Title: Abiding Fears
Summary: When Legolas suffers his first serious injury following the death of his mother, it is Thranduil who finds him. Both are confronted with new fears that linger in the wake of her death and seek to navigate new realities.
Author's Note: Welcome back! To everyone who reviewed, thank you! I am working on personal responses to everyone. To the guests that I can't message, I truly appreciate that you took the time to let me know what you think! Here is the second and final chapter, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or anything else created by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Chapter 2: Together
Awareness returned once more. He shivered with cold and his wound ached, but he felt more alert than he had before. He recognized the way he felt, and suspected that a healer would bring him something for the pain soon. He could feel the heaviness in his limbs that he associated with their draughts, and the pains that were vying for his attention suggested they were wearing off.
It felt as though a long time had passed, but Legolas couldn't be sure. Taking his time, he opened his eyes, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was in a private corner of the main healing wards, and not in his own room. So the wound must have been somewhat serious, but there were no healers hovering and he assumed that meant he was alright. He frowned in surprise when he found his father sitting in a chair next to his bed, his head drooping at an awkward angle and eyes half-lidded in sleep. A long time must have passed for the king to fall asleep here. Legolas was surprised the king had not sought the comfort of his own bed.
Aradhel interrupted his reveries. Having seen his charge awake, he moved toward Legolas. Legolas glanced pointedly at his father so the healer would not disturb him and Aradhel noticed the sleeping king with a warm smile. Coming to his patient's bedside and leaning in close, Aradhel murmured softly to Legolas, "How do you feel, my prince?"
Legolas shrugged, but regretted it when it pulled on the wound.
Aradhel frowned, "Try not to move," he chastised softly as he carefully helped Legolas drink the tea he brought, "You're going to be fine. You have a mild fever caused by a minor infection, which, while unfortunate, is not surprising. The wound was quite severe, but the danger has mostly passed. Do you need anything?"
The dryness in his throat eased as he drank, "No," he replied softly, "Thank you."
"This will help with the pain and the fever. I will bring you something to help you sleep in a bit, I want to see how the fever responds to this first."
Legolas nodded slightly and Aradhel moved away.
Legolas closed his eyes and concentrated on taking controlled, even breaths. He felt awful. At least now he knew why he felt cold—the fever would cause that. He thought back to the battle and how he got here. Some of it came to him clearly, he knew they had been victorious in the end, even if the price of victory had been steep. Everything after that was a blur. He knew his father had returned him to the stronghold, but this didn't make sense. His father was supposed to be in Esgaroth and the king didn't ride out for battle anymore unless it was truly necessary. It hadn't been necessary this time, Legolas was certain they had won the battle before he passed out and the king certainly hadn't been there then. But he clearly remembered both his father's strong and protective grip and he remembered searching his father's tone and expression for something he could not place, but that had frightened him.
So what had brought his father to that particular battlefield? And what kept him tied to his bedside now, when even the healers conceded that Legolas was on the mend?
Legolas opened his eyes again and his gaze wandered back to the elf in question. He found himself gazing into inscrutable gray eyes that were simultaneously steely and warm. Legolas was disconcerted to find that he still could not read fully read his father's expression. He was usually an expert at reading his father's mood and he felt unmoored without that knowledge. He could confidently identify worry in his father's eyes, but there something more than that. Something that seemed to weigh on the king. The expression was haunting and familiar, Legolas knew he had seen something of that look in his father's eyes before, but could not place it. It worried him.
His uncertainty moved him to speak first, "Are you alright, Adar?"
This inspired an expression with which Legolas was extremely familiar: exasperation.
Thranduil almost rolled his eyes. "Legolas," his voiced was tinged with warning.
Legolas frowned, not sure what he had done, "I thought the injury was not so bad?"
"As Aradhel said, you are no longer in danger."
The optimistic words were at odds with both his father's tone and expression. "Adar, I know something is bothering you. Please tell me what is wrong."
Thranduil stared into his son's eyes, and Legolas could see him weighing a decision. It was a moment before Thranduil spoke, but when he did, he did not waste words, "I found you, and I did not even know you were a part of the patrol. I thought you were here in the stronghold. I thought you were safe. I am not used to seeing you…in that state. I've seen you here being treated for you injuries, but it was the first time I saw you in the immediate aftermath of a battle. I've not felt that way since I found her."
There was no need for his father to specify who he meant. Legolas sucked in a breath, and turned slightly away from his father to hide the wave of pain that had nothing to do with the injury that rushed through him at the thought of his mother.
"Don't hide from me, Legolas, we've done enough of that already these past years."
It was true, the two of them had hid from each other following her death. They had noble intentions, both were trying to protect the other from more pain, but it had only served to add to the hurt. Legolas nodded and turned back to his father.
Thranduil gathered himself and then continued, "It always pains me to see you injured, but it was especially difficult this time."
"I am sorry." What more could he say?
"Why were you even out there?"
The question held a touch of anger, of accusation, but Legolas recognized it for what it was: fear. "You have not been told what happened?" That seemed unthinkable. He had not ridden out in secret, the War Council knew he was going and had approved of the decision.
"I have not left your side," Thranduil admitted, "Your present condition concerned me more than explanations. Even after I was assured that you would be well, I could not bring myself to leave."
Legolas thought back to the emergency Council meeting that was called, "I had to go. There was an attack, but most of our patrols were already out in the forest. Only one was complete enough to send out to assist. The captain who usually rides with that patrol is still recovering from injury. There were no other captains available and we could not send them into an active battle without a leader."
Legolas paused to take a few breaths, "I don't think many knew I was there. The War Council did, and the elves I rode out with, but it was clear where we were needed upon arrival. We engaged immediately. I never even saw the captain who was leading the battle before I got there."
Thranduil nodded. He was not happy, but he understood. The fog of war obscured many things in such dire situations. He recognized that this was their lot in life as a father and son, king and prince, in a kingdom at war.
"Adar," Legolas began cautiously, "You said you found me—what were you doing there?"
"I was returning from Esgaroth, we were nearly to the stronghold when we learned of the attack. Elves were riding out to recover the dead and assist the wounded. We were told the danger had passed, but they needed assistance. We went because it was convenient, because we could save time by going right away when lives were at stake. I had no idea your life was at stake until I found you."
Thranduil reached out and took his son's hand, he held it delicately, as though still afraid his son might break. "You were so still when I found you. Laying there, you looked so like your mother and I wasn't sure if…" he trailed off, unable to continue.
"I am sorry," Legolas said again. He realized now that his father had found him, but he had seen her. And probably had thought of little save the aftermath of that since.
Thranduil just gripped his hand harder. "I do not know how we do this, Legolas," he admitted quietly, "I do not know how we continue as we did before without her."
Legolas was surprised by the admission, his father rarely voiced such thoughts. "Together," he replied, "We do it together."
Thranduil smiled sadly, "When you first became a warrior, I could not stand to watch you ride away into battle while I remained safely in the stronghold. It was her strength that got me through that. Whenever you were injured, I could only keep going because I knew she was at your side, comforting you, lending what strength she could. Now, you would be alone here if I could not sit with you." The king's expression was thoughtful as he lost himself in his memories.
Legolas hadn't given it much thought, but this was the first serious wound he'd sustained since she had died. He'd taken several minor injuries in the intervening years, but nothing like this. Legolas now understood. The desperate something Legolas had heard in his father's voice, that familiar darkness that haunted his father's expression, had been echoes of his grief for her. The fear over what was happening now mingled with the ever-present and always too-near grief over his mother's death. The pain of losing her was not gone. It would never be gone. They merely had learned first to survive it, and slowly they were learning to live with it. This event, this near-tragedy, had put his father right back in the dark place he had worked so hard to leave after they had lost her.
Legolas returned his father's grip with as much strength as he could, unable to stop the slight trembling he felt in his hand, "I miss her too."
Thranduil covered his son's hand with his own, "I want to keep you safe. I cannot lose you."
Don't leave me. The whispered, broken words come back to Legolas.
"I do not want to leave you. I won't leave you today." Legolas did not say that he never would. He could not make that promise.
"It is not today that I fear, but the days to come. I fear the battle after which you aren't found alive or aren't found in time. The wound the healers cannot treat. I fear my own inability to protect you."
"But you do," Legolas replied.
Thranduil regarded him skeptically. With a mere look, the king was able to say without any words at all that these circumstances proved the falsity of his son's statement.
"No, really, Adar," Legolas replied, "You push me to train, you ensure our warriors and I are properly equipped, you help to organize our forces to provide the greatest chance for success. You even make me listen to the healers when I might otherwise ignore them."
Thranduil rewarded his son's comment with a small smile.
"Nothing about this war has been easy, but I still believe in our people. I still believe in us. She would too," Legolas paused, "We will find a way to continue moving forward as we always have."
Thranduil sighed, "Much as I want to deny it, you will probably be injured again in the future. I will not always be able to sit by your side in these situations."
"I know," Legolas answered, "And more importantly, I understand." His father's presence now did more to comfort him than any treatment the healers might provide. He did not want to dwell on what it would be like to wake in these wards without either of his parents at his side, with no one there. But he pushed his mind away from such dark thoughts. He was not alone, something he had needed to learn again after his mother's death. Whether his father was at his side or not, he was still here for him. Physical presence or absence did not change that. "Adar, whether I am here or not, I will never leave you. Just as you will never leave me, and naneth will never leave either of us."
Thranduil's grip on his hand tightened, and he looked away.
Aradhel approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb father and son, but wanted to check on Legolas. The healer's calming manner was as unobtrusive as ever as he placed a goblet on the table next to Legolas. "Forgive my interruption, my lords." Aradhel, checked placed the back of his hand on Legolas' forehead. Legolas sighed at the cool hand on his hot head. Aradhel nodded to himself and checked his patient's pulse, "You still have a fever, Legolas, and your pulse is a little quick, but the medicine is doing its work. You should rest now."
Legolas did not want to admit how exhausted he was, but he didn't need to say it aloud, both Thranduil and Aradhel could easily read it in his eyes. And Aradhel was right, the medicine was working. The pain had faded and his body was comfortably numb again. The ache persisted, but the absence of pain made the call of sleep much harder to ignore.
The healer retrieved the goblet, "For a dreamless sleep, ernil nin," he said, moving to help Legolas drink it.
Thranduil moved in before him, "Thank you, Aradhel, I will do this," the king said, taking the cup and raising Legolas' head and shoulders just enough to help him drink.
On another day, Legolas might have objected. He might have insisted that the potion was unnecessary, or that he did not need assistance. But today, he needed his father as much as his father needed him and Legolas did not resist.
Legolas slumped backward, the sleeping draught doing its work quickly. Once again, he found himself drifting away whether he wanted it or not. This time, though, he did not fight it. His father's face had lost its dark, desperate expression. The worry was still there, but it was tempered by relief and contentment in the knowledge that his son would be alright. That they both would be alright.
And that's all! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a great weekend!
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Until next time,
Cool Breeze