"Hold still!" the young Elf hissed at the king. The harsh tone was not his intention and probably only the fact that the accused was also his father saved him from consequences. "Aaahh!" he pressed out with a pained face as another splinter was pulled out of the light Elvenskin. They had returned successfully from their foray against the orcs, but at one point they had become careless and been ambushed. A metal spear had destroyed the king's armor on the side and a broken branch was rammed into it. It had been a direct hit and now numerous splinters protruded from the skin and soft red blood made its way down.
"Are you almost done?" he asked annoyed. The silvery blond strands fell disheveled over his shoulder and a scratch graced his otherwise flawless face. Thranduil hated showing weakness and that invariably. Legolas sighed and replied, "If you would let one of the healers treat you, it would already be over. There are quite a few splinters of wood. Luckily they aren't too deep." The blond youth spread ground herbs on a cloth and pressed it onto the now exposed wound. Thranduil let out a relieved breath as the pain that had flared up before slowly faded. "You see. I can be gentle too," the prince joked while examining the wound again. It was fairly widely distributed over the left side of the abdomen. He had already done half, he guessed. He changed his seating position slightly so that he was now sitting slightly to the side of his father, who had previously been sitting with his back to him.
Legolas carefully placed his left hand on his stomach. He pressed against it lightly, but the skin, which was already covered in blood again, gave him no support and he slipped his fingers down slightly. Thranduil gasped a little in shock as he mentally tossed himself and a shiver ran through his body. "Everything ok?" came a worried voice and the king hastily nodded in reply. But he didn't know if that was really the case. His body tingled and he didn't like the way it did at the moment.
Legolas sat down at the nearest shards, but even if he tried to be careful, sometimes he had no choice but to do the rough stuff. The elfking closed his eyes and waited for the next pain. This came too and ran sharply through his body and yet it felt less bad than the times before. He noticed that his breathing was beginning to become irregular. Was poison involved? The ruler quickly dismissed the thought. That would have had a very different impact. But then what was it? He seemed to lose control, but about what and why?
All of his concentration flowed into his breaths, otherwise it would be completely out of step. At that moment it happened again that the prince's fingers slipped. Thranduil's lips parted slightly and a sigh escaped. Startled, he widened his eyes. There had been no pain, no fear. There had been something that shouldn't have been and for a moment he had enjoyed it. His thoughts were so focused on the sensation that he realized far too late that the prince's long fingers were stroking the spot again. He was just about able to bury the sigh in himself, but when the fingers also clawed into his skin, he threatened to lose control. He held his breath and tried to get his thoughts far away. To places and events that were the worst he had ever experienced and the memory of which he never wanted to bring back. But his plan was sabotaged when a voice pulled him back into the here and now: "What is this now? I'm not that bad." The elfking exhaled slowly, but left the question open. He had no idea how to answer. The whole situation just went wrong, completely wrong. He had to go, and fast.
A look down told him that there were at least 5 more culprits that needed to be eliminated. By the Valar, he would not survive this. "That'll have to do. I have other things to do.", he spoke up and started to straighten up straight away. But his movement was quickly stopped when the prince pushed him back into the soft pillow with a strong tug. "No, that's not enough. I'm almost done. Our empire won't fall in half an hour.", Legolas rang him. Normally he wouldn't have let himself be talked to like that, but he had neither the strength nor the thoughts to do something about it. Thranduil bit his lip as his son's hand pressed against his thigh to keep his intention from flaring up again. 'But my downfall!', he screamed in his thoughts and feverishly searched for a reason to be able to flee, but he couldn't find one. He gripped the fabric with his averted hand so hard he was sure tears would remain while the prince worked on the last splinters. What just happened to him? Why the touches of his own child make him stir so much? What had changed?
Another look revealed that there were still 3 splinters. His head was so foggy that he hadn't even noticed the last waves of pain. It all felt so surreal. He hoped it was all just a nightmare. But would that really be better? Wouldn't that mean that was what he wished for deep down? Every dream had its meaning and which other one should he then point into it here? It would still be his feelings, because nobody but him could direct his dreams.
Thranduil lowered his eyes to the wound. If he could see when the pain came, hopefully he would be able to feel it and endure it. The splinter went and the wave ripped through it, but again the feelings evoked by the tender touch were stronger. He had no idea if his breathing or his eyes betrayed the chaos deep within him. Everything felt strange, like in a trance.
Not really there with his senses, it escaped the Elven king completely that Feren entered and delivered an important message. He was therefore a bit surprised when Legolas stand up in Feren's direction. As if out of reflex, he grabbed his son's hand, but the fingers only slid along his own and before he understood it, he was alone in the room. That was exactly what he actually wanted right now, but why was his body already calling back with every fiber to what was just there? Time passed and slowly the veil around his mind lifted. Only now did the elfking become fully aware of the situation and one thing was immediately clear - it must not be repeated.
Thranduil felt the wound to find the last two remaining splinters. Although he had expected it, the realization that his own touch didn't trigger the same feelings in him was frightening and painful at the same time. As he grasped the blood-soaked wood, he clenched his teeth tightly and with a powerful jerk yanked them both out at once. A wave of pain shot through his body and he slumped forward. But a strange laugh mingled with the tears. He felt the pain, the pain and nothing else. Everything would be fine now. It should. It just had to. Then the laughter disappeared and only the tears remained.