As the weeks drew on, Thranduil realized that it was not just the wounds to Legolas' fae that were impacting those to his rhaw, but also, or even more so, the other way around. Legolas was notoriously bad at being confined to bed, and this was the longest he had ever had to be. Thranduil wracked his brain to find ways to keep him occupied, brought him books, tried to convince him to sketch or write, even started handing off some of his own paperwork just to give him something to do, but it was not enough. Legolas, as far as he knew, liked to read and sketch and write and sing, but it seemed like he did not like to do any of these things inside, stuck in bed. He spent more and more time just staring out the window, but even Thranduil's windows did not look into nature, and that was a big part of what Legolas was missing. Even as an elfling, he had been impossible to keep inside or on the ground; countless times he had had to retrieve his child from the trees, cursing, when he didn't return by nightfall, back when the forest had still been safe and green and welcoming.
Deprived of the outdoors, Thranduil realized, there was no chance of Legolas returning to his old self; just like without the possibility of movement there was nothing to distract him from wallowing in his thoughts. Thoughts that Thranduil was sure inevitably led him back to the tragedy he still believed to be his fault. Thranduil longed to be able to take him outside at least, but knew that perhaps even this would be a meager distraction since Legolas would not be able to climb or run in the trees or do any of the things he assumed he normally did. Still, it would be better than nothing.
Fairnathad still refused to let him out though. He checked in on Legolas nearly every day and often slipped into healing trances to let his energy flow into the younger elf. But he said little about the healing process itself. According to him, it was impossible to tell as long as the casts remained in place. He was unwilling to remove them since it had been very difficult to put them on, so the only thing to be done was wait. Thranduil was sure, however, that his friend was able to probe and gauge what was happening on the inside during his healing trances and began to worry that he was not being told everything.
Meanwhile, the cloud that surrounded Legolas, in place of the elven light that should have, grew steadily darker. Sometimes, it would lighten momentarily, sometimes even Thranduil could make that happen. Other times, it seemed to grow darker and weaker at the same time. And sometimes, there was simply nothing there. Those times frightened Thranduil.
The fact that he was in constant pain was certainly not helping. Legolas mostly denied this when asked, saying he hardly felt it, and that he was fine, but Thranduil did not believe him. He willingly accepted the painkilling teas he was given, often several times a day, and Thranduil knew Legolas would not drink them if it wasn't necessary. His expressions when he thought Thranduil was busily absorbed in paperwork next to him gave him away too. And, of course, Thranduil held him through all the moaning, groaning and whimpering he still did in his sleep. This downplaying of his own discomfort at least, Thranduil mused unhappily, Legolas seemed to have retained from his old habits.
And so, time dragged by. The days grew shorter and autumn gave out to an early winter. A thick blanket of snow covered the still-green plants, covering Northern Mirkwood with a hush. The winter stores had not been completely filled before their passage into the mountain villages was cut off by the weather, and thus the patrols had to double as hunting parties - not that there was a lot of enemy activity on the barely navigable ground anyway. Fires roared in every room of the stronghold, the elves' robes grew heavier, and they were somehow more guarded in their movements, as though waiting for some danger to pass; that was all Legolas saw of the season's change.
If it had not been for Beleghîr, he would have lost his mind entirely. And his father, of course, but his father was a necessary comfort, a lifeline, without whom he would not be anywhere at all. His father got him through the nights, and through the intense loneliness he did not want to admit to, but Beleghîr's input got him through the days. He seemed to notice before anyone else what Legolas needed. And that was neither rest nor entertainment, but occupation. After his first month of confinement, the commander had come to visit Legolas and asked him tentatively if he was well enough to help repair some of the warriors' garb that had been damaged through use and battle; they could use the help and he had thought the prince might welcome the distraction. Legolas agreed. He would have agreed to anything just to ease the endless tedium, but this was an especially cleverly chosen task because of its connection to military activity. Beleghîr had managed to convince Legolas not to surrender his captaincy, and now he had found a way for the prince to serve despite his condition, which helped to ease his guilty conscience. Soon, there was a workshop set up around his bed that might have been a tailor's or a tanner's. Legolas stitched, patched and mended leather armor, wrist guards, boots, belts, tunics, cloaks and jerkins from morning until night. His work was rough and clumsy at first; he had never mended anything but his own things, and only when there was nobody else to do it for him. But with the extensive practice, his stitches soon grew small, neat and fast. After a few weeks of piling him with material, Beleghîr found he was soon running out of damaged garb to bring him; the winter weather and absence of enemy run-ins was keeping everything whole. So he brought in arrows that needed new fletching. This, Legolas was already good at. Another few weeks passed and their stores were fuller than they had been for as long as anyone could remember; it was getting difficult to find a single damaged arrow.
Fairnathad soon jumped onto the train of putting the bored but efficient elf to use, and had him cut and roll new bandages next. This did not keep him occupied for long, so next he brought him sticks to be whittled into smooth flat splints, a luxury the healing wards often had to renounce to. This was slow, precise and more challenging work, but Legolas soon developed a knack for it and Fairnathad knew it would keep him busy at least until he was no longer strictly confined to bed.
And Fairnathad would have to let him out of bed soon. Legolas was still as uncharacteristically patient and uncomplaining as he had been from the start, but was obviously suffering; and Thranduil was becoming unbearable. The king was growing nastier by the day, and was beginning to treat the healer as though he had single-handedly demolished his son's limbs, and it was starting to wear on him. So Fairnathad eventually decided that three months of bedrest would have to be enough.
He had sawed the casts open one time, two months after the surgery, to see what was happening, if anything at all. He was encouraged to see that there had been some bone regrowth; there was definitely some resistance beneath his probing fingers in the areas right under the incision scars. The legs remained oddly bruised-looking though, and were so sensitive to his touch that Legolas barely made it through the examination without throwing up from the pain. Fairnathad was also not sure whether bone regrowth would be enough to restore their proper function; his muscles, ligaments, blood vessels, everything had been just as severely damaged. He had never attempted to treat a limb in such a severe condition before, and could honestly not say whether it was succeeding or not. He sighed inwardly as he closed the casts again, tying the halves together with bandages, deciding to leave the limbs immobilized for a little bit longer.
A month later though, he had to admit that enough was enough, even without Thranduil's temper wearing his patience thin. There was only so much immobilization could do; what hadn't reattached to where it belonged by that time probably simply wouldn't, he reasoned. Now the limbs needed to be mobilized to hopefully return some life to them.
So Fairnathad undid the casts again, this time removing them completely. The color of the skin was slightly better, but not much. What was encouraging was that the legs held their shape and did not just crumble and bend without the casts. They were definitely leg-shaped, even though they were very thin and there was something uneven-looking about them. What was less encouraging was the intense amount of pain Legolas was obviously in. They hadn't even attempted this without feeding him a high dose of herbs beforehand, and that it still hurt the usually stoic elf so badly could not be a good sign. Still, Fairnathad kept his tone light and optimistic and, with Neniel's help, wrapped the limbs tightly in bandages, using some of the splints Legolas had made on his shins and thigh but leaving his knees only heavily bandaged, so that some movement would be possible. At least passively.
And so Legolas was finally allowed out of bed. This proved to be very anticlimactic, especially for Thranduil, who had been most impatient. It made practically no difference. Legolas seemed to know this already, but humored his father as he fed him liberal amounts of painkillers, wrapped him in blankets and carried him out into the nearest garden. Thranduil realized it too, when he spent ten minutes outside holding Legolas, unable to put him down in the deep snow and finding it impossible to walk very much himself. It was bitterly cold, he could not see his own feet and he was afraid of slipping and dropping his son. So they went back inside. Legolas was very gracious about it, but couldn't quite hide his relief once he was back in bed; Thranduil suspected, correctly, that the whole activity had caused him tremendous pain.
For Legolas, by far the best part of being allowed out of bed was being able to bathe. After three months of sponge baths, he was more than ready to actually wash anyway, but he also found that the warmth and weightlessness of the water helped lessen his pain. He mentioned this to Fairnathad and the healer saw a chance in this. He convinced them to let him take over the task of helping Legolas in and out of the bath, and tried to work with the damaged limbs while he was in the water. At first, he moved them for him; this Legolas found painful but bearable, his joints having miraculously sustained the least complicated injuries of the lot. Then Fairnathad tried to make him move his legs of his own accord, and that was excruciating. He pumped him full of painkillers before these sessions and persisted, hoping that the pain would get better as the legs got used to movement again, but even doses high enough to make Legolas so drowsy he could not be safely left alone in the water were not enough to numb it.
Apart from the baths, Legolas still spent most of his time in bed. He still sometimes helped Fairnathad and Beleghîr with whatever tasks they could manage to delegate, but Thranduil also noticed that he spent more time just resting now that he could be moved around. It seemed to take a lot out of him, even if that movement was minimal – he was reluctant to go anywhere inside the stronghold that involved leaving his father's chambers. Thranduil knew he did not want to be publicly carried around, did not want to talk to anybody but the same few elves who had been coming to see him since he had been injured, and was uneasy about running into anyone intimately connected to his deceased subordinates. Sometimes he sat with Thranduil in his study and helped him answer letters or read papers or just kept him company, but that was the only other place he did not mind going.
Again, it was Beleghîr who saw without being told the opportunity to do something for the injured prince, whom he had been spending more and more time with. Feeling slightly apprehensive, he made his way to the king's chambers with his construction one evening, knocked, and entered when the invitation came.
Thranduil and Legolas were both in the king's study, sitting at Thranduil's desk. They stared at the commander for a moment, taking in the sight of what he had brought with him.
It was a chair, a wicker armchair, and Beleghîr had attached what appeared to be carriage wheels to it. There were two large wheels on either side, that were as big as the frame of the chair, and there was a legrest that sloped slightly down from the chair that had two smaller wheels attached to the front part of it. There were handles on the back of the armchair that Beleghîr was currently using to push it over to them. It was obvious what it was for, and Legolas felt a mix of sensations at the sight of the construction.
"Aran-nîn, ernil-nîn", Beleghîr began, respectful as always, once he arrived by the desk. He turned to Legolas. "I made you this, I thought you might like it. Or use it, at least. I hope I did not overstep."
Legolas looked up at the commander, deeply touched by his initiative. He looked back at the chair. It was beautifully made; the chair he had used was dark wicker which had looked as though it had been recently treated and shone in the firelight. A long red cushion lined the inside of the chair and leg rest. The leg rest had been constructed to look almost like the rest of the chair and was skillfully attached, almost invisibly. The wheels had been cleaned and polished, and shone along with the rest.
Legolas looked back up at Beleghîr. He wanted to smile at the commander, but found he could not; it was all he could do to keep his brimming eyes from overflowing. "Thank you", he said softly. "Truly. I don't know what to say."
"You should be able to move it by yourself", Beleghîr said hesitantly. "At least on flat surfaces. It will probably take some practice, but I tried it and it does work."
Nobody said anything for a moment. Legolas cursed himself for not being able to better control his reaction; he wanted to be happy and excited and show Beleghîr how much he appreciated his gift, but there was a huge knot in his chest that seemed to be keeping him from doing anything.
"Thank you", he managed to choke out again. He felt a tear run down his cheek and wiped it away angrily. "I'm sorry", he muttered. "I don't – I really appreciate it. It's beautiful. I do not know what is wrong with me."
"Worry not", Beleghîr said, giving him a small understanding smile. "I will visit another time." With that, he turned around and made for the door, leaving Legolas and Thranduil alone again.
For a few moments, both were lost for words. Then Thranduil slowly got up from behind the desk and went over to where the chair was standing. He gripped the handles, which were high enough for the tall elf to comfortably hold without bending forward, and pushed it over to where Legolas was sitting. Wordlessly, he lifted his son and placed him carefully into the chair. It seemed to be tailored exactly to his form; it was the most comfortable chair he had sat in since his injury. His legs rested at the perfect angle, the soft cushion gently supporting the sensitive limbs. Legolas just sat for a moment, overwhelmed by his own conflicting emotions. His father, standing beside him, seemed lost for words himself.
Then Legolas took a deep breath and put his hands on the wheels. He pushed them forwards and felt the chair follow. Clumsily, he maneuvered it out from behind the desk, the chair following his instinctive steering attempts easily. As he felt himself moving under his own power for the first time in nearly five months, he felt the sadness that had dominated his emotions slip away and suddenly felt excited. He turned the chair around, a bit awkwardly but already feeling that it would get easier, to face his father. For the first time in forever, he reminded Thranduil of his old self. He was still thinner and paler than he was supposed to be, his golden hair loose and unbraided as he had kept it since the injury, and his heavily bandaged legs were well on display in the chair; but a happy grin lit up his face. Thranduil had all but forgotten how wide he could smile. His breath caught in his throat. If it was really this simple to put that grin back on Legolas' face, why had he not thought to give him what he needed?
"What is it, Ada?", Legolas asked, when Thranduil's expression failed to match his. "Do I look too crippled?"
"No!", Thranduil exclaimed, dismayed, rushing over to his son and kneeling down next to the chair. Legolas smirked at him, eyes sparkling; he had been teasing. "No, of course not, penneth", he repeated. "I am just upset that I did not come up with something like this myself. Earlier. I know how much you hate being carried around and I thought there was nothing I could do to avoid it."
Legolas shrugged, experimentally moving the wheels to push the chair slightly backwards and forwards, making Thranduil let go of the armrest. Thranduil could see him smiling, even though he was looking down and focusing on the chair. "I did not think of this either, Ada", he said. "You are lucky to have such a clever commander in charge of your troops."
With that, he pushed the chair backwards away from Thranduil and turned it around, already slightly smoother than his first attempt.
Thranduil stood up from the floor and went back to sit at his desk. He tried to return his attention to the letters he had been going over, but his eyes kept flitting over to Legolas, who was taking total advantage of his newly regained mobility by wheeling the chair into every corner of the large room. Thranduil's heart swelled as he watched him. His face bore an expression of deep concentration as he twisted and spun, testing how well he could steer the contraption. He was so completely absorbed and unselfconscious that he reminded Thranduil of an elfling at play. Thranduil suddenly felt the relief split his face into a smile. Legolas seemed to feel it. He looked up briefly and grinned, then returned to his task.
By the time their evening meal arrived, Legolas was able to guide the chair easily up to the dining table. He flashed Galion, Thranduil's butler, another wide grin as he wheeled past, exuding total control and confidence. Thranduil suspected he must be using it to cover up no small amount of insecurity, but if so, he was doing an excellent job. Perhaps he had grown so used to the helplessness he had always so despised that happiness was genuinely the only thing he felt. In any case, it was contagious - Galion, who had seemed slightly taken aback upon entering the king's study, now looked almost impressed.
"Ae, Legolas", he said, returning the smile as he set his tray down on the table. "It is good to see you up and about. That looks to be quite a clever construction."
"It is", Legolas agreed. He ungracefully yanked one of the chairs away from the table and shoved it aside to make room for his own, which he slid easily into its place. Thranduil simply watched, then slowly crossed the room and took a seat next to his son. The two elves looked at each other, and something was different. The closeness that had grown between them since Legolas' injury was no less strong, but the dependence that had overshadowed it had suddenly, at least momentarily, fallen away. Simply because Legolas had arrived at the table by his own means, instead of being put there by his father. He had chosen to be there. And that was somehow important.
Legolas reached for the carafe Galion had placed on the table and poured two glasses of wine. He had not drunk more than the occasional symbolic sip since his injury, and had never willingly served himself anything alcoholic. Now he raised his glass to Thranduil. His eyes looked black in the firelight, glittering, and Thranduil could see that the darkness in them was not gone, not by any means. But the joy he had just witnessed was real too. And if that was still possible, then there was hope.
"Almien, Ada", Legolas said with a small smile before lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip.
Thranduil tilted his own glass toward his son. Joy. Health. Light. He toasted silently, and drank.
***Thanks to everyone who read and especially reviewed the story so far, you make me very happy and kept me posting on this site while the stats pages were broken ;) (This was a little bit of a filler chapter, normally I prefer to write with more dialogue, but I needed to make some time go by. More soon)***