Father and Son Father and Son Chapter 10, a lord of the rings fanfic

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, please. Basically it says I own nothing *sniffsniff*

Beta: Not betaed by Akedhi yet, but revised by myself. Yes, after re-reading the beta-version of chapter 5 I've been able to figure some mistakes out by myself.

Peace, my dear reviewers, everything will be alright, unless, errh… mhm *eg* ;) Hehe. No, just read and I'm sure you'll be fine! Actually I wanted this chapter to be longer, but I decided to split the stuff I had already written some days ago up, because I didn't have the time to revise all of it today and I didn't want you to die from anticipation or so… ;) Now I hope you will not be bored to death by this rather slow and fluffy chapter. :)

Anyways, here's chapter 10 for you!

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Father and Son – Chapter 10

After what seemed an eternity to Thranduil but was merely a little more than two hours, the search party finally reached the palace. They passed the saluting sentries at the great gate and hurried up the stony stairs to the main entrance. There the group split up.

Thranduil, Elrond and Mithrandir headed towards the infirmary wing while the soldiers went to look for Lord Bellbeor whom they found in the great hall discussing some matters with another of Thranduil's advisors. He immediately finished the conversation and quickly led the troop to the conference room to hear the warriors' report.

As soon as the door to the infirmary rooms swung open, and the healers saw their king approach with a green-brown bundle in his arms, they got into action, fetching new firewood, water and herbs.

Thranduil went straight into a separated healing room, the "King's room", and lowered his son on the only bed in the large chamber. Meanwhile Elrond informed the other healers what would be needed and handed one of them a small pack of his own herbs. Then he hurried to see to Legolas once more.

Thranduil gazed down on the little elfling that was his son. Legolas looked so incredible small and vulnerable, lying there with his eyes closed, the dark bruise on his forehead and some small cuts on his left cheek pronouncing awfully how pale he was. The king needed every bit of strength not to break down crying right here and now.

Lord Elrond came to a halt behind Thranduil and gently pushed the slightly panting king out of his way, catching his own breath from their frantic run. Carefully the healer from Imladris unwrap Legolas from the blankets, Thranduil's cloak and the bandages to examine the wounds of the elfling's tiny body once again.

One of Thranduil's healers entered the room, carrying two bowls of hot steaming water. Quickly Elrond crushed some leaves of a certain herb in one of them and set the bowl on the small table next to the bed, fanning the steam into Legolas' direction. The sweet smell of Athelas filled the room and even the uninjured elves and the wizard could feel the soothing, healing power of the herb. Thranduil's injured shoulder stopped throbbing immediately.

The cuts from the birds' pecks looked strange, Elrond noticed as he once more cleaned Legolas' wounds and rubbed some ointments in the prince's soft skin. Although the cuts were already more or less closed and Elrond's salves had obviously prevented them from getting infected the skin around the cuts was oddly blue and icy cold to the touch. Elrond had seen something like that before, but only on wounds that had closed while being exposed to extreme cold. He tilted his head, irritated, and glimpsed at Gandalf who stood on the other side of the bed and looked awfully knowing. Elrond made a mental note to question the wizard later, when Thranduil was not with them.

The healer who had brought the water and then had left the room, now returned with a mug of a warm draught Elrond had instructed him to make. Elrond took it from him and handed it out to Thranduil.

"Help your little one to drink this. It shall help to stabilize him." He said, and Thranduil took the mug and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Gently he lifted Legolas sideways on his lap and carefully brought the elfling's upper body in a more or less sitting position, leaning his small head against his broad chest. Supporting Legolas' back with his upper left arm, he reached around his son's neck with his left forearm and hand and gently held the tiny chin. Carefully he pressed against the cheeks with his thumb and index finger, so that Legolas would reflexively open his little jaw. Thranduil lifted the cup to Legolas' lips and cautiously poured a small amount of the liquid into his mouth. He tilted the child's head back a little, so that Legolas automatically swallowed. He repeated this action several times until Elrond gestured him Legolas' had drunk enough and took the mug away from him.

Thranduil shot him a heartbreaking pleading look, and Elrond smiled slightly. He knew his friend did not want to be in the healer's way but he did not want to let go of Legolas, either.

"It is well, mellon nin, just hold him, he can make good use of the extra warmth." Elrond said, pulling a soft blanket over Legolas' tiny body, tucking him in.

He sat down on the other side of the bed and laid his slender hands on Legolas' small forehead and chest and listened. He managed to suppress a desperate sigh as he felt how far away Legolas' spirit already was, wandering its path to the Halls of Mandos, almost impossible for Elrond to reach him without getting too close to the darkness to ever return himself.

Elrond shot Gandalf an unmistakable look out of the corner of his eye, and the Istar understood. The wizard did the same as Elrond had done before, putting his hands on Legolas' chest and head. Together they started to chanted lowly in an ancient elvish accent Thranduil did not know. He only had eyes for Legolas anyway, praying to all Godheads he could think of for his little son to open his eyes.

"Come back, Legolas, little one, come back to the light, it is not your time yet to leave this world. Come back to the light. Do not wander into the darkness. Your Adar needs you here, come back, Legolas." Elrond and Gandalf chanted together in their mysterious language.

They continued their attempts for quite a long time, but it was futile. They could reach Legolas' spirit, only hardly though, but the elfling did not react to their calls. They began to feel the side effects of their procedures and it weakened them more than they wanted to admit. Finally they had to break up their efforts. They could not afford to overexert themselves too much. They would be of no use for Legolas if they did not save some strength now to try calling the elfling back again later, when they would have regained some of their strength.

Elrond had to rip his own spirit away from Legolas almost violently, standing up. His hands trembled slightly for his work had cost him a lot of energy, and he swayed a bit, breathing heavily. Gandalf did fare a little better only. Even the Istar looked very exhausted and tired.

"Elrond?" Thranduil asked, his voice croaky with fear, his eyes searching his friend's gaze. Elrond laid his hand on Thranduil's good shoulder, his deep orbs full of the pain he felt in the other elf's heart. He took a deep breath.

"There is naught we can do more at the moment, mellon nin. We shall try again later, but to be honest… there is only little hope, I am so sorry. " He admitted sadly. And a flash of pure horror crossed over Thranduil's fair face. "He is beyond our reach and he must decide himself whether to come back to us or whether to leave to meet his naneth. Let us hope he will hang on long enough for us to reach out for him once again when we have regained some of our strength." Elrond explained, and Thranduil absentmindedly took his son's small hand in his own and pressed it against his chest, staring at nothing.

Thranduil simply wanted to die.

"How could I fail him so?" He looked up into Elrond's grey stormy eyes and shook his head in despise of himself. "I should have protected him. And where was I? Lying on my bedroll, staring at the canopy, pitying myself!" He hissed angrily, clenched the sheet in his right fist and slammed his hand against the bedpost. "I cannot believe I did this to him! What father am I? What monster of a father am I?"

"Young one, there is no use in blaming yourself. I told you he was safe. And he was. Until this very morning. We would not have found him yesterday. He was safe." Gandalf explained, patting the despairing elf's back.

"Mellon nin, do not despair yet. It will be of no good for your son. You must save your own strength for Legolas' sake. Now, please, let me see to your wounds, Thranduil. You are injured." Elrond said gently, but Thranduil shook his head, gazing down on his little child.

They stood there for a while and neither of them spoke a word. Then Thranduil took a deep steadying breath and closed his eyes.

"Please, I wish to be alone with my son." He begged, whispering, his voice thick with tears. Gandalf and Elrond hesitated, then both nodded and left the room, carefully closing the door behind them.

Thranduil sat on the bed, holding his son, unmoving, staring down on Legolas' sweet face, gently stroking the elfling's good cheek with the backside of his knuckles. Night was drawing closer and the two candles on the bedside table and a small fire in the hearth on the opposite wall were the only sources of light in the room.

Thranduil did not know how long he had been sitting here, holding his son in his arms, hoping against hope he would awake.

"Oh my little squirrel," he murmured and kissed Legolas' forehead once again. Feeling the cold of Legolas' skin one more time he could no longer fight back the tears and began to cry silently. He cradled Legolas closer, kissing his cheek. Silver tears rolled down his face and soundlessly fell down on the elfling's brow.

"Please, forgive me, ion nin. Please, do not leave me, my beloved little squirrel. I did not want to hurt you ever. Please forgive me. My little squirrel, my little Greenleaf, come back to me," he whispered breathlessly, hugging Legolas' limp cold form even closer against his own body, soothingly rocking forth and back.

A piercing pain had tightened around his chest, cutting him short of air, as soon as he had heard Elrond say there was only little hope for Legolas. And it was stabbing him deeper and deeper with each minute that passed. What could he just do? He could not loose Legolas, too! He would not want to live if he did. He would never forgive himself. What had he just done? He had been so sick from his grief for his dead wife that he had not seen how much his son needed him, his father, all that was left of his family. Elrond and Mithrandir had taken care of Legolas right after his naneth had been killed, giving Thranduil as much time as possible to get over his terrible loss. But instead of using the time to face his pain and cope with the sickening darkness in his heart and overcome it he had withdrawn into himself, blocking everyone else and, well, almost his own self out, busying himself with the task of keeping his realm safe, fighting any enemy that might stir under his trees. And all the time he had pushed Legolas away, pushed away the painful memories that flared up in him whenever he looked at Legolas, and for that he hated and disgusted himself.

What had he just been thinking? Legolas was a small elfling and had just lost his naneth! Was that not a thousand times worse than it was for him to lose his wife? He should have been there for his son, he should have given him as much love and comfort as possible, he should have make time for him whenever he came running to him, no matter what was going on elsewhere and no matter who was around. He should have spent as much time with him as possible, even when he had felt exhausted and tired. But, no, he had been too busy running away from his own pain, leaving his child struggling with his attempts to help and comfort his father, to be there for him, to please him. What had he just done to his son?

Had it not been his duty, his responsibility to look after Legolas? Not because common sense told him to, but because he loved him more than anything or anyone else in the world? What had he just done? What only had he been thinking?

He had wanted to teach Legolas a lesson after he had run from the archery field to the palace unguarded, against better knowledge. But now, who had learnt the lesson?

"Oh dear Námo, please, take from me whatever you desire, but do not take him! Take my life if you must, but do not take my son! He is meant to live, he is meant to be happy. Please…" He sobbed out leaning his wet cheek against the top of Legolas' head, gently pressing his son's face to his heart. And unconsciously he began to pour his own power of life into the small weak body of his beloved little elfling, murmuring his son's name endless times.

"Oh, Legolas, Legolas, my sweet little squirrel, please come back to me…"

There was only darkness. He could not see and he was frightened because he did not know where he was.

Just a moment ago there had been a cold white light flooding the path he was on and he had seen his Nana in some distant, smiling at him. He had wanted to run to her, he had missed her so much and he was so glad to see her, but no matter how hard or fast he ran, he did not seem to get any closer.

But now she was not even there anymore. She had waved him a kiss, turned around and left, smiling one last time back over her shoulder, just exactly like she had always done it when she had gone on a trip and he had watched her leave being held on his Ada's arms as they waved to her goodbye from the great gate of his Ada's palace.

And now that his Nana and the light were gone there was only darkness. He turned around, looking in all directions, trying to see anything, but there was nothing. He felt cold and lonely and started to shiver. He wanted to be home, he wanted to be with his Nana or with his Ada. He did not want to be alone anymore.

Then he heard his Ada's voice calling for him.

He did not sound angry, much to Legolas' relief. But there was something strange in his Ada's voice, something he had not ever heard before in it. He sounded… sad! Awfully sad. - Was his Ada crying? No, it could not be. His Ada never cried.

But there it was again, a muffled sob and his Ada's voice calling for him. Legolas' little heart quickened. His Ada was crying and needed his help! He tried to run but found himself unable to move and the darkness began closing in on him again.

Then, out of nothing a yellow-red light broke through the blackness and bathed the space around him in a comforting warm glow. There was nothing recognizable here, only the warm glooming air and yet Legolas felt strangely safe. He wanted to cry out for his Ada, but his voice failed him as did his legs.

The light grew stronger and warmer with each moment that passed, and his body started to lose its coldness and finally obeyed to his wishes. He still had no voice, but at least he could move his legs now and so he stumbled through the empty space into the direction his Ada's voice came from. He fell and for some reason he turned around to see if his Nana was really not there anymore. She was gone and so he struggled back on his feet, running forward.

Again he could hear his father's faltering voice calling him and he took a deep steadying breath and hurried up, heading towards his Ada's voice and the source of the light that grew brighter and brighter as he got nearer and nearer and he had to close his eyes as it blinded him. His Ada called him again from short distance and he could feel his Ada's presence close to his own body. He took another deep breath. And then… Legolas opened his eyes.

He blinked. Someone was holding him tight and a low voice murmured his name.

"Ada?" he whispered, and his voice was so weak it was almost inaudible. Thranduil started, abruptly pulling away from him, staring at him in disbelief, with wide wet eyes.

"Legolas!" He gasped. "You are back, you are here! You have not left me! You are here!" Thranduil sobbed out, tightly hugging Legolas again, overwhelmed by his emotions – he did not know what was stronger: his relief of seeing Legolas' big blue eyes open, his guilt for having caused the pain in those lovely orbs, his joy of having his son back or his fear it all would only be a dream.

"Ada…" Legolas managed to whisper again, but it hurt him even to speak only that one word. His father pulled slightly away again to look him in the eyes and shook his head, frantically wiping away his tears with one hand.

"Oh my little squirrel, I am… I am so sorry, my sweet little squirrel, I am so sorry. Forgive me, ion nin, please, forgive me. I did not know what I was doing..." He rambled on. And even though Legolas did not understand what his Ada was talking about, he smiled weakly, nodded and touched his father's cheek with his cold tiny hand, leaning forward slightly. Thranduil knew this gesture only too well and gladly he bent his head down to kiss Legolas on the lips. He cradled his son back in his arms, pressing him tightly against his chest.

Legolas let out a shuddering sigh. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to tell his Ada, but he was so tired. He was only glad that his Ada obviously was not angry with him. He leant into his father's strong and warm embrace and even though he felt hungry and thirsty and his body hurt everywhere and he still did not know if his Ada really wanted him, he smiled slightly.

Thranduil leaned back against the head of the bed, carefully pulling the blanket over Legolas and sighed, too. He felt incredible exhausted but right now he could not care less. He glimpsed down on Legolas' small face. The little elfling had fallen asleep again in his arms, with a shuddering breath escaping him before he had tucked his little thumb in his mouth to suck. He knew Legolas was still far from being safe back into the light, and he did not dare to stop pouring his own power of life into his son's small body. And so he proceeded giving what he possibly could until he fell asleep, too.

…to be continued…