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A/N: This takes place during ‘The Hobbit’ after the Battle of Five armies.

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Gandalf sat in the large tent occupied by the king of Mirkwood, his expression grim. Victory was theirs, but at considerable cost. Gandalf had taken a wound to his arm. Thorin lay mortally wounded. Fili and Kili and more men and elves than the wizard wished to count lay dead. Bilbo Baggins was still unaccounted for and might well be among the dead. Still, his sorrows paled in comparison to those of the elven king, who paced the tent from end to end in a most un-elven manner. Not only had he lost warriors that he could ill afford to lose, but his only child was among the missing.

Outside the borders of his realm, Thranduil was reputed to be cold, intractable, and possessed of a quick temper; perilous to cross even by accident, and distant even to his own people. Stubborn to a fault, he was, but to any who knew him the rest of what was said of him was sheer drivel. Thranduil was a good king who sacrificed much for his realm and the elves who dwelt there. He had kept the encroaching Shadow at bay by his sheer determination and skill and the skills of his warriors. Beyond that, however, he was the father of a much beloved son. Gandalf feared for his long time friend should his son be counted among the dead.

A shout from outside the tent caused both the king and the wizard to rush outside. A knot of elven warriors was hurrying toward the king’s tent carrying something in their midst. The most senior warrior caught sight of Thranduil and called out to him.

“My Lord, we have found him! He breathes still, but he is gravely wounded.” Thranduil quickly stepped aside to allow the warriors to carry the prince into the tent and shouted for a healer. Thranduil shot Gandalf a swift look and the Istari nodded in confirmation. The wizard would render whatever aid he could. The king motioned for Gandalf to precede him into the tent. Once inside, Thranduil went directly to his son’s side, careful to keep out of the way of the wizard and the newly arrived healers.

The prince was not a pleasant sight. He was covered in dirt and blood, both his own and that of the orcs he had slain. One side of his face was blackened with bruises and his eyes were swollen shut. He bore a deep slash across his ribcage from an orc’s spear. The broken shaft of an arrow protruded from his shoulder and his arm lay at an unnatural angle. His breathing was shallow and labored.

“Elbereth! What happened to him?” Thranduil exclaimed softly, his hand smoothing Legolas’ filthy hair back from his face.

“We are not exactly certain, My Lord. It was sheer luck that we even found him. He was buried beneath several orc corpses. Had Thorondur not seen his foot sticking out from under one of the orcs, we might not have found him for another couple of days,” the most senior of the warriors answered as he lent an experienced hand to the healers. One of the healers spoke up then.

“My Lord, the wound across his ribs is the worst of it. The shoulder wound is a flesh wound only, and will heal in a few days. Other than that, his shoulder is dislocated, which will be relatively simple to remedy. The blow to his head was not serious enough to cause any lasting harm and the effects of being crushed under the orcs’ weight fades even now. He is strong; he should recover.” Thranduil closed his eyes in intense relief and continued to stroke his son’s hair.

Two hours later, Legolas’ wounds were dressed and he had been cleansed of the gore that had covered him and contaminated his wounds. He had been dressed in clean night clothing and settled on a pallet in his father’s tent. Gandalf had taken his leave as soon as he was certain that neither Thranduil nor Legolas would have further need of him that day. Thranduil sat by his son’s side, his hand resting lightly on his son’s uninjured shoulder.

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Gandalf had returned to Thorin’s bedside. The dwarf had passed shortly thereafter, but that sadness was tempered by the fact that Bilbo lived and was in relatively good condition, physically. The wizard had become quite fond of the hobbit through the course of their travels and it would have weighed heavily on him had Bilbo not survived the battle.

Thorin would be laid to rest the next afternoon. For the moment, there was nothing that Gandalf could do for the dwarves that Dain was not already seeing to. Dain would make a fine king. He was, however, still concerned about Legolas and resolved to go to the elven king’s tent to check on the prince.

As he walked toward his intended destination, his path crossed Bilbo’s. The hobbit’s face bore signs of his grief and Gandalf sighed, thinking that Bilbo would return to his beloved Shire a vastly different hobbit than he had been at the beginning of his journey. Whether this was for good or ill, he knew not.

“Well met, Baggins. A sad day this is, even with the defeat of the orcs.” He smiled sadly down at the hobbit.

“Sad indeed, and more so for some than others. We, at least, are mending and will return to our homes.” Bilbo returned the smile in kind, his words reminding the wizard how much worse thing could have been.

“True, my friend, true. I am going to King Thranduil’s tent. His son was injured in the battle and I wish to see how he fares. Would you care to accompany me?” Gandalf was not certain what made him request the hobbit’s company. Perhaps it was that Thranduil had seemed to be kindly disposed toward the hobbit.

“The prince was injured? How badly?” Bilbo’s small face reflected concern.

“Badly enough. The healers say that he will recover, but I wish to offer whatever aid I can, even if it is only to reassure Thranduil. Legolas is his only child. Thranduil is strong, even for an elf, but he is also the father of a warrior who has been injured.” Gandalf leaned on his staff as he spoke. Istari and immortal, though he was, he certainly was not immune to fatigue or sorrow and he had had plenty of both in the last few days. Bilbo cocked his head and considered for a moment.

“If you do not think that I will be intruding, I will go with you. I should like to see the king again and do wish to inquire about his son’s health.” The wizard continued on his path and the hobbit fell into step with him. They went unchallenged by the sentries posted around the elven camp, as Gandalf was an old and trusted friend. Bilbo could not help but be warmed by the smiles the sentries gave him. It seemed that Thranduil was not the only elf to hold Bilbo in kind regard. They neared the king’s tent a few moments later. Gandalf spoke quietly with the elf guarding the entrance. The sentry stepped inside, returning a bit later with an elf Bilbo recognized from his stay in the elven king’s stronghold. The elf smiled broadly at the wizard.

“Mithrandir, it is good to see you!” The elf clasped Gandalf’s good arm in a friendly manner. He spoke in Westron out of courtesy to Bilbo, to whom he bowed politely.

“And you as well, Luinloth!” Gandalf replied, clasping the elf’s arm in return. “How fares the young one?” Luinloth rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I do not know who is the more stubborn, the father or the son! Legolas insists that he is well enough to get out of bed, and my Lord refuses to take any rest until he is certain that Legolas is completely out of danger. Perhaps you can do something with them, because I cannot.” The elf’s expression spoke of his long experience in dealing with the obstinate natures of both his king and prince. Gandalf chuckled, not a bit shocked at Luinloth’s candor.

“They are not likely to heed my words any more than yours, my friend, but I shall make the attempt. If you do not think that we will be intruding, that is.” Gandalf was reassured at the laugh that bubbled forth from Luinloth.

“Well, you are a welcome sight to me, at least and I dare say that my Lord will be glad to see you. Especially if it helps convince Legolas to stay in his bed a bit longer. Come in, friends!” Luinloth held back the tent flap to allow them to enter.

The interior of the tent was far more spartan than Bilbo would have thought after seeing Rivendell and Thranduil’s stronghold in Mirkwood. It held only a small brazier for heating medicines and such, a pallet for the king to rest on, the pallet the prince was occupying, a table that held maps and battle plans, and a basin that held water to wash in. The king’s weapons and such armor as he wore were stacked neatly on the far side of the tent. Next to that sat three travel packs that likely held clothing.

Thranduil was seated on the ground next to his son’s pallet. He was dressed in a similar fashion to his warriors in a simple white tunic and breeches. His feet were bare and his hair loose and unadorned by circlet or ornament of any kind. At the moment of their entrance into the tent, he was scowling at his son. He looked up as they entered and smiled warmly at them. Bilbo could see the weariness in the king’s face and it shocked him to see that in an elf.

“Mithrandir, Master Baggins, it is good to see you again.” Thranduil did not rise, but inclined his head. “Mithrandir, old friend, perhaps you can convince this demon child that it is in his best interests to stay in his bed a bit longer.” He scowled at the younger elf, but Bilbo could see the affection and worry that the scowl could not quite hide. The prince grimaced as much as he could with his swollen and bruised face.

“Ada, my injuries look far worse than they are. I am mending well and am tired of lying in this bed where I cannot see the sky. I only wish to sit outside for a little while.” Legolas turned, wincing as he moved, to look at the wizard and the hobbit. “Mae Govannen, Mithrandir. Mae Govannen, Master Baggins; I have heard much about you.” He smiled as much as his injuries would allow at the slightly flustered hobbit. “Mithrandir, I would be much in your debt if you would attempt to convince my Adar that he needs to rest now.” Thranduil scowled at him again and Legolas turned an identical scowl on his father. Bilbo’s attempt at stifling his chuckles failed as Gandalf made no effort to stifle his.

“The two of you are just far too much alike and I know better than to argue with either of you unless absolutely necessary! As it happens, you both have a point. Thranduil, you do need to rest and what harm can it do if he is carried outside for a little while if it quiets him down enough to rest a bit more himself?” The Istari then turned his gaze to the prince,” Legolas, please note that I said ‘carried’ and not ‘walked on his own.’ You are not strong enough for that yet. And only for a few minutes, mind you, and then you must rest again.”

“Oh, very well then. I suppose you will continue giving me grief until I allow it, and at least this way you will rest again after.” Thranduil fixed a rueful gaze on his errant offspring. “I, however, must go meet with Dain and Bard. There are still some issues that must be decided.” He turned to address his assistant, “Luinloth, please stay with Legolas.” Luinloth opened his mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut and bowed.

“Ada, you will need Luinloth with you.” Legolas sighed and a resigned expression settled over his bruised face. “I give you my oath that I will allow myself to be carried outside, do nothing but sit while I am outside, and allow myself to be carried back. Once back inside, I give you my oath that I will rest. Now, will you please take him with you and stop worrying so over me?”

“That will never happen, ion-nin. Legolas, I trust you to do as you have promised, but I still want someone with you in case you need the healers again.” Thranduil brushed his son’s hair back from his face, his hand lingering a moment on the tousled locks. Bilbo cleared his throat, gaining the attention of all in the tent.

“I am not needed at any councils, nor do I have any other pressing matters until Thorin is laid to rest. Perhaps the prince and I can keep each other company.” Bilbo offered a diffident smile to the king and prince. Thranduil studied his son, gauging his reaction.

“Yes, I would like that. I have never before met one of your folk and I would like to talk with you.” Legolas returned Bilbo’s smile, easing the hobbit’s awkwardness at being the center of attention. To the surprise of the hobbit and the prince, Thranduil gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Thank you, Master Baggins. By far the worst part of recovering from injury is the boredom. Luinloth, I believe you should offer him your gratitude for your reprieve.” His mouth quirked and Luinloth favored him with an arch look.

“Oh, aye, that I do. The only one who is more trying as a patient than your son is you, my Lord.” He seemed impervious to the glare Thranduil shot him. Legolas snickered, quickly schooling his face to a blank expression when his father glanced back at him. Unexpectedly, Thranduil began to chuckle.

“ I do not doubt it. One must maintain one’s reputation,” he commented drolly. “Luinloth, if we are to be on time for this we must make haste.” He rose gracefully from his place by Legolas and moved to where his boots sat by the travel packs. After putting them on with a grimace, (‘Ada hates shoes as much as I do,’ Legolas whispered in an aside to Bilbo.) he sat on the camp stool by the table and allowed Luinloth to braid his hair. His robes were next, completing his transformation from warrior to king. He returned to Legolas’ side briefly to kiss his forehead and then he, Luinloth, and Gandalf left to meet with Dain and Bard.

Several elves entered the tent and moved both Legolas and his pallet outside. As soon as he was settled in the late afternoon sun, Legolas sighed contentedly. He turned his head to regard his small companion.

“This is much better! I hate being unable to see the sky.” The elf grinned at the hobbit. Bilbo could not help but smile in return. “Master Baggins, will you tell me of your people and your home?” The prince wore an expression similar to one Bilbo had often seen on hobbit lads begging for stories and he could not help chuckling. The prince did not take offense. He merely widened his eyes a bit more, exaggerating the expression. Bilbo laughed outright as the elf had intended.

“Very well, I shall start with telling you of the Shire………….

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Night had fallen long before the king returned to his tent. Bilbo and Legolas, for he had insisted that the hobbit call him that instead of by his title, had swapped stories until Legolas had drifted into reverie. Bilbo sat by the prince’s side, his mind going over the tales Legolas had told him in exchange for tales of hobbits and the Shire. He knew far more now than any other hobbit ever had about elves and still he was certain that there was far more that he still did not know.

He had enjoyed the prince’s company immensely. Legolas was very different than the elves he had met in Rivendell and different even than the elves he had observed in Mirkwood. He had a sunny personality, a quick wit, and wicked sense of humor. He was good at riddles, as well, once he had gotten a feel for them.

Bilbo was tired, but in much better spirits than he had been. He bade king Thranduil good night, insisting that the king’s thanks were unnecessary and sought his own pallet. His dreams were pleasant.