Chapter Text
Legolas Greenleaf watched as another perfect arrow was completed, designed with the etchings of his family, and fletched to perfection. He balanced it on his finger. It didn’t dip to either side, because it was perfect. Like he had made them for hundreds of years.
Time was up. His purpose was finished. He had seen the Fellowship to its end, watched his best friend mature into the majestic King of Gondor. And he had arrows he no longer had a use for. He no longer had a use for. He no longer had a use.
Legolas closed his blue eyes, shielding the world from his emotions, or was it his emotions from the world? Had he become that much a coward, among the kind of Men, that he similarly hid from his problems rather than confront them with the heartless ruthlessness of a warrior of Mirkwood?
Mirkwood. His home. Oh, how he missed his home. The trees, ever dark, were still the border guards of his home. The sun would pierce the canopy now, he figured, now that evil had been purged from the land. He wondered what it would look like now. Would it look like Imaldris, ever calm and peaceful? Or would his home bear the scars of the war it witnessed, such as how his heart bore the scars of the war he fought. Wars. As in many. Never had the elf felt so old then when he heard children talk about history lessons he remembered as though they happened yesterday, but had happened generations of men ago.
“Legolas!” The elf looked up, locked eyes with his friend. Aragorn had a hurried air about him, a state that had come about more often after he accepted his place as King. Legolas recognized it from his own father - although his father had considerably more practice at hiding it from public knowledge.
Aragorn’s aura became one of relief, and he rushed to his friend, dust kicked up from around his feet as he moved into the dark mustiness of the stables.
“Legolas, have you lost track of the time?!? Arwen has hounded me about our luncheon - I barely kept her from rounding up the guards for a search party! You’ve never been late before to one of these - did you forget?!?”
Legolas’ heart froze. He hadn’t meant to miss their weekly luncheon - he had in fact been looking forward to a few hours completely set aside for a few close friends: Faramir and Eowyn, and Aragorn and Arwen, and himself. Being among mortals during the time of the Fellowship had accustomed himself to some of the strangeness, but nothing could have prepared him for living and dying among these men in a city of stone.
Legolas shivered, and Aragorn’s eyebrows furrowed into one straight line. Elves didn’t feel cold, so either he was missing something huge, or Legolas had been sucked into a deep recess of his mind, the kind made only for dark things made bigger in the darkness of night.
Aragorn hurried closer, and knelt in front of his friend. To anybody else, the elf would appear as closed off as ever, but to Aragorn, formerly known as Estel, raised among the Eldar kind, he could see the emotions swimming in his best friend’s blue eyes.
“Mellon nin?”
Focus came back into the elf’s eyes.
“I apologize, Aragorn, for my tardiness. I fear time indeed escaped me.”
Aragorn frowned. True, Legolas was not always one to be prompt, and would often lose track of time if something he deemed more important came about, but he had never been tardy to one of the friends’ luncheons - in fact, he could be relied on to be the first one there, always helping the kitchen staff with the presentation of the snacks or coaxing the flowers nearby into bloom just for the occasion. But this felt different. Something was off with his friend, and Aragorn resolved to figure it out.
“Legolas, what has happened? This isn’t like you.” Aragorn regretted his word choice, as he watched his friend shutter his emotions tighter behind his eyes.
“Nothing has happened, Aragorn. Come, let us not keep Arwen waiting longer,” Legolas said, forcing himself to not wince as muscles he hadn’t used in some time were forced to constrict normally.
Legolas walked out of the stables, the sunlight blinding him enough that he stopped and closed his eyes. He soaked up the warmth.
A hand grasped his elbow, and the elf opened his eyes to gaze into the worried ones of his friend. Legolas shook his head before the torrent of questions he knew were coming could fall from his friend’s mouth, and instead walked up, up until he reached the highest garden, where Faramir, Eowyn, and Arwen already sat, the two ladies giggling behind raised hands.
“Legolas! How nice of you to come! Here, sit, sit,” Eowyn exclaimed, pulling out a chair for the elf to sit next to her. The elven prince smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner, and sat down. Arwen pulled her husband down next to her and gazed at the other elf.
She could see some of the signs of struggle with the elf: the slightly too focused eyes, the wariness, and the tense posture of the elven prince. His normally immaculate braids were fraying slightly, as though they had been worried between restless fingers. Although the Queen worried, she said nothing, because she knew of the stubborn pride of the elven prince.
“So, Legolas, Faramir was just informing us of some of the troubles presented during court yesterday, and I just gotta know your opinion,” Eowyn gushed.
Legolas smiled thinly.
Several hours later, Faramir, Aragorn, and Eowyn had retired, either to their room or to their duties. Legolas and Arwen remained in the courtyard, the former sitting with his back against the largest tree, the latter watching the former with a steady stare boasted only by the elves.
“Legolas…dear heart. What troubles you?” Arwen pleaded softly. The wind carried the Sindarin words over to the elven prince, who sat with his face uplifted to the leaves in the canopy of the trees, the wind playing gently with his hair, making them float around his face.
“I miss home,” Legolas stated. He hadn’t meant to say anything, let alone out loud, but the temptation to talk to the only other creature in Gondor who might have an inkling of understanding about his plight overcame his desire to keep quiet.
Arwen, although surprised she hadn’t had to push further, hid her surprise with grace and ease.
“The war is over. You can go home. Estel will understand, encourage you even.” While the last bit might have been a little bit of a stretch, the Queen was sure she could get her husband to understand that the elven prince would want to go back to his home after being away for such a time, under such strenuous circumstances. Arwen doubted Legolas had even had the time, let alone the safety, to send a bird back to his father, letting him know he was alive.
To the Queen’s surprise, Legolas closed his eyes completely, and a silent tear streaked down his face.
“Ay, dear heart,” Arwen cooed, unable to resist. It was so easy to forget how young Legolas was in comparison to the others of his race; he had had to learn to carry himself with the authority and maturity of one twice his age, and somehow he had maintained his youthful appearance.
The Queen knelt down next to the elven prince and put a hand on his shoulder.
Legolas could feel as Arwen approached, and as much as his pride declared that he should suck it up and deal with it himself, his heart pleaded to be held tightly, and have a hug, and let go of everything for just a moment.
And so he crumpled, silently weeping, into the embrace of one of his oldest friends. He wept for Gandalf, the pain of his death and the delight of his resurrection. For Boromir, brother to a man Legolas now called friend, and his death to save the hobbits. For his father and his home, and the knowledge that they were fighting the entire time he was gone, battling the evil that drenched the forest. He had no way of knowing how many more of his friends and warriors had perished, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would have ended differently if he had stayed to fight alongside them. He wept for himself - the grief he hadn’t let himself truly feel, the weariness that would not fade no matter how long he felt it. And he wept for his heart, for he felt the pull of the sea. He prayed that the pull to his friends and family would indeed be stronger for many more years. For he knew that he had made promises, and he, as a prince, never broke his promises. But he wept over the knowledge that he had tied himself to a painful road until he saw its end.
The pair stayed like that for a while, Arwen only moving to start stroking her hand through Legolas’ pale yellow hair, bleached almost white from the amount of sun it had been subjected to. She worked out the braids, then the knots. By the time she had finished, the younger elf had run out of tears, and simply sat, leaning into Arwen’s side.
Legolas sniffed, and buried his face into Arwen’s shoulder. Arwen was the one person Legolas knew would not judge him for how he was feeling. They had both admitted things to each other in the past, whenever they were both in Imaldris, that they hadn’t told anyone else, and Arwen was the one elf Legolas could imagine being this vulnerable with. He held himself to a higher standard even around his father.
The bells rung the time - they had missed the start of evening meal. Arwen held the younger elf close, as he shifted as though to get up.
“Let me bring some food up to your room for you - there is no reason for you to subject yourself to this full meal when your heart is burdened this heavily,” Arwen suggested. By full, she not only mean the massive amounts of food provided - more than many elves felt comfortable eating at one time, especially a wood elf warrior who was raised to eat more often (when they had the chance) and on smaller amounts. She also meant the sheer amount of people - Men - who would be present. Try as they might, not a one of them was good at concealing their fascination with the elven prince, and Arwen knew how draining it could be to always have to hold yourself properly.
“I thank you, my friend, but alas I am not hungry for the evening meal,” Legolas whispered, knowing that Arwen would be able to hear him due to their closeness.
Arwen smiled a small, sad smile for the pain her friend was going through.
“I’ll have them send up some honey buns,” she said, giving him a little squeeze. He smiled despite himself, remembering fond times of the two of them stealing honey buns out of the kitchens of Imaldris, sometimes eating so may at once they made themselves sick on them. But, of course, nobody had any idea what made the two elves sick, and as soon as they recovered, they’d sneak back into the kitchens.
Arwen left, knowing that Legolas would appreciate the time spent under the rare trees in Minas Tirith. If the elf wasn’t in by dark, she’d send her husband after him, but in her opinion, Legolas had more than earned an evening by himself.
Legolas reclined against the strong oak tree, and relished in the feeling of the tree’s song encompassing him and soothing his soul.
Legolas didn’t realize he had drifted off until a gentle hand lay upon his shoulder. With a reaction time garnered from hundreds of years living in ever-present danger, the elf jumped, twisted, and promptly pinned his waker, all before the person had the chance to blink. The person stilled, and a calloused hand put itself upon the one holding the knife to his throat.
“Legolas,” a familiar voice said, firmly, as though its owner had experience in jumpy soldiers. The elven prince blinked once, twice, three times, and his tired eyes focused on the face of Faramir, whose face was impassively calm, despite the predicament he found himself in. Legolas quickly released the former ranger, withdrawing his knife and running a hand down his face, wiping away the sleep. He felt like he could sleep for a zillion years, yet every time he woke, he only felt more tired.
“Legolas,” Faramir said again, resting his hand on the elf’s upper arm. Legolas eyed it as he refocused, but didn’t shake it off.
“Lord Faramir,” he murmured, looking around him. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark outside, yet very few stars could be seen. Faramir followed his gaze upwards.
“The stars will grace us with their presence in their own time, my friend. For now, Aragorn has a quarter of the household looking for you, so let us retire inside and ease his mind.”
“Arwen knew I was out here…” Legolas murmured, looking at his arm, where the tree had wrapped one of its thinner, lower branches around his wrist all the way up to his elbow, in a sort of hug.
“Queen Arwen retired an hour ago. Almost half the night has passed,” Faramir said. He masked his worry well, he thought. In truth, he was more than worried about his elven friend. He had seen Legolas, before the last battles, and the elf seemed infallible. Always aware, always moving, never tired, always ready. The elf he had his hand on seemed substantially more fallible, slightly unsteady, and unsure of himself. Altogether younger.
“Come, Legolas. Let us get inside,” Faramir coaxed, halfway guiding, halfway hauling the elven prince to his feet. After a few moments of apparent shock and confusion, the prince regained his footing, but didn’t pull away from Faramir’s supportive hands. On a whim and with a prayer, Faramir enveloped the elf in a hug, not too unlike what he felt Boromir used to give to him. He pushed away the pang of sorrow at that thought, and instead focused on the fact that Legolas had absolutely melted into the hug.
Eowyn would have a field day, he thought to himself, whenever she realizes that Legolas was touch starved. Because that was the only thing he could think of that could explain why the elf so suddenly, without seeking it out, searched for comfort from an almost total stranger.
Well, not total strangers. Fighting together had a way of connecting people into the bonds of brotherhood of battle, regardless of age or race. At Legolas’ sudden muscle tense, Faramir looked up, where he saw Aragorn hurrying over, concern coloring all aspects of his being. Faramir had almost forgot about the servant he had sent after Aragorn after he had spotted the unique hair of their elven friend.
“It’s alright; it’s just Aragorn,” Faramir said, not letting the tense prince out of his arms. Much to his surprise, the news that it was indeed the elf’s best friend only made the elven prince tense up further, something Faramir wasn’t sure was possible until it happened. Still, Legolas didn’t try to force his way out of the hug, and rather seemed to be trying to accept his fate.
Aragorn hurried over to his best friend for the second time that day, his worry having mounted at the sight of his friend leaning into what appeared to be a fairly tight hug from Faramir. The elf had contorted himself so that his face was in the shorter man’s shoulder, and between that and the elf’s hair, his face was hidden from the night. Aragorn stepped around to where Legolas’ face would be through all his hair, and gently tugged some hair behind an elegantly pointed ear.
The healer’s heart ached as he revealed an overly pale, weary face, with slightly sunken-in blue eyes that held pain, exhaustion, and several more emotions Aragorn would need some time to dissect.
When the man thought about it, he wasn’t overly surprised that Legolas was now feeling a little bit fragile. The elf had been expected to be vigilant the entire journey, just because he was an elf, who required less sleep, less sustenance, less rest. But Legolas had one of the most caring hearts Aragorn had ever known, and the man knew that the elf was mostly likely feeling all the grief, tiredness, dismay, and every other emotion he had had to squash down during the trek for the sake of staying strong for the other members of the Fellowship.
Aragorn tugged Legolas into a hug of his own, knowing exactly how tight Legolas likes them. Aragorn was careful, however, of the bruises he knew were on Legolas’ back, still there from the worse wounds he had sustained during the ending battles.
“Legolas, my friend, how it hurts my heart to watch your pain, but I am glad you have chosen to share it with your friends,” Aragorn whispered, falling back into the musical language of the elves out of habit.
Legolas stifled a sob, and pushed himself farther into his friend, as though hiding himself from the rest of the world.
“Come,” the newly crowned King said in Westron, more for Faramir’s benefit than anything else, “let us go inside and rest. We can talk later.”
Later ended up being after Legolas had woken up screaming from a nightmare, immediately caught up tightly in Aragorn’s arms in a hug so tight it seemed the man was trying to squeeze the darkness out of his friend.
“My friend, please, tell me what is inside of your head. It is eating you up inside,” Aragorn pleaded, wrapping a blanket around his shivering friend and crawling into the small bed beside him, making them lay on their sides facing each other in order to both fit. Legolas had drawn the blanket around him completely, and pulled it up over his head, so that he looked awful young, cold, and vulnerable.
“I can hear the trees scream,” the elf whispered after a moment or two, not looking at his friend, instead fiddling with a button on the man’s shirt he had fallen asleep in.
Aragorn frowned, not understanding.
“Not just the trees here,” Legolas elaborated, sensing that his human friend wasn’t understanding. “These have seen war, but not so much as those of my home. The roots sense the pain of a tree, should they be close together, and when an entire forest burns…” Legolas trailed off, but Aragorn had caught on.
“Mirkwood’s forests have burned?” Aragorn breathed, sadness and surprise coloring his voice.
“I can hear them,” Legolas said, inadvertently confirming Aragorn’s question. “In my sleep, I can hear their calls for help and comfort, I can feel their burning pain, I can see their leaves on fire-“
“Shh, Legolas. You have to breathe, take a minute and breathe,” Aragorn said, seeing his friend withdrawing into his head, where the dark memories sent through the trees lay. The man could only imagine how heartbreaking this had to be for his friend, who was so connected with the trees and his woods that their spirits seemed to connect at night.
“I should have been there,” Legolas whispered. “My people died, and I was riding across Rohan.”
Aragorn held his friend tighter to him. He didn’t know what to say.
“I’m glad you were with me,” Aragorn said at last, revealing his selfish thoughts out loud. Legolas froze, and Aragorn closed his eyes, not wanting to see the pain in Legolas’ eyes, knowing he had been the cause of it. While it was the truth, he knew it could easily be taken that Aragorn would rather Legolas not be in his own home during their war and time of need.
The two lay on the bed, side by side, for several hours, both not sleeping, just laying there. Legolas finally fell asleep again, just as dawn was gracing the city, and once Aragorn saw his closed eyes, the man wrapped the blanket tighter around his friend, tucking in the edges. With careful fingers, he wiped off the remnants of tears shed during the night from Legolas’ pale cheeks, and tucked his long hair behind his ear again from where it had fallen forward during the night. Aragorn painstakingly hauled himself out of the bed, going slowly so as to not wake the elf. As much as he wanted to stay and guard the elf’s dreams, he had a commitment to his country as their new King, and they were a far cry from recovered from the war. But he’d send someone familiar in his stead, so that the elf wouldn’t be alone when he woke.
Aragorn straightened his clothes, so as to not look as rumpled as he felt, and left some parchment and ink on the bed stand with a note reading:
Legolas,
My duty calls. And as hard as it is, I know you of all here will understand the calls of a nation. Take some of this parchment, and write a letter to your father. I’m sending a bird out in two days’ time, and I will be more than happy to send one your father’s way.
If you have need of me, just ask. You are my best friend, so invaluable, and I pray you know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you should you ask it of me.
I will see you tonight. Arwen said she’ll make honey buns.
Estel
When Legolas woke, it was early afternoon, if the sun coming in the halfway covered window was to be trusted. On the floor sat a gaggle of hobbits Legolas had become very fond of, each trying to be quieter than the one to his left and right, yet laughing through it all. Legolas’ gaze found its way to Frodo, and the pair locked eyes. Frodo gave what Legolas supposed was supposed to be a smile, but came out more as a grimace. Legolas could relate.
Frodo hauled himself to his feet still a bit shakily, but he appeared altogether sturdier than he had the prior few times Legolas had seen him. Legolas noticed that Sam, Merry, and Pippin quieted down, but kept up the chatter, as if knowing that some background noise would be appreciated for the conversation of the two most private members of the Fellowship.
“Are you feeling any better, Legolas?” Frodo asked, having made it over to the bed Legolas was curled up on. He absentmindedly rubbed his hand where his finger was missing, and Legolas reached out and gently held his hand to stop the rubbing. Frodo’s eyes widened a little, as Legolas’ hand was abnormally cold, particularly for an elf. He unknowingly compared this elf, laying huddled under a blanket with tiredness caked underneath his eyes to the elf who had walked on top of the snow of the mountains, seemingly impenetrable. The two seemed alarmingly different.
“Oh, dear heart, your hand is cold,” he exclaimed, covering the one hand in both of his, as though to share heat.
“I’m alright, dear Frodo, although I appreciate your concern,” Legolas said softly, smiling at the end of his sentence. After the first two words, however, Frodo was shaking his head.
“No, you’re not alright, Legolas, but you will be soon. And me and Sam and Merry and Pippin are going to start making you feel better by getting you warmer, then we’ll get Strider in here, and-“
“There is no need, Frodo, for all that fuss,” Legolas attempted to protest.
“Mister Legolas, there is every need!” Sam exclaimed. He turned a bright red in the face as everyone turned to look at him, but he continued. “You were looking out for us the whole time of the journey, always there to give us hope and food and safety and warmth and everything else.”
“You still got hurt, my friend,” Legolas murmured.
“And that’s alright, Mister Legolas, because you saved us from worlds more of hurt just about everyday and we certainly didn’t make it easy on you. So now you deserve to just sit and rest, and we’ll be taking care of you for a little bit. Is that clear?” Sam crossed his arms, and Legolas had to squash a smile at the determined frown on the hobbit’s face.
“Crystal, dear hobbit. Although I still don’t see the use of…” Legolas trailed off, his eyes glistening over a little bit. Frodo patted his hand from where he still held it.
“You don’t see the use of you anymore, do you?” the hobbit asked, tilting his head as though he already knew the answer. He had hit the nail on the head, made clear by the way Legolas shifted slightly under the blanket and broke eye contact.
At this, Merry came over.
“Mister Legolas, I’m not too very good at this encouragement stuff, I don’t think, but I’m gonna give it a go and you’re just gonna have to listen to me. Now, this whole time you’ve been a taking care of us, and everyone else around you. You’ve fought in battles that weren’t yours to be fought because you were following a friend you believed in. And, Bilbo told us stories, and if his stories were true, which they mostly are, then you’ve been fighting in wars for your whole life, battle after battle, either in your forest or outside of it. For a real long time. And now that this big war is over, you don’t know what to do with yourself now. Well, I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do now.
“You’re gonna rest up and feel better. Write a letter to your father, and let him know how you’re doing. Then, once you’re better, you’re gonna head yourself down to Mirkwood and see him again. And no, I know what you’re gonna say - you’re gonna say you promised Aragorn something and a prince always maintains his promises or something like that. Because you’re a very caring, humble, wonderful creature that needs to take care of yourself for a change. So take care of yourself first, then fulfill your promises. Aragorn will be okay for a year, I firmly believe that. And after that year of restoration is up, you can come back here and take care of everyone else again. You don’t have to have a war in order to be a warrior.
“So now, we’re gonna get you a little bit better now, and we’re just gonna worry about the rest of this afternoon right now. Clear?”
Legolas looked at the hobbit, long and hard, although the seriousness was a bit rumpled because of the whole blanket over the head, knot-filled hair peeking out of it, and his head firmly pushed into the pillow. But the gaze was the same mind searching, soul discovering one that the greatest of elves had given Merry, and he suddenly felt drawn into the sheer wisdom and agelessness of his friend’s darker than normal blue eyes. Then the elf blinked, and the moment finished, and the rapid blinking made Merry realize the elf was trying to hold back tears.
“Honey,” Merry cooed, crawling on top of the covers to hug his elven friend. As the rest of the hobbits joined, Frodo needing an extra boost up, the elf’s face crumpled, and silent tears started dripping down his face. Sam sat by his head, wiping the tears away with his extra soft handkerchiefs, while Merry and Pippin merely climbed on top of him and hugged as much of the curled up elf as they could. Frodo remained sitting as well, but uncovered the elf’s head enough to reach some of his hair, and he started working some of the knots out.
The tears only lasted a moment, maybe two, and when they felt he had been adequately hugged, Merry and Pippin climbed off of Legolas - “be mindful of his back, now!” - and headed to the adjacent washroom to start a bath of hobbit proportions.
Tired of crying and tired of being exhausted, the elf drifted off a little bit to the tugging of his hair and the many apologies that came with it.
Legolas stirred at the gentle tread of feet he had heard for years - Estel.
“We’re taking awful good care of him, Mister Strider, and we drew him a bath and everything, but he fell asleep and we thought maybe now would be a good time for you to come look at him and - oh, Mister Legolas, did we wake you up?” Sam asked, remorse dripping from his face.
“Nay, Sam, I’d argue it’s about time I got up, for I’ve been sleeping all day,” Legolas said, beginning to unfurl himself from his cocoon.
“Careful, Legolas,” Aragorn’s deeper voice rumbled as he caught a flailing arm that dropped over the side of the bed. Legolas’ eyes pinched in pain, which led Aragorn to believe the bruises on the elf’s back were feeling the lack of movement they had been subjected to.
“Go slow, my friend. I have a salve I can put on the bruises, but I suspect you’d like a bath first. And yes, I’ll leave you alone during it, but if I knock on the door and you don’t answer, I’m coming in, clear?” Aragorn teased slightly, knowing that there was a decent chance Legolas would fall asleep in the athelas and lavender infused warm water Merry and Pippin had spent a solid half hour preparing.
Legolas swatted the man jokingly, then slowly walked into the washroom, clearly in a certain amount of discomfort. Aragorn looked back at the hobbits.
“Now, my friends, I have a meeting I must be on time to, but I trust him in your capable hands.” Aragorn smiled as Pippin jokingly puffed out his chest at that. “Try to get him to eat something, drink some water, or juice would be better. Something easy on the stomach - when an elf gets this exhausted, the whole body is affected, and it’s best to be extra cautious of things.
“The athelas will help, but he’ll still be tired and in pain. Arwen and I are coming back this evening, and we’ll be having dinner with him to try and boost his spirits a little bit, and the four of you are welcome to join us. So far, our menu is honey buns, which Arwen is making, but I’m sure she’d like some help if four hobbits will be coming.” Aragorn smiled jokingly at the end of his statement, making sure the hobbits knew he was gently teasing them.
The hobbits laughed amongst themselves, and sent the king on his way, promising to join Arwen in the kitchen soon. Merry and Pippin got started on gathering everything warm on the bed, making a nice little nook for the elf to huddle in when he got out of the bath. Frodo and Sam began work on a simple dish Legolas had commented on liking when they walked together. The dish was simple and had a light taste, but the elf had mentioned several times how much it reminded him of his home, and so that was the meal they made for him.
It was a solid half hour later when the elf came out of the washroom, hair still dripping, with only an undershirt on his upper half, and a pair of comfy looking leggings tied around his lower half. Frodo narrowed his eyes.
“Those aren’t your pants, are they?”
The tips of Legolas’ ears turned pink, and he ducked his head slightly, a small grin on his face.
“Nay, they are, but I loaned them to Estel when he got his soaking wet, remember?” Yes, the hobbits remembered well, how much the man had moaned and complained about his wet lower half until the elf had given up and lent him a spare set. Apparently, the broader man had stretched out the material enough that it no longer fit the elf the fitted way the hobbits had become accustom to seeing him wear.
The five of them laughed, and as the laughter over the state of Legolas’ pants died down, the elf winced as his pain flared up. Frodo frowned and put his hand on Legolas’ forehead, checking for fever, and raising his own eyebrow to match the bemused one Legolas raised.
“You’re warmer, but it could be from the warm bath. We’ll have to check back and see. Where is your headache? Behind your eye?” Legolas merely nodded, surprise written on his face. Frodo clucked his tongue.
“We’ll fix that too, then.”
“Now Mister Legolas, here’s a snack to tide you over to supper,” Sam spoke up, bringing over the snack that he and Frodo had made earlier.
“Sam, I’m afraid I’m not hungry, regardless of the loveliness of your meal,” Legolas protested.
“Nonsense, Mister Legolas. Your mind might not think you’re hungry, but your stomach’s been empty for over a day now, so it ought to be hungry. Start with a little bit, and if that’s too much, just drink some juice. You got to save some room for honey buns, now, don’t you.”
Legolas sighed, but did as Sam instructed, and found his stomach didn’t reject the food like he thought it would. He ate about a quarter of what the hobbits made, and let them split the rest, knowing that it was about time they ate something and it was no use letting all that hard work go to waste.
“Now Mister Legolas, Merry and Pippin are gonna go heat up some blankets for you, I’m gonna make you some tea for your headache and general aches, and Mister Frodo is gonna put some of that bruise salve on your back and around your ribs. No complaining, mind you Mister Legolas!”
While Legolas mustered up the energy to pull his shirt back over his head for Frodo to have easy access to his multitude of bruises, Frodo grabbed a comb for later and the bruise salve. The hobbit paused when he turned back around. Legolas had bruises over the majority of his back, wrapping around his ribs on both sides. Some were lighter green and yellows, obviously healing, while others were blue or black, in places were Frodo assumed Legolas had broken or at least cracked his ribs.
“You’re not healing like you should be,” Frodo murmured, knowing that Legolas could hear his whisper.
“I will heal, though, just a bit slower than normal.”
Frodo sighed a little bit, knowing that there wasn’t anything he could do in that moment other than apply the salve Aragorn gave him and make sure Legolas could sleep some more.
Frodo rubbed his hands together, trying to warm the salve up, but it was still a cold shock for Legolas, who completely stiffened up for the entirety of the application process.
“I’m sorry, Legolas, but it’ll take some time to dry, and you can’t put a shirt on until it does or it’ll get all sticky, too,” Frodo apologized, watched his friend shiver in obvious coldness and discomfort.
“I know, Frodo, thank you,” Legolas smiled thinly. It was ruined by the full body shiver he gave a moment later. As soon as Frodo deemed the salve dry, he helped Legolas into a warmer tunic than would be common place at this point in the summer, but Frodo prioritized comfort over fashion, particularly when the other people Legolas would be seeing the rest of the day were friends.
“Now, let’s get you wrapped up and then I’ll brush out your hair for you,” Frodo fussed. He realized he was treating Legolas similar to how he treated his cousins when they were under the weather, but Legolas could use some fussing and loving, in his opinion, and it was confirmed when Legolas didn’t even complain about the treatment he received. He simply went where he was pushed, and as soon as he hit the bed, where Merry and Pippin had been studiously heating blankets up by the fire, the hobbits wasted no time in covering Legolas in the warm blankets. The blissful sigh of relief and gratitude made the pair’s burning shoulder muscles worth it.
Frodo was as careful and gentle as a hobbit could be when he brushed out Legolas’ hair, making sure that every section was completely knot free before moving a little bit farther up. He was very thorough, and Legolas rested, not quite asleep but not awake either.
Legolas was reminiscing about when he was very young, before his mother died, and he would have a nightmare. His mother would put him through a routine very similar to what the hobbits had put him through that afternoon, then she would brush his hair out as he fell back asleep on her bed, snuggled up against her side.
A tear slowly ran down the length of his face, burying itself into the yellow-white hair. He hadn’t thought of his mother almost the whole time the Fellowship had been actively traveling. He had missed the remembrance of her death. He had never done that in the hundreds of years it has been since her death. He and his father always remembered her together when they were both at the stronghold, and they each had individual practices they did when they were apart.
“Shh, Legolas, dear heart, breathe, dear, breathe,” Frodo wiped a tear from Legolas’ eye, then another, then another. When Legolas started breathing too fast, he started talking to the elf, his heart breaking with every tear that fell and all the pain behind his eyes. Frodo started humming a song he had heard everytime he was ever sick, a slow little tune with no words that always calmed him down.
After a time, he watched as Legolas closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. Frodo continued his humming, still stroking through Legolas’ hair that framed his face. He stopped, and tucked the blankets tighter around the elf as he shivered again. Frodo glanced around the room after that, shocked to see only Sam remaining in the room.
“Sam, where’d Merry and Pip go?”
“They went down to help the Lady Arwen make honey buns for tonight, Mister Frodo,” Sam replied, coming over and hauling himself up onto the bed as well.
The pair looked at Legolas for a long while, before getting up and setting up the room for more occupants. Legolas would be okay, they’d make sure of it. After all, no one has only one use, but finding the next use can take some tender loving care.