Meleth-nin

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/N: Thank you for the feedback, I appreciate it. Concrit is also welcome, it helps me to improve as a writer. This chapter is very different from the others, since it concentrates solely on Legolas and his father.
WARNING: Angst (in case you are sensitive).
Beta: Matty W. Thank you sweetie!

thoughts


Chapter thirty

An hour later in the Halls of Healing


“Ada… You cannot leave me. Not like this.”

His father’s skin was cold to touch; it was like cool white marble against Legolas’ warm body, but he didn’t even notice it. He held his father in his arms, trying to warm him up with his own body heat, even when he knew it was in vain. His father was fading before his eyes, but the Prince could not bring himself to accept it.

“Námo… Do not take my father away from me”, he prayed silently. “Adar… Fight your way back to me. You cannot leave me.”

Legolas had been highly annoyed when he and Aragorn had been interrupted yet again, this time by the twins, but as soon as he learned of what had happened he got up in haste and put the first clothes on he happened to find. The young Elf practically ran all the way into the Halls of Healing, Aragorn - who was as concerned for his consort’s well-being as his father-in-law’s - coming not much behind.

However, when Legolas saw his father lying on the bed unconscious he had frozen on the doorstep, grabbing the doorframe for support so hard that his knuckles turned white. What in the name of the Valar had happened to his father? That could not be his sire! King Thranduil was strong and powerful and stubborn to a fault; Legolas couldn’t remember him ever showing any signs of weakness. This was just… wrong. Aragorn barely caught him when his knees gave up.

And yet Lord Elrond’s words were unambiguous. ‘Legolas… I fear that your father is fading. Why, we know not. You may wish to stay with him, for I do not know if he shall waken again.’ His voice had been sympathetic, but Legolas heard it not. Aragorn’s arm around his waist supported him, but he didn’t feel it. Elladan and Elrohir looked at him with deep concern and empathy, but he did not see it. It did not matter. Nothing mattered; his father was dying and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

Now, he was left alone with his father on his own request. His husband had offered to stay but Legolas had firmly declined. An hour later he was still at loss. The Prince could feel the hot tears burn behind his eyes, but he couldn’t find it in him to shed them; they were too superficial to convey his emotions. There were not enough tears in the world to mourn for his father.

“Adar, im baur le! Im iest ion-nin an gar ista o le… Adar, maeth i can o Námo!”* Legolas whispered quietly, wishing that his father could hear him.

Legolas moved into a more comfortable position on the bed and stroked the older Elf’s forehead. Such a noble forehead, unmarred by time and hardships. It was strange for the Prince to act like this with his father; their relationship had never been affectionate or close. Legolas had learned not to expect little from his father apart from advice on how to become a skilled warrior and defender of his people.

“I wish you are proud of me father. I know you did not approve of my decision to join the Fellowship, or marry Aragorn, but I wish that you know that I have not brought shame to our family, or to you. You taught me many things when I was little, and I have always kept your words in mind”, he said, smiling a little.

“‘A good warrior is three things. He is loyal to his shield-brothers, protecting them until his last breath. He is compassionate to those who are weaker, and who have no means or knowledge of how to protect themselves. He is courageous and always fights for what he believes is right; not for revenge but for justice, not for control but for freedom.’ That it was you said to me when I came of age and was allowed to leave on border patrol for the first time. I have not forgotten, Adar. I always remember.”

“Adar, do you remember that time when I was still little, and was awoken one night when there was a big storm? I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I was afraid that you had left me alone. Then I finally found you in the library, and made you promise that you would never leave me again” Legolas murmured and pressed his warm cheek against his father’s cold one.

That was a bittersweet memory; it reminded Legolas that at one point his sire had loved him, but it was also the only memory he had of a loving father. Later when the Prince was older but still considered an Elfling the King rejected him, telling him that Princes of Mirkwood did not need coddling or babying; they needed to learn to be warriors. “You promised to never leave me, Adar. Do not dare to go against your word!”

There was no change in Thranduil and the younger Elf closed his eyes. Why did this have to happen? He knew that fading was a slow process; Thranduil must have been grieved for a long time but something had obviously quickened the fading. Legolas regretted his own words he had earlier so carelessly uttered. He had not even told his father that he loved him. He opened his eyes and looked at his father’s unseeing green eyes. “I love you, Adar… I need you to know that. And I need you by my side… Don’t leave me alone. I cannot bear it.”

And that was when the tears finally came. Legolas squeezed his eyes tightly shut; it hurt to cry. It hurt to be so utterly helpless that all he could do was cry. His tears ran down his smooth skin, dampening his father’s cheek that still rested against his. He wrapped his arms tightly around the older Elf’s torso, pressing him against the round curve of his pregnant belly.

“O’ Elbereth Gilthoniel, iest im ada-nin sen gardha awartha ú le penia sain elenath vi i menel!”** Legolas whispered, bending his head to pray for the Queen of the Stars. He did not know if the Lady heard him, but it was all he could do. Legolas wasn’t used to feeling this useless and he didn’t like this feeling at all. He wanted to do something to help his father, but there was nothing that could be done. All he could do was lie by his side and watch him fade away.

Someone knocked on the door carefully. “Legolas, are you well?” It was Aragorn. His beloved husband’s concerned voice, added to his fear for his father and the feeling of helplessness only managed to make the Elf lash out.

“How could I be well when my father is dying? Leave me be!” Legolas spat angrily, wiping his eyes with his palms. “Can you not respect my wish to be left alone?”

“If you need anything, all you need to do is tell me”, Aragorn said gently from the other side of the door. He understood why Legolas sounded so upset; he knew it was not really aimed at him. “I will be waiting here.”

“Fine”, the Elf Prince answered sharply and turned his attention back to his father. Gently, he smoothed the King’s brow, looking at the familiar face to memorize every feature. The older Elf was icy to the touch, and his green eyes were unseeing, even if open. However, Legolas couldn’t bear to close them. As long as his father breathed he would not close his eyes.

What do you see, Adar? He whispered, pressing his cheek against his father’s and closing his eyes. Then he felt something change; it was nothing grand or tangible, but it was something and Legolas knew what it meant. His father still breathed very shallowly but the Elf knew that his spirit was gone. His father had passed into the Halls of Mandos. Only the empty room heard the Elf Prince’s hushed, tear-stained whisper.

“Námo, heb tin faer e a im na adertha.”***

Violent sobs wracked his slender body and he tightened his hold of his sire. He could not accept this; he could not let go of his father. Elves were immortal, they were not supposed to die but to sail West and live forever in the White Shores of Valinor. Thranduil King was not supposed to leave Arda like this; to Legolas’ knowledge he hadn’t even planned on leaving to Valinor anytime soon.

Suddenly he felt a gush of fluid that wetted his clothes and the bed. The water broke, Legolas realised immediately and gasped in shock. A sudden pain that tightened his stomach and pierced him to the core made let out a sharp cry. “Ai, Eldarion!” He exclaimed, letting go of his father and wrapping his arms around the curve of his stomach. It was a strange pain and unlike any the Elf had ever encountered before.

Legolas shook his head in denial; this could not happen now. It was too early for the baby to be born; he wasn’t due in another month. The Prince could feel his womb contract strongly, and the pain returned. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to endure the strange feeling in his stomach and decide the wisest course of action.

There was no way he could have his baby without assistance; Lord Elrond had told him that there was no other way to get the child out but to cut his stomach open. A small opening had formed behind his testicles but it was for the amniotic fluid to come out; it was too small for delivery. Legolas knew he could not do that himself; he needed Lord Elrond to do the deed, or even the Healer Golwen. And Aragorn, his precious mate. He needed his husband to be able to endure the delivery of his child.

“Aragorn!” He shouted, hoping that his husband was still outside the Halls. Nothing happened; it was so quiet that he could hear his own frantically beating heart. “Lord Elrond? Golwen?” He tried again, wishing fervently that someone heard him and came to help. Where was everyone? He tried to get up from the bed and get some aid, but an unexpectedly strong contraction made his knees buckle just when he got to his feet and he ended up on the floor, hitting his forehead quite hard on the ground.

Legolas tried to get up but his head was dizzy and the pain in his stomach was making it hard for him to even draw breath. He knew that he could not afford to lose consciousness now; it could prove fatal for the baby and endanger his own life as well. “Aragorn!” He cried as a last attempt to get help and closed his eyes as the pain in his stomach intensified.

Legolas heard someone open the door and hurrying footsteps to where he was lying. The same someone put a cold hand on his burning forehead and touched the bruise that had formed on his smooth skin. “Legolas, what happened? Are you alright?” A male voice asked in deep concern, trying to lift him from the cold floor. The Elf raised his head with some difficulty and noticed that he was talking with Elrohir.

“The baby…” Legolas managed to murmur before another contraction rendered him speechless and left him gasping for breath. “The baby is about to be born. ‘Tis too early for him to be born, Elrohir! I cannot deliver him yet!”


TBC…


* Father, I need thee! I wish my son to know [lit. have knowledge of] you… Father, fight the call of Námo!

** Oh Elbereth Starkindler, wish I my father abandons this world not [before] you set new stars on the sky!

*** Námo, keep his spirit [until] he and I are reunited.


A/N: Thank you for reading this far. I’m sorry for the short chapter, but I would love it if you reviewed!