***And back with a new chapter! I can't promise super regular updates for the near future, but they'll get written eventually. Hope everyone's having a better time this summer than the Mirkwood elves (if indeed you live in a place where it's summer)! And always feel free to let me know what you think :)***

oOo

It did not feel like summer. The stifling heat was the only reminder of the season in the stronghold; the forest had once again grown so dark that even the immediate surrounding of the wood-elves' dwelling seemed to be affected. The thick foliage let little light penetrate to the forest floor, and a perpetual mist hung in the air, creating a muggy, unpleasant haze that seemed to sparkle eerily in the few sunbeams that filtered through the treetops. All that summer did was remind the elves of what was missing; the scarcity of game, and even of other animals, the lacking wholesomeness of their trees and even smaller plants and herbs, paucity instead of the abundance of nature it should have brought. All seemed wrought with death and darkness. The elves avoided the forest unless it was to travel through the tree-paths, where some sunlight touched; otherwise they kept to the stronghold, where it was all less noticeable.

The Elvenking's last summer with his son.

Thranduil worked at concentrating on the fact that he wasn't gone yet, to hold his heart together while he was still with him, and to spend as much time with him as he could. Which, unfortunately, was not that much. He was nearly always occupied all day, with only very short breaks between his duties. But he spent nearly all of his evenings in Legolas' room, and the nights without fail. Fairnathad started joining them more and more often. The increased military activity was also causing more soldiers to return injured, and had made the healer's days just as busy as the king's, but he always managed to make time to check on Legolas in the evenings. There did not seem to be much he could do at this point to encourage healing, but he tried to help make him as comfortable as possible, giving him herbs to help him sleep, making sure he ate, or helping him with personal things he suspected the prince of being too proud or too shy to ask of the young elf Thranduil had charged with assisting his son during his absences. When Thranduil inevitably showed up as soon as his duties allowed him, Fairnathad stayed to spend time with him as well. Thranduil was beginning to suspect his friend of avoiding him whenever he was not in Legolas' company; though if this were true, he could not exactly blame him.

As it was, the three of them fell into a comfortable and familiar, if somewhat subdued, routine. The perpetual shadow that hung over them all made their time spent together and in peace all the more precious. Legolas was glad of the company, and wanted to be there for his father, but was often too exhausted, depressed, drugged or ill with pain by the time evening came to participate much in any conversations. He was more than content to listen to the two elder elves talk while he lay next to his father and let their familiar banter soothe his fae. Fairnathad enjoyed the calm, cozy intimacy he was so readily included in by the small family who he cared for as though they were his own. He also liked Thranduil best these days when he was near Legolas; seemingly only there could the king cast off his protective armor of cold heartlessness and vicious sarcasm and allow himself to be vulnerable. And Thranduil simply felt. His state of inner turmoil made the demands of the throne much more taxing than usual, the dropping of his sad pretense at a kingly demeanor in the evenings an even more welcome relief. Being close to his fading child was the only thing he wanted to do, though it made him feel simultaneously whole and torn to pieces. Fairnathad's presence, not for the first time in the king's long life, was an anchor in his sea of grief, keeping him from drifting too far to return. The healer had always had an uncanny knack for distracting his friend before the latter realized what he was doing, and an infallible instinct for knowing when and how he was needed. They spent the evenings drinking wine, quietly talking or just sitting in companionable silence.

Thranduil tried everything he could think of to get a message to Mithrandir; he sent messengers to find Aiwendil, and sent out birds to see if the eagles knew of his whereabouts. He was skeptical of the Istar's abilities to help heal Legolas - unless it was somehow the will of the Valar, which Thranduil personally did not think extended to lowly and unimportant wood-elves - but he did not want to leave any options untested. So far, he had been without success. It did not make that much of a difference to him; he was more worried about the next part of their plan.

Thranduil worked hard to accept the fact that the journey he had spoken of to Legolas would most likely take place. They would travel towards the Grey Havens, and Imladris was so much on the way that it would have been hard to avoid even if he had wanted to try. He would not have minded avoiding Imladris and its spoiled Noldor inhabitants, but going to them for help was not the part of the plan that worried him.

There were two big issues. The first, and biggest, was how to get Legolas there. Even if the roads had been safe, this would have been a problem. He could not ride by himself, and Thranduil was not convinced that somebody supporting him on horseback would be a much better solution; but he had not been able to come up with anything better so far. Slinging a stretcher between two horses would perhaps be more comfortable for Legolas, but would slow them down immensely, and the safest paths through the woods were often too narrow. It would also make flight much more difficult in case of attack. A cart was out of the question, as the bumpy forest floor would make for even less smooth travel than on horseback.

There did not seem to be an obvious choice, and whatever was decided they would have to travel slowly to avoid jostling the injured elf more than necessary. That in turn would mean about two weeks on the road. Thranduil was having trouble imagining how Legolas would manage it. And that was only the best-case scenario. The roads were not safe, and run-ins with unsavory beings were more or less a given.

The other problem was the escort. Thranduil had told Legolas that he would travel with him, but the more he thought about the details of the trip, the more he feared he had spoken hastily. Though he was, of course, the king and could technically do what he pleased, it had become customary for Thranduil to stay within the safety of the stronghold and to venture out of it only when absolutely necessary. Nobody, try as they might, would be able to stop him from going with Legolas, but the trip they had planned would take time. The climate in the Woodland Realm was currently such that it would be nearly impossible for the king to leave for an indefinite period. Avornion would take over for him in his absence, but it was not the same, and would do little to reassure the population of Northern Greenwood.

On the rare occasions that Thranduil did leave the stronghold, steps were usually taken to make Legolas as safe as possible in his absence, preferably in the palace. This was to ensure they would not fall victim to the same attack, or both be captured, and leave the elven kingdom without a successor to the throne. As the purpose of their planned trip was to bring about exactly what they generally sought to avoid though, Thranduil reflected humorlessly, their traveling together should not be an issue. Only, again, perhaps his own participation. As the last of his line remaining in Middle Earth, his safety would become, if possible, even more of a priority.

But even excepting Thranduil's involvement, organizing an escort for this particular journey would be difficult. They had no warriors to spare. Legolas knew this, of course, and Thranduil was positive he would refuse to claim their defense capacities for something as unnecessary as his own protection, and would probably even insist that Thranduil stay behind if anything about a large escort was mentioned. Thranduil in turn would refuse to let Legolas go anywhere at all unprotected in his vulnerable state; he was also going to accompany his son to the Grey Havens if it was the last thing he did. He would have to find a way.

It was not ideal.

On top of that, Thranduil was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that Legolas was getting cold feet. Or perhaps he had changed his mind. In any case, the closer their planned departure time drew, the more evasive and dismissive Legolas grew. The initial relief he had obviously felt at Thranduil's proposal had lasted for a while, which was the only reason Thranduil had pursued it in the first place. Now, several weeks later though, Legolas was so reluctant to discuss any details that Thranduil decided to stop mentioning it to him. He did seem to be doing better, noticeably so, as the Midsummer Lithe Days approached.

Which was nice to see, but led to a stall in their plans. Thranduil would not have minded just playing it by ear, perhaps leaving as soon as Legolas showed signs of wanting to, but he knew that if they waited too long, winter would make crossing the mountains too dangerous and they would have to wait until the following year. He was not eager to have Legolas leave, especially if he was having second thoughts, but the past winter had been bad and he did not want to risk making Legolas go through another of those - though it probably would not be quite as bad, he reasoned, since he would not be entirely bedridden. Fairnathad continued to pester him though; if they waited too long and Legolas deteriorated during the winter, they would be unable to do anything.

The back and forth was exhausting. After weeks of having to be more or less scraped off the floor after half-days at the armory, Legolas had surprised him by wanting to go to the Lithe Days celebrations. Which Thranduil himself was not in the mood for in the least, but this celebration was important to his struggling people, especially now, and he had no choice but to attend. And there, he had caught a glimpse of the 'old' Legolas. He had refused to lead the opening ceremony with the king; Thranduil assumed he was still not appreciative of the badly concealed stares he inevitably got from those unused to seeing him in his chair. But he had attended it, alongside Beleghîr, the elves he worked with at the armory and some members of the guard. All of them, Thranduil noted, were in some way connected to military activity. He had watched them surreptitiously during the celebration (which he had mostly spent drinking wine and trying not to scowl too obviously) and, over the course of the evening, had seen him drink, laugh and even sing. And it had dawned on him that he really only got to see Legolas at his worst and weakest these days, the gnawed crusts that were left of him when all the soft bits had been stripped away. But that that did not mean that was all he ever was anymore. There was life, and light, and joy in him yet. And then Thranduil started to have second thoughts. Again.

Thranduil had a lot to drink that night.

Galion pulled him out of his chair and started leading him to his rooms at some point, late. He did not protest; he had hardly spoken to anyone all night, and did not see the point in starting now. Most of the celebration was a blur of lights, heat, music, dancing, singing, laughter: good, he thought darkly. At least some of his people still had it in them, at least he was not doing everything wrong.

He felt empty and the wine had only served to enhance the feeling, though perhaps contributed to the strange grim satisfaction he was feeling. There was nothing left for him. The enemy had never felt this close to winning; perhaps not globally, but against him. His private war, the one he had been waging longer than Greenwood's, was lost. Perhaps his realm would hold out a little bit longer, perhaps his people would not notice that their king had been defeated and hollowed out, but right now it didn't even matter to him. Nothing mattered.

"Spar with me", he said to Galion upon arriving in his study. He went straight for his sword, which was mounted on the wall. He unsheathed it and started advancing across the floor, the weapon moving easily through the air in front of him, swinging, whistling, slashing. This, if nothing else, felt right.

"You are going to cut your robes", Galion commented, watching him from a corner and making no move to join him.

"I doubt that", said Thranduil, continuing his twirling, fighting dance. "Hasn't been sharpened in yéni." Which might as well be true.

"I wouldn't worry. It is still sharp. It is always sharp."

Thranduil snorted. "That is what you think." He spun right up to Galion, ended his step formation with the tip of his sword pointed at his face, dangerously close.

Galion, leaning against the wall in his corner, didn't even blink.

Thranduil slashed his way back across the room. The paneled walls seemed to frown at him as he blew past; there were paintings, of his father, his mother, his wife, but he had never hung them up and suddenly their absence was glaring, deafening. He kept moving.

There were paintings of Legolas too, somewhere.

He spun around, cut the air, flew across the room in long, flowing strides. It was no longer enjoyable but he could not stop, because then he would inevitably have to do something else. And there was nothing else he could do.

He spun again, fast, sword reaching as far as it could. He swayed slightly, perhaps deliberately, but caught himself and sliced a circle in the other direction, narrowly missing his desk.

"Thranduil", Galion said calmly. "It is late. You should rest."

Thranduil ignored him.

"The festivities continue tomorrow."

Thranduil swung around and pointed his blade back at him.

Galion sighed. "Please stop", he said, unimpressed.

Thranduil pointed his sword back away from his servant. He gave the handle an expert spin, letting the sword fly up high into the air, twirling around and landing back in his hand. He fell to his knees in the process, slid a few paces, pointing the blade straight up at the ceiling. He paused for a breath, then flung himself back to his feet and spun in another circle –

The door opened. Thranduil hadn't even heard anyone approach. He turned again to look, automatically pointing his sword towards the entering elves.

"Ai, Ada", said Legolas, raising his eyebrows at him. "We come in peace."

Thranduil twirled his sword as he lowered it, finally returning it to its sheath. Legolas was being carried by Tiron, Beleghîr was entering the study behind them pushing Legolas' chair. Tiron turned and lowered Legolas into it. Legolas looked up at the two other elves and thanked them and, since the king was quite pointedly not giving them his permission to remain, dismissed them. Both quickly bowed their heads and quietly left the room.

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil stalked over to the wall next to his desk and replaced his sword on the fixtures. He could hear the coldness in his voice, wondered at it, but was somehow unable to change it. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

"I was."

Thranduil heard the quiet sound of Legolas pushing his chair closer. He kept his face turned to the wall.

"I wanted to see if you were alright", Legolas said quietly from behind him. "You did not look like you were enjoying the festivities."

Thranduil snorted derisively. "Was it that obvious?"

"Perhaps not to everyone."

Legolas had arrived next to him now, and was looking up at him with those deep, unreadable eyes. Thranduil kicked at the foot of his desk and turned to begin pacing around the room.

"You should go back to the feast."

Legolas did not respond. Thranduil kept pacing, aware of his son's gaze following him. Something was keeping him from returning it.

Legolas watched him for another minute or so, during which the king showed no signs of relenting his restless pacing. Finally he turned his chair around and started back towards the door.

"Loro vae, Ada", he said quietly as he made for the exit.

"Legolas?", Thranduil heard Galion ask. "Do you need me to –"

"Hannon le", Legolas murmured as Thranduil heard the door being opened. "It's fine, I can manage."

The door closed behind him. Thranduil kept walking back and forth, lightly kicking at every object or piece of furniture he encountered. The decor around him swayed ever so slightly. Not nearly enough. He swerved and made a beeline for his well-stocked wine cabinet, drawing a glass out and filling it to the brim.

"Aran-nîn."

"What is it, Galion?", he muttered at his servant, who had snuck up behind him. He brought the glass to his lips and took a generous swallow.

"If there is nothing else you need me to do I will see that your son gets down those stairs in one piece." Now it was Galion who sounded cold.

"Bit late for that, isn't it", Thranduil drawled, a slight slur in his words.

Galion's retort, if indeed he had one planned, died on his tongue as he evidently decided it was not worth it. He heard his old friend turn around with a huff and stride from the room. Thranduil took another large swallow of wine, dimly aware of the fact that he was behaving badly and wondering casually if he would regret it the next day. Right now it seemed to be catering to his grim satisfaction. He topped off his glass and sauntered over to sit on his desk.

He looked around at the vaulted ceiling, the paneled wall, the polished wooden floor, the light of the fire and the lamps reflected in the gleaming beams. He could hear voices from beyond the door and focused stubbornly on not hearing what they were saying. A few moments later, his glass was empty, like his study, and he found that without an audience for his drunken bad behavior there was nothing, however darkly, enjoyable about it.

Before he could change his mind he pushed himself back to his feet, crossed the floor and opened the door. The winding walkways and staircases that filled the vast cavernous expanse outside the king's quarters were carved along the paths the great roots they dwelled among had chosen. Beleghîr was carrying Legolas down a particularly twisted one while Galion followed with his chair.

"Tolo hí, Legolas", Thranduil said, his voice echoing through the caverns. "Saes."

The three elves paused in their descent. Legolas and Galion looked up at him; Beleghîr kept looking at Legolas.

"Boe postad, Ada", Legolas replied, after a few beats. His voice was heavy with fatigue. It tore at Thranduil's heartstrings. "I am going to bed."

"You can sleep here", Thranduil said. "It is closer. Av'osto, I will not disturb you."

Thranduil had not slept without Legolas since the surgery, now over eight moons ago. He was not sure he remembered how to do it. He would have to relearn that sooner or later. But not tonight. Unless, of course, he had chased him off with his moodiness. He cringed when he thought for the first time of the effort Legolas had put into coming to see him. He could not simply come up to his rooms, he had had to ask two others for help, which he usually avoided doing unless he had no other choice. Only to be told to go back to the party.

"Saes, penneth", he said quietly, his words echoing nonetheless. "Goheno nin."

He leaned against the wall next to his door. Beleghîr and Galion both looked at Legolas, who nodded at them. Thranduil could see from a distance that his son looked bad, nothing like he had at the festivities, whatever he had taken to get through the evening had obviously worn off. He realized that he had not been paying attention when he had come in before and wondered what on Arda had gotten into him.

He waited contritely for them to climb slowly back up the stairs, then held the door open for them. Legolas' face was ashen, his head almost lolling against Beleghîr's shoulder. Galion raised his eyebrows at Thranduil distastefully as he followed the other two into his study with the chair; Beleghîr looked like he wanted to do the same but did not think he should show disrespect for his king and kept his gaze fixed straight ahead instead, pointedly avoiding meeting his eye. It felt deserved.

He closed the door behind Galion and quickly led them through the connecting doors into his private quarters, through the sitting room and into his bedchamber. He motioned to Beleghîr to lay Legolas down on the bed that had not been slept in in months. The commander obliged, carefully setting the prince down so he was leaning against the pillows before easing his arms out from under him.

"You have a fever", he said quietly to Legolas, apparently forgetting his normally strict adherence to protocol as he sat down on the king's bed next to the prince and touched the back of his hand to his forehead. He looked worried, and Thranduil, not for the first time, wondered idly at their relationship.

Legolas' chest was rising and falling rapidly. "Yes", he murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Av'osto. It happens when I … do things." He smiled wryly at Beleghîr. "Told you."

Thranduil realized that he had nothing for pain or fever relief in his quarters.

"I will go fetch some herbs", he said. When Galion made to go in his stead, he waved him off, feeling like playing the role of errand boy might serve to ease his guilt. No longer feeling drunk, he hurried down to the healing wards and helped himself to a generous stock of the medicines he needed, which he was becoming quite the expert on. He borrowed a cup and

poured some ready-heated water over a mix of herbs against pain, fever and inflammation so they could steep on the way back to his rooms.

Legolas struggled feebly to get himself into a seated position when Thranduil re-entered the room; Beleghîr helped him up, alarm etched into his features as he watched Legolas slump back against the pillows, unable to suppress a gasp of pain. Of course, Thranduil thought darkly. He had probably never seen Legolas in this condition before, at least not recently. That was usually reserved for him.

Legolas did appear to be in an especially bad way though, even for him. Thranduil knew that if he had any energy left, he would use it to hide his pain and save face, especially in front of the commander. Instead he seemed oblivious to his friend's concern, only stretched out a shaky hand for the cup Thranduil held out to him, spilling some of the liquid onto the blankets. Beleghîr's eyes widened and he quickly wrapped one arm back around the prince's shoulders and helped him guide the cup to his lips with the other. Legolas slowly sipped at the potion, his hand so unsteady that quite a bit of it missed his mouth.

Thranduil folded his arms as he watched.

"What exactly did you ingest?", he asked, raising his eyebrows as he suddenly realized what his impression of the old version of his son must have been caused by.

Legolas' eyes flitted over to him sluggishly. He emptied the cup and then clumsily wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. "Miruvor", he supplied finally, falling back against the pillows. His eyes returned to Beleghîr, who was now looking distinctly guilty. He smiled at him wearily and put a hand on his forearm. "Worth it", he murmured, giving it a squeeze. Then his eyes dropped shut completely.

Beleghîr's head snapped around towards Thranduil, eyes wide with alarm. Thranduil impulsively considered toying with him and letting him wallow for a bit in his obvious guilt – miruvor was more a precious military resource than anything else – but caught himself. He had been nasty enough today.

"Do not worry, Commander", he said instead. "This is not terribly unusual."

"Just need … a moment", Legolas whispered, his face tense with pain. His jaw trembled almost imperceptibly before he clenched down hard on it again. Beleghîr saw it and made to carefully ease the blanket out from under the prince, but was caught sharply by the arm.

"Don't move …", Legolas ground out in a low moan, gasping at the sudden jolt his own abrupt gesture had caused. Beleghîr froze. Thranduil stepped closer to the bed and reached for the side of the blanket that Legolas was not lying on and folded it over him. Beleghîr took up the end closest to him and tucked it gently around Legolas' rapidly rising and falling torso, his hands unnecessarily smoothing over the fabric when it wrinkled through the movement in what was recognizable as a futile attempt to do something. He looked as lost as Thranduil often felt when faced with his son being constantly overwhelmed with pain, wanting nothing more than to help but being unable to. It was strangely reassuring to see this helplessness displaced onto another.

"The medicine will take effect soon", he told the commander after watching his fruitless efforts for a few moments, slowly feeling the need to interrupt the scene before him as it grew subtly more intimate.

Beleghîr started slightly at his words, and turned slowly to face him as though he had just remembered where he was and who he was with. He recovered his bearings quickly and stood up from the edge of the bed, smoothing his own tunic and bowing his head at Thranduil.

"I take my leave", he said quietly. "Unless there is anything else I can do?"

"There is not", Thranduil said gently.

Beleghîr gave another small nod of his head. "Aran-nîn", he said in parting, and with that he turned and left the room, the slightest bit of hesitation visible in his steps.

oOo

Loro vae - Sleep well

Tolo hí - Come here

Boe postad - I need to rest

Av'osto - Don't worry

Goheno nin - Forgive me