Wrath and Ruin (Thranduil and Legolas Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

Legolas lay daydreaming. It was a pleasant daydream, unlike many of his dreams of late. He was riding through the woods, the wind blowing his cloak, leaves rustling as they galloped along. He was followed by his closest friends who he knew had his back. He trusted them completely. In the dream, he could not see their faces, as they were cloaked and hooded, but somehow he knew them regardless, and he trusted each of them with his life. His daydream was interrupted with a knock on his door.

"My lord Legolas?"

Legolas sat up. "What do you want?" he asked the messenger 

"Lord Elrond sent me," she said.

"Why did he not come himself?" the Prince asked, feeling a knot in his stomach.

"I do not know, my Lord,” she replied, “He said that you may now visit your father at your will."

Legolas relaxed. All was still well. “They were his exact words?"

"More or less. Although he did say to ‘prepare yourself’."

Legolas swallowed. "Go," he said to the messenger. She gave a small bow and left. Legolas knew her; she was slightly younger than he was, but she'd been allowed to travel north with his father and the rest of the host. She was a nobody; a lowly Silvan elf, and yet Legolas, a Prince of the realm, envied her. She could do as she pleased, and no one cared. She had been with his father out on the battlefield. She had been among those to bring his body back to the encampment, to call for Lord Elrond, to save the King. Legolas had done nothing. He wanted to retreat back into his dream, but knew it was now impossible. He hopped off the bed and pulled on his boots. His desire to see his father was stronger than anything.

As the Prince made his way through the halls up to his father's quarters, Legolas did his best to prepare himself. He knew his father had been terribly burnt and disfigured, but words and whispers were one thing, and seeing the truth for himself was quite another. He tried to picture the worst, but struggled as he did not know what the worst could be. He took a deep breath as he entered his father's quarters.

"Legolas," Lord Elrond greeted the Prince. The healer was lurking by the door, with the King’s sickbed just out of sight.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas nodded, his mouth dry. He wondered if the Lord of Imladris had left his father's bedside, apart from when he had come to see Legolas a few days past.

"You are ready?"

"Is he awake?" Legolas asked nervously. Perhaps his father would have drifted back to sleep. Perhaps he would not have to do this now.

"Yes," Lord Elrond replied. “If you are not ready…”

“I am fine,” Legolas lied. He walked slowly into his father's bedchamber, Lord Elrond following behind. At first, all Legolas could see of his father was a mass of white-blonde hair on the pillows before he could make out his father's form underneath all the blankets.

"Legolas?" the King's voice was soft and raspy, where it was usually strong and rich.

"Ada,” Legolas stood awkwardly next to the bed. His father looked terrible. The king was deathly pale, with dark rims around his eyes. He was covered up the chin with blankets an furs, but nothing could hide the scaring on the left side of his face and the cloudy blind left eye. King Thranduil pulled his right arm out from under the covers, and Legolas took his father's hand. Legolas was surprised that despite the blankets, the King’s hand still felt cold. Legolas looked back at Lord Elrond, trying to hide his alarm. Lord Elrond looked annoyingly calm, but of course, he had seen the King looking much worse than he did now.

"Sit down," whispered Thranduil, indicating for Legolas to sit upon the bed, "You won't hurt me." He added, seeing the look upon his son's face. Legolas sat down on the bed, still holding his father's hand.