❧ video; 02

[firith]

[ Thranduil has been recovering from the multiple wounds suffered from almost getting devoured by a particularly large worm. Now the attacks have tapered off to nothing and the castle is being rebuilt, the Elvenking is healing a lot faster. He sits before a tall open window in his quarters, long hair brushed over warm, thick silver robes. Perhaps a little paler than usual, but otherwise one wouldn't think he had been treated like a dog-toy by a monster.

He does not lock the broadcast to Seelie, inviting their enemies to speak simply by omitting a decline. ]

I hope that all those who fought the worms are similarly on the mend. I should like to request a moment of your time, Khaleesi, on an unrelated matter, and to ask —

Nan ear adh in elin! Anthedh vîr mi 'uren.

[ A younger voice bursts unexpectedly over the locket from near the window. Thranduil glances aside without turning his head, brows raised; the infiltrator is shortly revealed to be none other than his son, Legolas, chatting to birds on the window-sill as they give him little gifts of fruits in their beaks. #elves tho Though the language devolves into native Sindarin, the tone set by the conversation is one of a universal 'son, please, not now'. ]

No dhínen, Legolas.

[ Legolas only laughs, unafraid by the rebuff. ] Tolo, govano ven!!

Ú-iston. [ Easing back in his winged armchair, Thranduil rests fingertips by a temple, speaking askance to the figure. ] O van oduleg? N'uir thiad gîn 'ell ...

Iston! [ —exclaims Legolas, throwing his head back with laughter at his father's dry would-be sarcasm. ]

Gi nathlam hi, tolo enni. [ — sighs Thranduil, holding out his free hand to beckon his son over. (And Legolas does a fine job of crawling right up onto the arm-rest, slouching into Thranduil's personal space as only a fearless child can do, gaining a glance from the Elvenking). Continuing, Thranduil looks to the locket. ] As I was saying —

[ The wounded noise Legolas makes, straightening in his seat to complain as he notices he is being videoed, is enough to get a sharp look from Thranduil in exasperation. ]

Man cerir hí? Ai, nínion!!

[ Thranduil retains his pokerface of a cool, elevated brow as his son slides out of view as though shot through the heart. ]

What are you eating that is making you so dramatic, I wonder. [ Clearly nothing else is going to get done today while his son is intent on hovering around like a bothersome nursemaid as Thranduil heals, so the locket is smartly snapped shut on the tail-end of the Elvenking's mutter. ] I am not going to pick up a thousand-year-old Elf — one of the Nine Walkers and Prince of the Woodland Realm — off the floor, Legolas ...



( OOC: Hover your cursor over the Elvish if you want to read it! A couple of people wanted to hear Sindarin being spoken on behalf of their characters' interest in it, so we collaborated on a light-hearted post. c; Responses will come mainly from Thranduil with Legolas threadjacking here and there, over his shoulder, from the same locket. )

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action.

[orcsurfing]

[ Whatever exasperation follows, it really is something Thranduil brought upon himself, because Legolas had all the intentions of getting up all on his own, continuing with less dramatics but some pouting that he has not been warned that his father was using the locket to communicate. But now that the idea has been put in his head, now that the threat came, Legolas can't quite help himself but exaggerate it all further.

He stays on the floor, clutching at his chest right over the heart as if truly wounded. As if Thranduil's words were salt to the injury, burning and hurting all the more. ]

How can I return to my feet when I have been wounded so gravely, ada? [ His free hand shots up to reach towards Thranduil's own arm, but it is too far, too out of his reach and Legolas can only paw at the air. ] Will you truly leave me to the birds?

[ Which were now looking curiously at the scene playing out in the King's chambers, cocking their heads this way and that while hopping by the edge of the sill. ]

[firith]

Before they viciously peck out your eyes, I pray they will stuff your mouth shut with the mess they are so eager to litter my room with.

[ So, so droll.]

[orcsurfing]

[ Last pout, last wheeze and he will flop lifelessly on the floor for good now. An old, old childish game of playing dead when he was nothing more but a young elfling and desperately wishing for his father's attention, undivided, sees its grand return.

More comfortable now that he had heard the locket being shut. ]

[firith]

[ The thing about having a lot of layers on is that when he decides to change into a warmer robe, he can step over any obstacle and drop it right on top of said obstacle's face, boots echoing as he takes the short walk to his wardrobe.

At least in death he covered up your face, son. Try not to become a zombie when the air runs out. ]

[orcsurfing]

[ There's only so long that he's willing and more importantly: capable of staying entirely still and motionless. The unanswered question is: did the air first run out or maybe it's the innate restlessness of Legolas that got the better of him first? In any case, he finally shifts, throws the robe off of his face with a huff of a breath. ]

Such cruel fate, felled by embarrassment and buried beneath brocade. All the more now I cannot rise...

[ Heavy. (Not.) ]

[firith]

Come here, [ he says mildly before his wardrobe, unbuttoning his shirt which is stained with a little blood peeling through the bandages around his chest, ] and help me find a clean robe.

[orcsurfing]

[ At this, it takes little less than a blink of an eye for Legolas to cease the joking around and get to his feet. He gathers the heavy brocade outer robe and lets it spill over the armrest of the chair. Another instant later, he's at Thranduil's side and leafing through the robes available to eventually pull out one. Light in his hands, but from fabric that feels warm enough.

His eyebrows draw together at the sight of blood, though. ]

Should we not change the bandages as well?

[firith]

[ A nod, and a gesture to a shelf where a few rolls are stored. ]

I had forgotten how much of a bother a flesh-wound could be.

[orcsurfing]

[ For the time being, Legolas spreads the robe upon the bed, in favour of grabbing the rolls of bandages. It is still not an easy thing for him to think or talk about, each mention of the injury a vivid image of his father covered in blood, broken and on the brink of death. Each time it adds a tremble to his touch and gestures, much like right now when he offers to help Thranduil remove the shirt without a word so as to not upset the bleeding flesh further.

It is still hard too, to make light of the situation, even when Thranduil is standing in front of him well now, on the best way to recovery. Out of harm's way with no more threats looming over their heads. ]

I wish the reminder was not so severe. [ His lips are pressed together, but Legolas does attempt a smile. ] Is it a sign of age, ada, that the worm caught you the way it did?

[ He is glad, more than that: it's the greatest relief he had felt since the end of the war of the ring, that his request for Thranduil's armour and his weapon - both of highest elven make - have been heeded, that now the King's chamber has also been equipped with both. So that if a need arose for it, it would be easily available, rather than the flimsy armour and weapons that lead to the injuries in the first place. ]

[firith]

I will live. Not since the Shadow of Sauron coursed through our woods while you were away with the Fellowship have I had need to ride into battle, and never so poorly equipped. Yet the fault is mine.

[ His hand slides under Legolas's chin, gently coaxing it to tilt up so his son might look at him. ]

That you requested my armour has not slipped my notice, Lasdithen.

[orcsurfing]

[ Legolas does look up, though his gaze flickers to Thranduil's face very briefly and down, to the side, towards the wrappings with blood visibly seeping through the fabric... until it finally, once more and for good, settles on his father's face with a smile that's a little lopsided. ]

I did not intend to keep it a secret, as I have requested it for you to use it if a need arises once more.

[ He feels no shame for it, either, and right then his eyes are firm and confident. ]

Though I will do all in my power for it not to come to pass.

[firith]

It is your duty to protect your king, yet it is mine as a father to ensure you need never concern yourself over my safety.

[ Gently brushing stray golden strands behind a pointed ear, he cups the back of his son's neck and places a warm kiss on Legolas's hair-line. A sprinkle of mirth lights his eyes when he leans back, giving him a slight shake. ]

And I am not that old, thank you.

[orcsurfing]

Then your duty is simple, ada, promise that you will not do anything so reckless again. [ With a little more ease he can now match the mirth and amusement when he opens his eyes again after the kiss and glances up to his father's face. ] And then keep that promise.

[ Then it is his turn to take a hold of the back of Thranduil's arms to lead him to sit on the free space of the bed as to make it easier for Legolas to change the wrapping on his injuries. ]

But I suppose you are not that old, indeed, if you are to look my brother rather than my father.

[ Cheeky little shit. ]

Now allow me to redress your injury.

[firith]

Would you rather I had allowed for Charles Xavier to die? Recklessness is sometimes part of battle, Legolas, whether we care for it or not.

[ He lets himself be directed around, ferried like glass. Grey eyes remain fixed on his son, pensive even when they lower, Thranduil sitting in place unaffected. ]

I would that you had been granted brothers.

[orcsurfing]

[ His hands flinch away for a split second, and Legolas swallows thickly, before beginning on unwinding the spoiled bandages. It seems his cheekiness lead to an entirely unexpected turn of events. One he may not be quite too happy to entertain. ]

Do not make me weigh your life against another's. I could not bear to lose you too, no matter the reason.

[ He takes a deep breath, inhales through his nose, before releasing the air slowly and quietly through his mouth. His mother is a subject that came up rarely between the two of them, especially in his adulthood. There were many what ifs, there could be many wishes to be made with regards to his life. Yet... ]

I could not have asked for a life better than what I have been granted.

[ A life of a single child, no matter how much he might have wished for siblings, and of a single parent, no matter how much he might have dreamed to have had better memories of his mother. ]

And I have one person to thank for it.

[firith]

[ There is no arguing with Legolas at times. He bears the same stubborn streak as Thranduil himself, perhaps a little too keenly shared over the years with mo mother-figure to mediate a fatherly influence over the elfling. Legolas is independent, certainly, but his heart cleaves to his loved ones like two metals forged into one, never to be separated. ]

I said I would not leave you, and I almost broke that solemn oath.

[ A hand covers those on the bandages, Thranduil's sincerity rising with soft words that belong to the same eyes which see more than he suspects Legolas knows. ]

I am sorry for that. I am sorry for frightening you, my son.

[orcsurfing]

[ There's a depth of emotion in the gesture and in those words. Legolas isn't blind to it and he can't quite remain unaffected. His chest tightens and he does not pull his hands away for a long moment. He knows, of course, that none of it was intentional, none of it was expected or could ever be imagined to come to pass and he doesn't hold it against his father at all.

Though the events of that day will haunt him for weeks to come and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Another terrible memory to remain an eternally vivid scar in his mind: the sight, the smell, the slick, warm blood on his hands and against his side and the weight of Thranduil leaning on him.

He pulls one hand from beneath Thranduil to instead cover it, while the other turns to clasp it and trap it between his own and to trail the knuckles with gentlest of fingers. No words need be said for this moment, not when Legolas leans down to rest his forehead on Thranduil's with his eyes falling closed as he does. Acceptance, forgiveness and love that can only be between a father and a son with centuries of life already behind them and many ages to come ahead of them. Finally though, Legolas breaks the moment and the silence. ]

Now then, allow me to tend to you and do not send me away for a little while yet, so that I can settle the shadows that are still cast over my peace of mind. [ And then with a tone distinctly lighter, his voice almost kingly (a rare occurrence), yet at the core playful: ] This is your atonement and I will take no more arguments.

[firith]

[ He ought to remind Legolas that had he been near death in a very real sense, his Shard would reputedly have made itself known. Still, it was a traumatising event for his son to undergo, and Thranduil commits to letting him have his way when it comes to fussing.

His own dry, solemn humour peels through with, ] At your service.

[orcsurfing]

[ It would matter little to point that out. For him, much as he knows personally the resilience of the elves, much as he believes his father to be strong beyond all reason, what he saw left a terrible impression, it cut deeply and now left a scar of fright.

But now he has full consent and full access to remove the soiled bandages. Uncovered the injury still gives him a pause, it looks awful though it's quite clearly healing. But the process does not look pretty, it will never look pretty. Legolas swallows as his eyes settle on the cuts and pierced skin. It's like a moment frozen in time, even though the reality is such that it lasts no longer than a couple seconds, this pause of his. Finally he moves again to grab a pitcher of water to fill a small basin by the bed to clean the excess blood while he's redressing the wound anyway. ]

You must have been moving too much to have it begin bleeding all over anew.

[ A light admonishment, as he dips a clean scrap of bandage in the water to then wipe off the blood ever so gently. ]

[firith]

[ He does not miss the pause, or comment on it, keeping his tone light and carefree. ]

Fidgeting is in our family.

[orcsurfing]

[ That now earns Thranduil a cocked eyebrow and a twitch of a mouth into a smile. ]

And yet you always tease me about it. [ His words tease, yet his hands remain gentle and careful. ] I will remember this and I will remind you the next time.

[ And once satisfied with his work, when blood no longer seems to be seeping from between torn flesh, he gets to wrapping the fresh bandages like they were before. ]