Thranduil Imagines

Imagine: Legolas falling out with his father

I know that the content of this story isn't factually correct in terms of the characters present and the timeline.

Request for: @ducdhck

Legolas watched the cavalry units recede as the battle came to an end. He sat sprawled in the mud, surrounded by discarded weapons and broken arrows, all riddled with droplets of crimson and black blood, masked by the darkness of the night. He'd tried to remain upright, but the exhaustion had begun to set in, sending him to his knees. The dimly lit torch staked in the mud beside him offered a dismal amount of light, casting just enough so that the prince could make out his dirtied palms as he held them before his face and up towards the flickering fire. They were shimmering against the firelight, as their coating of blood was still fresh. He'd carried you in a horrified frenzy to one of the tents for the injured, setting you on the only wooden cot left unoccupied, before being ushered out by one of the healers.

The fabric creating the makeshift entrance to the tent brushed against Legolas's trembling shoulders. The guilt burned in his chest, suffocating him. You had taken a blow that was meant for him, and Legolas now sat on the outside of the tent you lay etherized in, with a gaping wound in your chest, worried it may prove fatal.

Aragorn emerged from a mass of marching Lothlorien elves and Rohirrim and immediately marched towards Legolas.

"Legolas!"

Legolas jumped at the sound of Aragorn's voice, unable to meet his eyes.

"Where's Y/N? She was with you when I saw her last."

Legolas kept his head bowed and he dug his fingers into the earth.

"Legolas, where is she? Does she know we've won-" Aragorn was out of breath, yet the worry in his tone was apparent.

"She is in the tent."

Still unable to look up into his friend's eyes, Legolas spoke quietly and dejectedly, the sound scarcely able to be heard over the rattle of iron shields and pounding pellets of rain.

The absence of Aragorn's response had willed Legolas to look up. Aragorn was looking down at him with an indecipherable expression, but his eyes gave a clear answer; they begged for the retraction of his friend's last statement to him.

Slowly, Aragorn's eyes moved to stare at the warm orangey glow that was the slit creating the tent's entrance, and his expression morphed into one of horrified realization- that his sister lay inside, housed in the tent meant solely for the injured.

Legolas helplessly watched as Aragorn rushed to enter. His voice was too hoarse from shouting commands and the sudden influx of light from Aragorn pushing the tent open gave Legolas a clear look of just how much of your blood has soiled his hands and clothing, nauseating him.

It wasn't long before Aragorn's attempt to get to you proved futile as his shouts filled the tent, followed by him being forcefully escorted out. Defeated, he fell heavily to the ground beside Legolas and transitioned to unseeingly watch the ripples in a small puddle just before him.

Legolas waited for Aragorn to reprimand him, to blame him for your current state, but it never came. Legolas turned his head to watch Aragorn's profile and tried to think of any words of comfort he could offer, but there were none he could conjure, as he direly needed comfort himself.

When most of the troops and horses dissipated, not too far down along the wall emerged a golden head, moving down the cobblestone path with measured steps.

Aragorn had resorted to scaling the nearby terrain to distract himself from the worst case scenarios that festered his mind, leaving Legolas alone.

Abruptly, another call came for Legolas, but this time, it wasn't from Aragorn.