“Father, I am quite well!” Legolas protested, trying to sit back up. Unfortunately, at that moment, a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him and he slumped back with a pained groan.

“Indeed,” Thranduil said dryly. “You are a picture of health. Now please, just rest before I have you sedated for your own protection and the sanity of the healers!”

“I care nothing for the healers here,” Legolas replied stubbornly. He crossed his arms defiantly, though he remained supported by the pillows.

Thranduil sighed. He knew what his son wanted, had heard about it on many occasions, but he would not allow himself to be manipulated in this manner. While Legolas had indeed been quite ill for some days after being injured defending their borders, he was now out of immediate danger and the drastic measures the younger Elf clearly wanted were unnecessary.

“No, Legolas,” he said firmly. “I will not drag Elrond here all the way from Imladris when we have several highly skilled healers right here, all of whom are more than capable of tending to you.”

At this Legolas pouted and looked utterly miserable. Sighing softly, Thranduil sat down beside him. “I know how you feel about him, but this is not the time to act on those feelings. He is not your lover, as much as you might wish it.” The king would not soon forget how, on Elrond’s last visit to their lands, he had found his son rather less than sober after a lengthy banquet and gazing at Elrond from across the room. The next morning, when he questioned Legolas about his actions, the Prince had reluctantly revealed how he felt about the Lord of Imladris.

There was no reply from Legolas and Thranduil pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his son’s head. “You will get your chance. This is just not the time.”

“As you wish.” Legolas tried to sound as if he did not care, but there was an unmistakable undertone of sulkiness.

“Get some rest,” Thranduil advised. “I will return later to see how you are doing.”

“Yes Father,” Legolas replied shortly. “I will send for you if I need you.” His voice took on a bitter tone. “I know where you will be, after all.”

It took all Thranduil’s willpower not to respond to the harsh words. While he knew that the pain and inactivity were making his son irritable and childish, the sentiment that lay behind Legolas’ last remark was unfortunately just as sincere when he was well. Legolas hated his father’s lover, a situation that became increasingly trying as time went by. However, Thranduil currently had no desire to have the same tired discussion that usually resulted from such comments.

“Rest well, my son,” he said wearily, before leaving the Healing Halls and returning to his own rooms.

********************

His lover was waiting when he returned, lounging on a well-padded couch near the fireplace, a book in his hands.

“How is he?” he asked, setting the book aside.

Thranduil smiled wryly. “Well enough to be acting like a spoiled child.”

Chuckling, Rúmil got up and went to Thranduil, wrapping his arms around the King. “That is encouraging, then!” He kissed Thranduil tenderly. “I have just drawn a bath, if you are interested…”

The King graced his lover with a broad smile. “That sounds wonderful, thank you, Rúmil. You are too good to me.”

Taking Thranduil’s hand, Rúmil led him to the adjoining bathing chamber. “I do what I can. I would have gone with you, but…” He trailed off.

“I know,” Thranduil’s voice was full of sadness. “I wish he would accept you. He knows it is no passing affair between us.”

“Give him time,” Rúmil said as he undressed. “We have only been together a few decades and I do not get to visit as often as I would like. It is hard for him to adjust to such circumstances.”

Discarding his clothes on the bathing room floor, Thranduil stepped into the bath along with Rúmil. “It is not that so much,” he said, shaking his head. “He resents you because you are barely three centuries his senior, despite setting his own sights on one who is far, far older than he.” Settling into the bath, he sighed in pleasure as the steaming water caressed his tired body and the sweet scent of the perfumed bath oil wrapped itself around him and seemed to lift his cares from his shoulders.

“The heart is a strange thing,” Rúmil said, edging closer to his lover in the water. “It often abandons logic, but does eventually learn. Still, perhaps it is best that I am leaving tomorrow.”

Reaching out, Thranduil pulled Rúmil onto his lap. “I disagree,” he murmured. “If I had my way you would never leave.” His hands wandered lightly over Rúmil’s damp chest, making the Lórien Elf writhe in delight.

“My brothers would be most upset,” Rúmil laughed, leaning his full weight against the King. “The same might well be said for my Lord and Lady. Yet – I would stay if it were possible.”

“That is good to know,” Thranduil said with a smile. “One day I hope it is so. But for now – let us enjoy tonight.” Pulling Rúmil closer still, he captured his lips in a searing kiss.

*******************

Several days had passed since Rúmil’s departure. Despite being glad of this, Legolas was still moody and still confined to bed.

Generally, with the exception of his feelings towards Rúmil, the Prince was easy-going and friendly. Yet the extended period in bed was driving him to distraction, as well as those trying to care for him.

Ever the devoted father, Thranduil spent as much time as he could with his son, but without Rúmil there to relieve the stress, his patience began to wear a little thin. Legolas would not lie still and, despite not leaving the bed, had torn his stitches open several times. The healers were on the verge of begging Thranduil to let them sedate the Prince and Thranduil, his nerves frayed, was on the verge of letting them.

“You will not heal if you persist in this behaviour!” Thranduil admonished him. “You are a warrior, Legolas, yet you are acting like a child.”

“I tire of this place,” Legolas snapped. “Why can I not rest in my own rooms?”

“Because you cannot be trusted to remain in bed and not injure yourself further. By Eru, Legolas, never in all my days have I known a more difficult patient! Where is the loving son I am used to?”

“Likely out on the archery fields, or hunting Orcs,” the Prince grumbled. “Certainly he is not here.”

Unable to suppress a chuckle, Thranduil lightly squeezed his son’s shoulder. “He will return, of that I am certain. Just as I am certain that rest will bring him home all the sooner.”

“Oh very well, I will try,” Legolas replied grudgingly, “though I make no promises.”

“It is a start,” Thranduil said with relief, despite doubting Legolas’ ability to carry through on his words. “Please do your best.”

**************

Legolas was sedated.

Several days after his promise to try to behave, he had proven himself utterly incapable of this. After being caught trying to go to the kitchens unaided, Thranduil had given permission for a sedative to be administered.

As a rule, sedatives were only given to those in great pain; however, in Legolas’ case he would not heal unless he lay still – something that all involved were tired of waiting for him to realise on his own. For four weeks now the Prince had been in the Healing Halls and yet at least one third of that time had been a direct result of his uncooperativeness.

Laying down his quill, Thranduil read over the letter he had written to Rúmil. He felt a stab of regret at complaining so much, yet currently it was the only news he had. They set letters via messenger birds every few weeks and usually each party tried to include some positive news. At the moment, Thranduil simply wished he had some.

Rolling up the parchment and making his way to where the birds lived, he muttered a prayer to Elbereth for a resolution to this infuriating situation.

Something had to be done.

********************

A week later and the moods of both the King and the Prince of Mirkwood were at a distinct low. Legolas was now healing, but only due to being kept sedated, which made him even more irritable. By now Thranduil was actively avoiding his son and, had he honestly believed he could, would have gone for an extended stay in Lothlórien. Retreating to his rooms, he flopped bonelessly on the bed, bemoaning the fate that left him with an impossible son and a largely absent lover. Rolling into the centre of the bed, he decided to go to sleep. With a little luck, he would dream of Rúmil.

Also in bed, Legolas fidgeted restlessly. The sedative was wearing off and he badly wanted to move. He wondered what his chances were of making it out of the room unnoticed. Eyeing up the healer on the far side of the room, the Prince waited impatiently for her to leave. He was certain he had healed enough to get out of bed now.

When the healer finally left, he sat up and pushed the covers aside. Just as he was about to get up, a voice from behind stopped him.

“Do not even think about it.”

Legolas froze, craning his neck to see who was there. When he did, he gasped aloud and the blood drained from his face.

“Lord Elrond!” Suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing nothing more than a thin sleeping robe, Legolas swiftly pulled himself back into the bed, yanking the covers over himself.

The tall Elf Lord looked down at the flustered Prince. “Word reached me that you have been somewhat troublesome of late,” he said evenly.

Sitting in the bed, Legolas prayed for Mandos to take pity on him and simply let him die. In his fertile imagination, he had dreamed up many ways in which he and the object of his affections might finally become closer. To be caught sneaking out of bed like the errant child his father had called him certainly was not one of them.

“I… I do not do well with inactivity,” he replied, trying to sound dignified.

“So it would seem.”

Legolas squirmed, seeing all his hopes and dreams slipping away. He suddenly felt very young and was sure Elrond would see him as just that.

He was so caught up in his own humiliation that he missed the amused sparkle in the Elf Lord’s eyes. “I look forward to testing that assertion at a later date.”

Confused, Legolas looked up. “I fear I do not understand, my Lord,” he said quietly.

Slowly and deliberately, Elrond moved towards him and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think you understand perfectly,” he murmured, a wicked grin gracing the previously serene features.

Legolas’ eyes opened wide and he stared at Elrond in sheer disbelief. “I must be dreaming,” he mumbled, “or perhaps delirious.”

“You are neither,” Elrond assured him. “You first caught my eye years ago, when you came to Imladris as your father’s representative. I have since wished to get to know you better. When I heard of your feelings, I felt that the time to do so was at hand.”

He looked down at the dishevelled Elf. “Though you are somewhat different to how I remember.”

Blushing, Legolas smiled through his embarrassment. “The injuries have made me ill-tempered and out of sorts. I assure you I am not always this way.”

“So I have been told.” The look of amusement in Elrond’s eyes grew. “It is true indeed that confinement makes a child of the proudest Elf.”

Legolas looked utterly humiliated and Elrond laughed aloud. “I think, if you do not mind, I will remain here until you are well, so you can show me the Elf you really are.”

Hardly able to believe his ears, Legolas stared at the Elf Lord. “You would truly do this?”

“Aye.”

Lost for words, Legolas could only thank any Vala that might be listening for this chance – he knew he did not deserve it and found he could deal with the slight humiliation.

“I cannot believe that my father told you, let alone sent for you.”

Elrond shook his head. “He did not.”

“Then who did?”

“Someone who deserves far more credit than you give him.”

Realisation dawned and Legolas felt a stab of guilt. “Rúmil,” he said, squirming a little at the thought.

Elrond nodded. “He knows what it is like to be parted from the one you love. You may not like him, but he sought to make you happy.”

“He has,” Legolas admitted, though a little grudgingly. “I will be sure to thank him when I next see him. Edging closer to Elrond, he sighed. “Clearly I have underestimated him.” It was slightly disconcerting to know that it was Rúmil who had caused this – it would take him some time to reconcile the act of kindness with his previous feelings.

“Indeed you have,” Elrond agreed, “yet enough of that for now. Will you allow me to tend to you?”

Legolas smiled broadly. “Most certainly.”

A moment later his dreams came to life as Elrond leaned forward and kissed him deeply. Delighted, he wrapped his arms around the older Elf, soon becoming hopelessly lost in the long-awaited kiss.

Neither of them noticed Thranduil standing in the doorway. A servant had fetched him when Elrond had arrived unexpectedly, and he watched for a moment in mild amusement. From the way they were acting, it was obvious that there were no more hidden feelings.

Strong arms slipped around his waist and he chuckled, turning within them. “You are a very naughty Elf,” he said, caressing Rúmil’s face.

“I am,” Rúmil agreed cheekily. “It is why you love me.”

“That it is,” Thranduil laughed, pulling Rúmil closer and glancing over to the new couple in the room. He smiled tenderly as his son embraced the Elf he had loved for so many years. “Thank you.”

THE END