*rises from the grave to post this and disappears again*
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs.
10.
Legolas sighed; he could feel his chest protesting at the deep breath he took, but he was finally alone, and it didn't really matter. There were no healers to fret over him here, and more importantly, he didn't have to see the worry and pain in his father's face every time Thranduil looked at him. Legolas couldn't bear to see his father pained; especially knowing he—or rather his injuries—were the cause.
The peace, however, like many things these days, was not meant to last.
"LEGOLAS!" he turned as he heard his name being called, spotting Tauriel running towards him. "I have the patrol reports from the last days," she said as she stopped in front of him. "You asked for them," she gestured at the pile of papers in her hands, moving her shoulders awkward in her attempt not to drop them.
"I did?" Legolas frowned and Tauriel rolled her eyes.
"I asked them for you. I thought paperwork would give you something to do, and it's safe too—there's hardly a possibility to rip your stitches rearranging the patrols," she had a point, Legolas would admit, and as much as he hated paperwork, the possibility of finally doing something useful could not be overlooked.
"Very well," he nodded. "Thank you, Tauriel," he smiled at her and gestured for her to pass him the stack of papers. Tauriel didn't. Instead she frowned and held the papers a little more protectively; as if she thought Legolas would try to grab them out of her hands.
"I do not think it is wise..." Tauriel started, but Legolas scoffed.
"I will hardly rip my stitches carrying a few papers, Tauriel," he pointed out.
"It's not that," the elleth protested, but almost as soon as the words were out of her lips, she blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine," she huffed finally. "Here, take them if it pleases you. They're heavy anyway," she said and set the heavy pile of papers in Legolas' arms. It took effort on the prince's part not to wince or show any pain in his face, but centuries of being bored out of his mind in council meetings was at least good for something.
The weight that landed on his arms was more than he had expected, and his half-healed chest protested again. Legolas prevented both the wince of pain and the exclamation of surprise from showing, keeping his face neutral. If Tauriel's smirk was anything to go by, she had not been fooled.
"Should we head back to the palace, my prince?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with a knowing light. "Or do you need a moment first?"
"Damn you," Legolas whispered, low enough, but Tauriel heard him still, and laughed.
"Come on," she said. "I would race you back, but you are regretfully invalid at the moment."
Legolas debated if dropping the papers and launching himself at her and probably tearing his stitches in the process, was worth it; but Tauriel was already walking away. In the end, he decided that coming face to face with Findôl's angry face at the prospect of teared stitches and the embarrassment of having lost the reports of his own archers, was, in fact, not worth it. He would find another way to get back at Tauriel.
They walked back to the palace with Legolas making conscious efforts not to show any kind of discomfort, and Tauriel filling him in all the patrols from the last couple of days he had missed.
"Saeldur will come around to see you later, probably," she said. "He's being stitched at the hospital wing with Findôl—it was nothing serious, merely a cut." She assured him before he could ask.
"I hope the complaining will not be serious either," Legolas muttered in amusement, and Tauriel laughed.
"Have fun with your papers," she said as she opened the door to his study so that he could enter; seeing as his arms were occupied. "But please, do not overwork yourself. I do not know how much longer the archers will be able to tolerate Saeldur's strictness."
It was Legolas' turn to laugh, as Tauriel slipped outside and closed the door behind her. Legolas set the papers down at his desk with a huff, and collapsed at his chair, annoyingly tired by such a simple task. It had only been two days, and Legolas had to admit that it had been a serious injury; some inches lower and he would have been beyond the healers' help. The wound was healing nicely, but Legolas wished it would heal faster. He hated being confined to rest; which more often than not meant that no one would let him do anything.
With a sigh, he pulled the first report towards him and resigned himself to the task.
He raised his head again only when there was a knock on the door, and he noticed that the sun was considerably lower than before.
"Enter," he said, and the door opened to reveal Saeldur. His friend crossed the room in a few strides, and stood in front of Legolas, looking down at him critically.
"How are you?" he asked as he inspected the bandage as the prince's shoulder. Legolas slapped his hands away with a grin.
"I'm fine, there is no need to worry. Truly." He rolled his eyes when Saeldur eyed him suspiciously. "And how about yourself? Tauriel tells me you were injured."
"It was nothing." Saeldur waved a dismissive hand. "Those stitches really weren't necessary."
"Says you?" Legolas asked. "Or the healers?" Saeldur glared at him, and the blond ellon laughed. "Truly, Saeldur, I am fine." He said when he saw the brunet eyeing his bandages again. "I cannot wait to go on patrol again."
"That will not be for another week or two." Saeldur said firmly, narrowing his eyes almost as if he thought that Legolas would try to leave sooner.
"I know," Legolas sighed. "I just hate having nothing useful to do."
"Those papers seem useful and important enough to me," Saeldur said, looking down at the patrol reports on the desk. Legolas had gone through them easier and faster than he had imagined, and now the pile of finished ones was by far larger.
"You know what I mean," Legolas said. Saeldur opened his mouth—to contradict him, Legolas was sure—but a knock on the door cut him off. Without waiting for Legolas' permission, the door opened to reveal the King.
"My King," Saeldur and Legolas both bowed their heads.
"Saeldur, how are you doing?" The King inquired. "I heard that you had been injured."
"Nothing a few stiches cannot fix," Saeldur replied politely. "I will leave you," he shot Legolas another judgmental glance; which the prince answered with a glare of his own—although without heat.
"Legolas," Thranduil said once the door had closed. "How are you?"
"Bored," the blond answered, having no reason to hide the truth from his father. "I just want this stupid wound to heal already."
"You know healing takes time," Thranduil said gently, a warm smile playing across his lips.
"Iston," Legolas muttered darkly. "I just…I hate having nothing to do, and I hate having everyone treat me like glass."
"If you took better care of yourself, perhaps we would not all be so worried," Thranduil cupped his son's cheek with a hand.
"You would have worried either way," Legolas pointed out.
"I cannot deny that," the King smiled. "I'm your father, tithen las, I shall always worry about you. Even when there is nothing to worry about." Legolas graced him a soft smile. "Relaxation does not suit you," Thranduil continued. "It never has. As soon as you could walk you decided that constant motion was to be your natural state."
Legolas could not find an answer for that, so instead he nodded and closed his eyes, just for a second, leaning on his hand to support his head.
"Legolas," Thranduil said gently. "It has been hours. You ought to go to sleep."
"I'm fine," Legolas insisted, only for his treacherous mouth to open wide in a yawn. "I need to rearrange the patrols, still."
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Thranduil's voice had taken up a scolding tone.
"Late?" Legolas suggested timidly at Thranduil's scowl. "Sorry Ada," Legolas said sheepishly.
"Your sleep will hardly benefit me, penneth."
"Iston," Legolas sighed. "I just wanted to finish this first."
Thranduil gave the open map next to the reports a long look. "I do not think this will finish today."
"No, tis not," Legolas agreed. "I suppose."
"And anyway," The King continued, "I did not know you were rearranging them."
"I wanted something to do, and no one will let me do anything else. It was Tauriel's idea." He added as an afterthought. "Along with the reports."
"You can come at the trading negotiations tomorrow," Thranduil offered with a faint smirk. "I'm certain the men would love to meet the infamour pince of Eryn Galen," Legolas' expression turned to one of horror.
"I think I will just continue with the patrol's paperwork," Thranduil laughed. He placed a kiss on top of his son's head.
"Sleep, ion nîn. I mean it."
"Fine."
Sindarin Translations
tithen las= little leaf
penneth= little one
Iston= I know
hannon le= thank you
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