short, firm strokes, Legolas brushed the mare down, starting at her neck and working his way back. The work was monotonous and soothing, and Legolas lost himself in the rhythm of it. He then picked out her hooves. Next, he retrieved an apple from a nearby bushel basket and offered it to the horse, who plucked it eagerly from his palm. Finally, he dragged a fresh straw bale into the stall, intending to spread it and offer her clean bedding. Before he undertook that particular task, he sat on the bale, letting his head rest against the stall's wall.
He found he could not find it in him to get up again. He was utterly spent, and had nothing left. It only took moments for his eyes to drift closed and sleep to take him.
When he woke, he felt better than he had in ages. He was pleasantly warm, and so very comfortable. He sighed gently and was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he remembered…
…the attack and the report that he had never given.
…his warriors who were in the healing halls.
…settling his horse into her stall and pausing, but he had only intended to rest for a moment.
His eyes flew open and he jerked awake, gasping with the sudden flood of adrenaline.
He paused though as he looked around. He was in his own bed in his room, not in the stable. He was dressed for sleep, not a patrol—his bow, quiver, and knives were all in their places.
And his father was sitting at his desk, working diligently.
Legolas frowned, more confused than ever. "Good morning," he offered, unsure of exactly what had happened or how much time had passed.
"Afternoon would be more accurate," his father responded, setting aside paperwork and turning to face his son.
"The attack," Legolas began cautiously, "I don't—I don't remember giving you my report."
"Because you didn't." His father's tone was flat, and left Legolas feeling uneasy.
Legolas blinked slowly, and rubbed his eyes, still fighting off sleep. He swung his legs over the side of his bed so he was at least sitting on the edge of it rather than just sitting in it. It seemed an improvement. "Forgive me, Adar," Legolas said, "I'm not sure what happened."
"You were found in the stables. The report I initially received was that you had collapsed and were taken to the healing halls, but the healers quickly realized that you were unconscious not due to injury, but exhaustion."
Legolas pondered that. He was found in the stables, surely whoever found him had tried to rouse him, then he had been taken to the healing halls, and eventually brought here. At some point he had been divested of his weapons and someone had changed his clothes. It seemed impossible that he had not woken through all of that.
"Legolas," his father's voice was serious, "Before that battle, when had you last slept?"
"I—," Legolas began, but then stopped. He frowned, pausing to consider the question, "Well, it couldn't have been that long. I slept when I could." The answer was unsatisfactory and Legolas knew it.
Thranduil pursed his lips, "When did you last get a full night's sleep?"
"Last night, apparently," Legolas offered with a smile. His father did not seem to find his answer amusing.
Thranduil's voice was deadly serious, "Was this deliberate? Are you trying to get yourself killed? What if you had collapsed during the battle and not after it, once you were safely home?"
"No!" Legolas denied vehemently, "Of course it wasn't deliberate. I wanted to rest, I just…" Legolas trailed off.
"What, Legolas? You just what? Forgot to sleep for who knows how long?"
"Not forgot, couldn't! You know how it's been. I couldn't even tell you the last time I returned from a patrol on time. And here there are council meetings, reports, and organizing patrols. This most recent patrol was only supposed to be a week, maybe two, but other patrols needed assistance. And everyone was tired, Adar, everyone. Everyone needed and deserved rest. But I was responsible for them, and I couldn't not ask others to stay if I would not do so myself. Then there was the battle. I didn't mean for this to go on so long, it just happened."
Thranduil looked away, taking a deep breath and collecting himself, mollified somewhat by Legolas' adamant defense, "I understand, even if I do not like, that being a warrior of this realm is hazardous to your health. But I will not accept a willful disregard on your part for your own wellbeing."
Legolas sighed, "I swear, Ada, I didn't mean for it to get to that point. I didn't even realize it had happened."
"You didn't realize?" Thranduil responded doubtfully.
"No, I knew I was tired, but I did sleep when I could, whether it was for a few minutes or a few hours at a time. I didn't realize how long it had gone on. It wasn't until after the battle, when there was no more adrenaline to sustain me, that exhaustion truly set in."
Thranduil stood and walked to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. He unsheathed one of the two long knives hanging on the wall there. The silver blade glinted, the afternoon sunlight gleaming on the polished surface. Carefully, Thranduil ran a finger down the blade's edge. It was wickedly sharp and no nicks marred the surface. "You care for these weapons yourself?" Thranduil asked, "You don't rely on the quartermaster or the armory for their maintenance?"
Disoriented by the turn in the conversation, it took Legolas a moment to reply, "Of course."
"Your care for this weapon is evident. No marks or scratches, no nicks on the edges. I don't think even a master armorer could get it sharper."
Legolas did not respond. Despite his father's words, it did not feel like he was getting a compliment.
Thranduil sat again, still holding the knife, "This is a fine weapon, no doubt. But there are many like it. I could have it replaced for you a hundred times over. The quartermaster might be annoyed, but it could be done," the king paused, leveling the full weight of his gaze on his son, "Why do you give this blade more care than you give yourself? Why do you devote such time and attention to this knife, when there are many knives, while being so careless with yourself when I have but one son?"
Silence fell in the room.
Legolas looked away, but answered seriously, "Because when I had to choose between myself and our people, I chose them. Because that is what you taught me to do."
"You cannot take care of them if you do not first take care of yourself. This cannot happen again, Legolas."
They sat in silence, at somewhat of an impasse. Thranduil wasn't happy and he needed something to change. Legolas knew that this situation occurring again was all but inevitable. As their war dragged on, his duties increased. There were things that simply needed to be done, and sometimes there just weren't enough hours to do them.
Thranduil broke the silence, "I am taking you off of our trade and agriculture councils. Maybe others too, but those for now."
Legolas looked up, startled, "What?"
"You heard me. You have learned enough of those ventures, I would rather have you well-rested and better able to attend to things that require your attention. Those councils will function perfectly fine without you."
The younger elf looked down. In truth, he didn't care for either of those councils. They bored him, and he did find himself distracted by other duties while attending those meetings. But this felt like a punishment, it felt like he had failed.
Thranduil seemed pleased with his decision, "I should have done this long ago."
Legolas bit his lip, "Is this…have I… Have I displeased you with my performance on those councils?"
"Well, you did fall asleep during the last agriculture meeting you attended."
Legolas looked away.
Seeing his son's dejected expression, Thranduil continued, "No, Legolas, your input in every area has been valued and wise beyond your years. But I should have adjusted your duties long before now. You are forever adjusting the warriors' rosters, making updates based on changes in position, duties, and patrols. You ensure that no warrior is bearing more than their own fair share of the burden of these battles. I have not done the same for you."
The king paused for a moment, looking out the window and the sun shining merrily and glinting off of green leaves, fluttering in the breeze. He gathered himself, "No matter though, I am rectifying my mistake now. And I expect you to do the same. I should not have placed this great of a burden on you, but you should have said something. You should not have let your exhaustion get to this point. It could have put others at risk."
Legolas looked down. That thought, that his exhaustion could bring harm to others, had plagued him these past weeks. He was constantly worried that he might miss something, react to slowly, fail to do something, and that someone else would be hurt or even killed as a result. "I didn't see any other options at the time."
"That is quite understandable," Thranduil said, "You were in the middle of it and you were exhausted. It's no surprise that your only goal was to weather the storm, however you could. I am serious though, when I tell you that you must take better care of yourself. You are officially on leave for the next two weeks. Rest, read a book, go for a walk. I don't care what you do, but I do not want to see you at council meetings, on the training grounds, or in the captains' quarters."
"But Adar—"
"No, Legolas. I will not hear your objections. Your fellow captains and lieutenants are well trained and well prepared. Do you doubt that they can manage without you for so short a time?"
Legolas frowned, his father knew how to manipulate him, "Of course not."
"Excellent. I also do not doubt their abilities."
Legolas nodded, accepting his father's terms.
"Furthermore," the king continued, "For the foreseeable future, I will be monitoring your schedule more closely. I won't have you staying extending your patrols for months at a time anymore. When you return home, you will be given leave from council meetings and other duties to rest and recuperate."
Shaking his head, Legolas prepared to argue, but his father didn't give him the chance.
"That isn't up for discussion, Legolas. The rest of our warriors do not spend nearly as much time in the field as you and yet they are given time to rest upon their return. This is something that you should have received as well. Absent some compelling need, you will have it going forward. And I will be the one to determine whether a need is compelling. You'll forgive me if I don't leave that to you just yet." Thranduil paused, "Do you have any questions about my commands?"
Legolas looked away. That word, commands, garnered his attention. Sometimes, he could question or debate requests from his father, but the same leeway was not allowed for commands from his king. "No, aran nin, I understand."
"Good. We need not speak of it further then."
True to his word, Thranduil turned the conversations away from Legolas' recent lapses in self-care. Instead, the king called for the attendant waiting outside of the door and asked that their evening meal be brought to his son's rooms.
Together, father and son indulged in a discussion of inane and unimportant things while they ate.
Relaxed and his hunger sated, Legolas felt pleasantly drowsy. Thranduil pulled his plate from his lap before it could slide to the floor. Despite his efforts to stay awake and prolong this relaxed meal with his father, he couldn't. His eyes slipped shut. He felt his father adjusting his pillows and pulling the blanket up over him before he succumbed to sleep.
While Legolas had agreed to his father's terms and both king and prince were committed to them, they were tested even before the two-week rest period was up.
An attack on one of the southern elven settlements had resulted in a call for every able-bodied warrior available to them.
Legolas was beside himself, pacing restlessly in his rooms. Banned from both the warriors' quarters and the council room, he felt useless. His eyes strayed to his bow. It had hung on the wall for the past eleven days, untouched. It had been centuries since he had gone so long without using the beloved weapon.
The prince was not so stubborn that he did not recognize the time off had done him good. He had followed his father's orders and rested. A lot. He had slept more than he'd been awake for the first few days. Since then, he had relaxed and indulged in simple pleasures like reading, taking leisurely walks, and tending to the horses.
He had forgotten how good it could feel to be well-rested. In just eleven days, the shadows beneath his eyes had vanished, he had regained his color, and even put on some weight—all of which gave him a more healthy appearance.
But this—this waiting and doing nothing when action was surely needed—was far more taxing than the exhaustion had been.
He was so agitated that he reached for a knife that was not there when the door to his rooms opened unexpectedly.
King Thranduil stood there. Legolas frowned, thinking the king was here to make sure his order had not been broken. The restless young prince had considered it, just riding out without telling his father or the council. The warriors would wonder, but they would not object and they would not ask.
But he hadn't done it. He had stayed.
For a moment, king and prince considered each other. King Thranduil, as always, looked calm despite the current calamity. Prince Legolas looked like a caged cat, chafing under his current restrictions.
"You are here," the king noted softly.
"As you ordered," Legolas responded, attempting to keep the rebuke from his tone.
"Still," Thanduil acknowledged, "I did wonder."
Legolas said nothing.
"You appear much recovered," Thranduil offered, "Your adherence to my terms has done you well."
"I am," Legolas agreed, "and it has."
Silence fell again. Thranduil, waiting to see if Legolas would ask; Legolas, waiting to see if Thranduil would offer.
"Are you not needed by the council, Adar?" Legolas asked when neither side capitulated.
"I don't intend to be away long. I came to ascertain where you might be needed," the king offered.
Eyes straying to his bow again unconsciously, Legolas clenched his hands to keep them still.
"I think the changed circumstances may warrant reconsideration of my earlier command."
Legolas looked back to his father hopefully.
Thranduil's face was grave, "Legolas, I know you have done as I have asked, even if it has not yet been two weeks. I hope you remember my words and my warning. I will not have a repeat of what happened. I expect that you will not only take care of our people, but yourself."
"I will," Legolas responded emphatically.
"I mean it, Legolas, words will not be enough this time. If it happens again, I will send you to Imladris where there will be no temptation to run off to join a fight. I will not lose you through neglect."
Legolas nodded, "I understand."
Thranduil considered his son. Legolas looked much better. Others had noticed too and commented that it was good to see the prince looking so like himself again. And his son had rested and been faithful to his command, without protest or complaint. It was that, the easy acquiescence that had convinced Thranduil to let him go now. Legolas was not shy about protesting orders he found unjust or unnecessary. Sometimes he was right; often, in Thranduil's opinion, he showed his youth in those moments and his views were misguided.
Thranduil recognized that the situation today was not as it had been eleven days ago. Legolas was well-rested and ready to go; the kingdom would benefit from him going; only one logical outcome remained.
"Go," Thranduil said, "You will return within a fortnight unless I personally give you leave to stay away longer."
Legolas bowed his head, "Yes, aran nin." The young elf wasted no time in grabbing his bow, but he hesitated at his door and looked back to his father, "Thank you, Adar, and I am sorry, for before."
The king nodded, "Be safe," he commanded, knowing it may not be within his son's power to obey. And with that, Legolas was gone, off to the warriors' quarters where he would be welcomed back with open arms and slide seamlessly back into command.
Thranduil would watch him closely over the next few months. As would a few trusted elves under his son's command who had explicit instructions to report any concerns directly to the king. But Thranduil thought, and hoped, it would not prove necessary.
He loved his son—his dedication, his determination, his diligence. The same qualities that made Thranduil proud had also lead to his most recent predicament.
With regret, Thranduil recognized the role he had played in this. He always encouraged Legolas to give selflessly to their people, and had asked so much of him in this war. Too much, he realized now.
If anything, it was surprising that it had taken so long for Legolas to lose himself to exhaustion. That too was a sign of his strength.
Valar willing, that strength would help them win this war, and allow them all the rest they deserved.
