Ch. 13
The moan was so low that Thranduil at first doubted his own ears. Nevertheless, he peered anxiously at his sleeping son and held his breath. The pale lids flickered almost imperceptibly and a frown creased the once smooth brows.
"Legolas?" Thranduil called out softly.
There was a shaky exhalation of breath and the thick lashes lifted slowly. Thranduil found himself immersed in the twin pools of liquid blue that were his son’s eyes, glazed yet with confusion and pain. Thranduil nearly wept with the joy and gratefulness that flooded his heart and soul.
"Legolas, you are awake, at last." Thranduil could not control the tremour in his hand as he cupped his son’s face. "Thank the Valar!"
The blue gaze looked back at him with uncertainty. "Ada?" The voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and cracked with disuse.
Tears stung Thranduil’s eyes at the sound of that one whispered word. He could not recall the last time that his youngest had addressed him as "Ada" and Thranduil suddenly realized just how much he missed hearing that term of endearment from his last child. He fought down the urge to sweep his son into a suffocating embrace. Instead, he contented himself with a tender kiss to the pale forehead.
"Welcome back, my son. How do you feel?" he asked gently, his hands reluctant to leave his son’s face.
Legolas closed his eyes. "Hurts."
"That is not surprising. You have been gravely injured. Kala has left some tea here to lessen the pain. Let me help you with it." Thranduil eased Legolas’ head up fractionally and brought the cup to his son’s lips. The movement, small as it was, elicited a small moan of pain from his son. Grimacing at the taste of the tea, Legolas nevertheless drank enough to satisfy his father. Setting aside the unfinished tea, Thranduil offered him a cup of water to wash away the taste, which Legolas gratefully drank.
For several moments, Legolas laid with closed eyes. Even that small exercise had tired him. Through muddled thoughts plagued with pain and an invasive weakness, he tried to recall how he came to be wounded. Pain radiated from his entire left side and his trailing hand felt the thick swathes of bandages that wound around his body. What happened? His adar did not appear to be angry with him so the injury could not have stemmed from some misadventure, or perhaps his injuries were sufficiently grim that Thranduil had not the heart to reprimand him, yet.
"Legolas?" He felt his father’s hand caressing his face with gentle and soothing strokes. "Has the pain eased?
He could still feel the pain, but somehow it was more distant and remote than it had been previously. With the abatement of pain from the foreground of his consciousness, his thoughts were becoming more and more coherent and flashes of memory invaded his once befuddled mind.
He had been atop of a galloping horse, cutting his way through some nightmarish scene of clashing steel and death. The sudden remembrance of breathtaking pain and wild and unadulterated fear made him gasp and his eyes flew open on a startled Thranduil.
"The battle!" He had managed to push himself halfway up before the pain sent him gasping back onto the pillow, his hands clutching weakly at the white hot pain that blazed from his side.
"Legolas, be still!" Thranduil admonished sharply, pressing firm hands on his son’s trembling shoulders. "You do not want to restart the bleeding."
"The battle, the orcs--" Legolas gasped through clenched teeth.
"The orcs have been defeated," Thranduil cut in quickly. "Mirkwood stands."
Legolas let out a long shaky breath and closed his eyes in overwhelming relief. Then another memory struck him with such horrifying clarity and violence that all air was driven from his lungs.
"Legolas!" Thranduil cried, alarmed at the sight of his stricken son. "Calm down, Legolas, it is all right! You are safe!"
Legolas grasped wildly for his father’s hand. "Salque?"
There was such a desperate pleading in Legolas’ eyes that Thranduil was struck dumb momentarily, and the king cringed at the thought of how his son would react to the words that he was about to impart.
"I am so sorry, Legolas, but Salque is gone." Thranduil forced himself to voice the words that he knew would cut his son’s heart to shreds. "I am so sorry."
For a long agonizing moment, Legolas stared back at him with eyes widened with immeasurable pain and sorrow, the tears brimming yet stubbornly refusing to spill over. Thranduil thought his heart would break at the sight.
At last, Legolas nodded and said with surprising calmness. "It is what I feared." When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "And Feren and Tavaro? Are they safe?"
"All your brothers are safe. Fear not for them."
"And Hesin?"
"His legs are broken, but he is mending well. He has inquired of you repeatedly." Somehow the calm reasonableness of his son’s voice and questions was even more frightening to Thranduil than if Legolas had fallen into loud and inconsolable grief. He touched his son gently. "Legolas, it is all right to cry.
"I know, but tears will not bring him back," Legolas responded in a deadened voice. Then with infinite slowness, with pain and exhaustion marking his every move, Legolas turned and curled onto his side.
"Legolas, please, you will hurt yourself," Thranduil pleaded with his son’s unresponsive back. Minutes passed in thick silence. Nearly imperceptible at first, he felt the slight shaking of his son’s shoulders as the onslaught of grief at last broke through the barriers of numbed senses. The sight of his son’s silent weeping brought tears to Thranduil’s own eyes and with infinite gentleness and care, he gathered his youngest into his arms.
"It’s all right, child, let it out." He whispered soothingly into the golden hair. "So long as we are able to grieve, then our heart will continue to beat and will heal in time."
Legolas clutched weakly at his father’s tunic as he wept with total abandonment. "Salque is gone, Ada. He is gone because of me!" The words were muffled and broken. "He died because of me!"
"No! You are not to blame yourself. He was killed by those accursed orcs. He died in battle, as did many of our warriors. Their sacrifice was for all of Mirkwood, for each and every one of us who still lives." Thranduil’s voice was firm.
"But he came looking for me. Had I not been out there, he would not have put himself in danger."
"Salque was a warrior before all else. It was his duty as a warrior to confront those dark creatures whether you were out there or not. He merely carried out his vows as a warrior when he took to the battlefield. All of our warriors have sworn to give their lives to protect this woodland realm of ours. I would expect no less from Salque, or from you, my son, once you have taken your vows as warrior. We shall grieve for Salque, as we shall grieve for all of our fallen warriors, but we cannot dishonour their deaths by miring ourselves so completely in our grief that we forget all else. It is our duty to continue the battle that Salque and all those brave warriors have fought and paid for with their lives."
Thranduil looked down at his son’s tear-stained face and sighed with a heart-felt weariness. "I would forever shelter you from this pain and grief if I could, Legolas, and the Valar knows that I have tried since the day that you were brought into this world. But we cannot escape or hide from death, and that holds true even for elves with our all immortality. We grieve, we hold onto the fond memories and then we go on."
Tears continued to spill down the pale cheeks. "But it hurts so much. I just want Salque back."
Thranduil’s arms tightened around his son fractionally as he bent to kiss the wet cheek. "I know, little one. I will miss him too for he was a dear friend. But I know he would not have wanted you to grieve endlessly for him."
"He told me that he loved me like a son, before — before he died," Legolas whispered brokenly on a sob.
"He did love you like a son, and I am certain his spirit will always be by your side to keep watch over you," Thranduil said quietly. Thranduil continued to cradle his son as the sobs slowly dwindled to a halt. "You are exhausted, Legolas. Sleep now."
"Do not leave me, Ada," The voice was that of the small elfling that Legolas was once, and in the heart of his father, would always be.
Thranduil’s heart tightened and he brushed his lips against the youthful forehead. "I will not leave you, my son. Sleep, you are safe."
Legolas turned his face into his father’s tunic, revelling in the warmth and security of his father’s arms and for a brief moment, the pain and grief dissipated. He allowed his eyes to slip close as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.
Thranduil felt his son’s body relax into a deep slumber and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. His own eyes closed as he pressed his cheek against the fair head, feeling in his own heart his child’s pain and loss, and the pain of his own failure to protect this son from the hurts that now so plague him. Deep in his soul, he knew that the sweet innocence of his little elfling was forever lost, and he silently mourned that loss, which in some ways, wounded more deeply than death itself.
TBC