~ To start anew ~
by Ola
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A/N~ chapter 10!! Tadammm!! *drum roll* I am really sorry for the delay. Really busy right now. No comments to reviews, although I dearly love them all! I'm glad you take a little time to review, it shows me that you care =) lol. Like last chapter, this has a little "Mercedes Lackey idea" =) hope no one minds. A little humor as well, but I'm getting ahead of myself. So just read and review! =)
*I tried posting this for the past week, but fanfiction.net didn't want to accept it for some reason. Computer problems. Arrgg!!! Trying again, and crossing my fingers it works!!
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Part 10~ Porridge and names
He had not meant to fall asleep. Dear god. No. But he did. And it was a soft sound that woke him up. The sound of the faintest of whispers and the crinkling of bed sheets.
"I heard you… I heard you …ada… I was just …too weary …to respond." The whisper was the ghost of a voice, barely loud enough for even en elf to hear, and yet, King Thranduil's eyes flew open at this sound, while his heart threatened to break out of his chest.
"Ssshh, speak no more sunshine. Rest." A moist shimmer spread through his eyes, and a tremulous smile through his lips. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, absentmindedly smoothing the white sheets near his son's limp hand. Legolas eyes him quizzically.
He is nervous. He wants to tell me something, and yet is unsure whether it is the right time. Perhaps he awaits my recovery…to then broach a hurtful subject? The young elf almost gasped as a thought came to him. He wishes me to leave the messengers of the crown, for he cannot face to see me in danger again!! And he is uncertain as to how to ask it delicately. No, how to order me, for once he decides something, no amount of pleading or force will change his mind. A moment later, a cold wave of reality washed over him, and his thoughts turned bitter, self-loathing, and utterly flat. Of course I will leave. With or without his order. Much good I would do! A crippled messenger! Unable to walk down to the privy by myself, how can I dream to dispatch missives across half Middle-Earth?!
You promised. A soft, but insistent voice spoke calmly in his mind. You promised Vanyar you would learn. You promised yourself you would live. How then are you reaching toward that goal by mopping the floor with your face? Have you no wish to see the cool hand of Lady Winter caress the Nimrodel? Have you no wish to walk on the moonlit plains of Rohan and gaze at the Maeras? … …Have you?
A keen longing pierced his heart, more painful than the arrow that had pierced his back. And he knew –oh how he knew- that he would fight past the moment the last of his strength ebbed out of his body, past the moment nothing more than his will remained, past all agony and humiliation, past words and feelings. And he would succeed. Or die trying.
And that would ruin the whole point of the fight. A small smile crept on his face like a hungry feline creeping up on its pray. But I am a warrior. I will fight until I can fight no more. And he knew that nothing would shake his resolve away.
The young prince's eyes settled on his father's face, and for the first time he took notice of the deep furrows on his brow, the darkness of his eyes, and the worried set of his mouth. His entire body spoke of tension, pain, fatigue, and grief. And a new realization swept through Legolas. He does not know. He still holds the belief, painful though it may be, that I may wish to let myself fade away. Oh father… love filled his heart as he remembered his father's words, dizzy with pain and drugs though he had been at the time. "I will give you my blessing, what ever your choice may be." A lump rose into his throat, and threatened to stop the words that just had to be spoken. Now!
"Ada." Had he thoughts enough to spare, Legolas would have cursed his body's weakness and inability to utter anything beyond a mere whisper. And yet, he had to content himself with what he did have. Because he did not have much.
"Sunshine." His father, however, decided to speak at the same time, drowning his son's word with his louder one.
If ever Legolas wished to regain the ability to move, it was now. Oh, yes. How he wished to sit up and take his father's shoulders in his arms to gently shake some sense into him. But that w…
"I…It may be the wrong subject to talk about at this moment but…I wish you to know…you…" his sigh mingled with the cool evening breeze. "Should you decide that your time upon Middle Earth has come to an end…should you wish to sail to the land of our forefathers…I will not endeavor to hold you back here against your will. And…I… I shall speak no more of it unless you should wish to." His voice threatened to break at any time, and his eyes shone with tears that were held back by sheer willpower. And yet, his gaze never wavered from his son's, even though all he read there was pain and distress.
"Ada. No. I…"
Curse this body for being so weak! Curse the gods! Would you take even my voice away!?
"I am going nowhere ada." He rushed it all out before anything else stopped him from speaking his thoughts. "Not to Valinor, not to the Halls of Mandos… nowhere…unless it is to the kitchens for a snack…and that might take a while yet." His strength spent –Eru! After so little, already so tired!?- he poured his feelings of life, bittersweet happiness, hope, and the ghost of pain into the gaze he sent his father.
A smile crept on his lips, and it grew and grew, until his shoulders shook with silent giggles, and his laughter finally bubbled out into the silent room. Ada dear, I wish Vanyar or Lord Elrond were here to look upon your face. It is a sight to behold. Never have I seen you so … 'stupefied'…is the only word that comes to mind. Should mother appear out of thin air into this very room, you would look no more surprised or ecstatic. …And very glad I am to be the reason of such happiness after I caused you so much pain.
And then, Legolas had no more time to think, as the king swept him up into his arms and hugged him tightly to his chest, while his tears finally spilled, and his emotions forced to the fore like rushing waters behind a broken dam. Both were unbelievably strong and not altogether expected.
Well, they should have been. Oh ada…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for making you sad. I love you so much…
They clung to each other like shipwrecked sailors to a piece of wood, while the storm of their emotions ragged around them. They had tried to be brave, to keep their feelings hidden for the sake of each other, and now, it all came bubbling up, raw and painful, but bringing with it an immense relief as well. The worse was over. Nothing else could be as bad as those past few days…could it?
Legolas pressed his head against his father's chest, feeling like a little elfling frightened by a thunderstorm. But he didn't mind in the least. It felt wonderfully comfortable there; he felt safe, and happy again. His father had always clearly showed his feelings for his son, the good as well as the occasional bad ones. And yet, as all children do, Legolas had grown, and the hugs had turned into affectionate hand claspings. They knew each other so well that a look sufficed to convey what hundreds of words could not. But now…now something was missing…
"Ada? … could I give you a hug?" The young elf's whisper trembled as he waited, unconsciously holding his breath. He heard a strangled chock, which reminded him to breathe as well. And then he felt strong, callused hands gently move his own arms over his father's neck, while his face moved up to rest next to his ada's. They held each other until their heartbeats resumed their normal pacings, until their tears dried and smiles of happiness creped up their faces, until the young prince fell into blissful sleep. And much, much longer.
Perhaps life wasn't so bad after all.
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Legolas woke as the world shifted underneath him. His eyes focused just as king Thranduil was tucking him, firmly pressing warm blankets on him. He smiled, still somewhat hazy with sleep, and beamed at the answering smile of his father. Just then, Healer Vanyar and Lord Elrond made an appearance, a smile no smaller than Thranduil's blooming on their face as their eyes fell on their little patient.
"You're awake." The prince rolled his eyes, but refrained from speaking until Vanyar administered him another of his infamous brews.
"You evil healer. Are all healers so wicked, or had I the misfortune on meeting two of the most malevolent?" he quipped after a sip of his medicine. Vanyar's eyes twinkled as he replied.
"You are getting you due, you little scamp. If I am the evilest of healers, you are the most impossible of patients!" He sighed dramatically, but Lord Elrond paled slightly at the prince's words, and to his consternation, left soon after. Legolas followed him with worried eyes, fearing that he may have slighted the Eldar.
But this is not the first time I have teased him. He knows me well, and never restrained himself from using his wits and quick tongue. But now? Is it because…because of… A disturbing though occurred to him, one that he never thought would happen. But if his premonitions were true…Unfortunately, or maybe not so, his attention was soon drawn away from the Lord of Imladris, and centered on problems of his own.
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"I'm not hungry." He scowled while his arms itched to be crossed in a petulant attempt to show his unhappiness with the present situation.
"Eat. I'll not repeat myself." His father's voice was calm. Too calm. Legolas knew his father well enough to hear the danger behind the words. But that didn't mean he would give in. If his father was stubborn, then so could he be, just as stubborn, and more so if need be. He wasn't his father's son for naught.
They glared at each other, the king holding a spoon full of porridge, the prince with his mouth closed as tightly as possible. They glared, and willed the other to give up first, for it was sincerely becoming tiresome. At least to Mirkwood's king. Why, of all his traits, did his son inherit his stubbornness as well? He didn't sigh, although he dearly wished to do so. It would only mean defeat, and he was not ready to capitulate yet. Legolas was too thin for his peace of mind, and too weak. He had not fought those past few days to keep his son from death's grip to now lead him there willingly.
The more he pushes, the more I'll balk, Legolas thought with a scowl. He loved his father, but there were times during which he had less than positive thoughts about him. Like now. …This is the only way I can fight. Without the use of my arms and legs, I will have to use my mind. And as childish as this may seem, going against his orders is fascinating. His face becomes so intent…and his voice looses all inflections…it really seems as if he becomes another elf altogether during such times. I wonder if t…
"Legolas Greenleaf. You are wearing my patience."
Aii! Why is it that one feels dread when one's parent speaks his child's full names? 'Tis strange, for should not our names bring us honor and respect? He is truly angry now. I wonder how much more I can balk before he looses his wits? A little part of his mind was deadly curious. He had never before tried to go this far against his father; it was… captivating –in a morbid way-… and frightening a little as well.
Did he dare…?
He did.
The corner of his lips lifted in an unmistakable smirk, gauding his father into further action, while another part of him wondered if that was wise.
It most definitely was not.
"EAT!" The loud commend made his ears ring, as his whole body twitched. And in the next instant, while his mind was still recuperating from this new development of the events, he found the aforementioned spoon and porridge firmly wedged into his mouth. He couldn't even glare at his father, busy as he was with trying not to chock. And when he did direct his gaze on his parent, he scowled and thought that no father should feel that pleased at having just shoved porridge down his unwilling son's throat. He was…he was gloating! And looking unbearably smug.
He is looking exactly the way I would, had I done the same thing to him! The young elf realized with somewhat of a surprise, which elicited a chuckle, then a little giggle, and then an out right laugh. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to be happy about something as silly as porridge. And it felt even better when his father joined him.
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