Thranduil sat in a chair next to Legolas' bed and waited for him. He had already made his bed, rearranged his pillows and prepared a pain-numbing herbal draught. Now he sat there, cursing his stubborn son for once again, he assumed, staying at the armory for too long. Waiting there and doing nothing was torture. The nervous pit in his stomach was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but he forced himself to stay in the chair, hoping, perhaps, that an outward show of calm might spread to the inside. That had thus far proved unsuccessful. But he had come with a purpose, and he was going to fulfill it.
When Legolas finally arrived, he indeed looked beyond weary, with Tiron, the young servant Thranduil had appointed to assist the prince while he and Fairnathad were busy, pushing his chair. When Legolas saw his father, he made an instant effort to sit up straighter and move the wheels himself. Thranduil felt a pang of pity and guilt.
Tiron pushed him over to the bed, took the blanket off his legs and expertly lifted him into it. Thranduil watched the pain well up in Legolas' eyes and his jaw harden at the movement, though he was obviously trying hard not to betray what he was feeling. He leaned back against the pillows as Tiron gently arranged his legs so they were lying straight and covered him with the blanket. His breathing was audible, though he was trying hard to control it. Thranduil looked at his pale face, the deep shadows under his eyes, the cheeks that seemed to sink ever further the thinner the ailing elf grew. His eyes, once the pain flare died down, were blank and empty. Thranduil could no longer understand how he could have thought Legolas was doing any better. What he saw before him was no more than a shell of his son.
"Hannon le, Tiron", he told the young servant. "We can manage from here."
The servant nodded and took his leave. Thranduil quickly fetched the draught he had prepared and took it over to Legolas, who, as had become his habit, took it from his father wordlessly and downed it. Then he turned to Thranduil and raised the corners of his mouth in what was probably supposed to resemble a smile but looked thoroughly displaced on the sad, drawn face. Thranduil sat back down and took his hand, his heart swelling with compassion. How he could have been so blind was beyond him.
"Legolas", he said softly, stroking the cold hand in his, feeling the calluses. Calluses that were no longer from pulling on bowstrings, but from pushing the wheels of his chair. They were in all the wrong places.
Legolas' fingers closed gently around his. His face was calm now, open, his eyes dark and deep in the firelight. The forced smile was gone from his face; he looked at Thranduil, eyes alert, as though he knew what was coming.
"I believe I owe you an apology", Thranduil continued. "I made you feel like your only option was to stay here and get better. I hope you know it is not."
Legolas only blinked at him.
"I admit it is my favorite option", Thranduil went on. "I wish for nothing more than for that to happen."
They sat in silence for a moment, Thranduil rubbing circles into Legolas' palm with his thumb.
"It is my favorite option too", Legolas said finally.
"I know", Thranduil murmured. "But I did not mean to pressure you. Your life as you knew it, everything you worked for, is gone. Please do not think you must stay here for my sake. If there is a chance you might be happier across the sea, then you should sail. We are lucky to have that possibility. It is nothing I have not considered before myself."
Legolas' eyes flitted toward the ravaged side of his father's face, as always concealed to perfection by a glamor spell. "Yet you are here", he said softly.
"Merely aesthetic", Thranduil retorted. "I am not in pain. Some king I would be if an ugly scar were enough to make me abandon my woods."
Legolas scoffed at this understatement.
"Or my child", Thranduil added quietly.
"But you would have me leave you."
"I would have you do what is best for you. And I am not your child, Legolas. You were but an elfling. You had just lost your mother. It is not the same."
Legolas lowered his gaze. Thranduil could feel his fingers lightly worrying at his own.
"I will see you again, ion-nîn", Thranduil said gently. He forced himself to remain calm, to believe in the words he was speaking. "We will always be family. No matter what you decide."
"Mmmhhh." Legolas looked up sideways at Thranduil, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "You have been talking to Nath."
Thranduil sighed. "I have", he admitted. "Or rather, he has been talking to me. And according to him, your injuries are no longer healing, and will not likely get any better on their own. Despite what you would have me believe."
Legolas raised his eyebrows. "I never said they were healing", he said. "You believed what you wanted to believe. Or what Nath made you believe. I was certain from the moment it happened that …" His voice trailed off. He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose I did let you believe it. I wanted you to be right."
Thranduil slowly shook his head. He sighed. "We have been fighting too hard, for too long. I have forgotten how to stop."
Legolas looked at him and smiled sadly.
"I do not want to leave", he said softly.
"I know", Thranduil answered, swallowing at the lump in his throat. "But I will not have you fade away under my watch. I am trying to get a message to Mithrandir. Perhaps he can help. But if we cannot find him, or there is nothing he can do … Nath says we cannot wait forever, if you are to have any choice in this matter."
Legolas looked down again. His hair fell in a curtain over his face, hiding his expression. Thranduil reached over and brushed it behind his ear. Legolas' gaze returned to him, face still lowered, eyes glistening darkly. Thranduil took a deep breath and swallowed. He resisted the urge to scream, to beat his fists into the wall, to overturn the bed, and forced himself to be strong. To finish this conversation felt like one of the hardest things he had ever done.
"I suggest", he forced up past the lump. "That we keep trying to contact Mithrandir for now. If we have no success before the end of summer, I will travel with you to Imladris. If Elrond cannot help you, we will travel on to the Grey Havens."
Thranduil was amazed at how level and even his voice sounded; his throat felt too constricted to let any words pass. But somehow, they did.
"I know this seems rather soon", he said, swallowing. Legolas was still watching him, his shiny gaze intense. "But if you do not want to spend another winter here, then … We will not do anything unless you want to, of course."
There. He had done it. He had told his son to sail. It felt like he was exiling him. Kicking him out injured into the wilds because he was no longer of any use to him. How on Arda had Fairnathad managed to convince him this was necessary?
Legolas looked at him for a few moments longer, his expression unreadable, until the shine in his eyes suddenly welled over and tears began to stream down the sides of his face.
Thranduil was on the bed in an instant, gathering his son into a fierce embrace. Legolas sagged against him, his thin frame shaking with quiet sobs. Thranduil felt his shoulder grow increasingly damp, rivaled only by his own face.
For a long time, they clung to each other. There was no reason to let go; not now. Now it felt like the forever they were supposed to have had been taken away, now every moment was precious. The grief that enveloped them was like a dense fog, stifling, hard to breathe through; and yet Thranduil could feel something piercing it like the first rays of sun during a wet, cloudy dawn: relief. It was not so much his own at first, but the stronger he felt it grow beneath Legolas' sorrow, the more he was able to share in it. If that was how Legolas felt, then this was the right decision. Then he would have to let him go.
Long after their tears had subsided, Thranduil still cradled his son against him. Finally, when the younger elf's body had stilled and slackened so much that Thranduil thought he must have succumbed to exhaustion, he gently laid him back against the pillows and carefully removed his outer tunic. A slight flicker in Legolas' half-lidded eyes was the only reaction. Thranduil pulled a clean tunic over his head and then, pushing the mound of pillows to the floor, tenderly shifted his son onto his side, taking special care while moving his legs. Still the action elicited a soft pained whimper. Thranduil took off his own outer robes and then got into the bed with Legolas, folding his frame around his son's, holding him close while he could.
***So short chapter this week, long chapter up next! Fair warning, I've been trying to stick to posting once a week but the next update might take a little bit longer. Just have to figure out how to tie up some threads and need to find some time to do that. But it won't be much longer. Thanks to everyone reading and commenting, that makes me very happy :)***