Whispers of the Forest (Legolas x Male OC)

Stiff Collars and Loud Men

The joy of being alive quickly faded for Sîrion. Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, but now that he was awake, he was being pushed and pulled every which way and hardly had a moment to take everything in. His mind was buzzing as if filled with bees, and he swore if another man yelled ridiculously loud for no reason, he would make his escape. Bringing the Prince along, of course. His moments with Legolas were the only thing keeping him from running away... well, walking away... very slowly with frequent breaks. His shoulder was practically healed, though it would still ache if he pushed it too hard. Radaeth was amazed by just how quickly the elf was healing. His side was still finicky. The stitches were itchy and stung at random for no reason. Well, the reason was that Sîrion couldn't seem to sit still, but he refused to see that as an option. It had been about three weeks since he awoke, two weeks almost exactly since he started walking again. It felt very odd at first. His side was stiff, aching and itchy. But it didn't stop him from walking wherever he could before the wound forced him to rest. Legolas had been worried half to death most days, knowing Sîrion wouldn't even realize he was hurting until the Prince could see the winces and grimaces the listener tried to hide. Luckily, it was healing rather well, considering how keen Sîrion seemed to be on irritating it. Radaeth was predicting the stitches could be removed before the King's official coronation, which the pair of elves were rather excited about. It meant the worst of it was truly over. The last remnants of the Battle of the Black Gates were mending, finally allowing Sîrion to continue on with his life unhindered. Well... at least that is what he would prefer, but unfortunately, even when the world wasn't falling into the grasp of evil, meetings were still a very common thing.

He had been lucky enough to avoid most meetings, popping into a few with Legolas when Aragorn requested their presence but always being able to leave early by signalling his side was acting up again. And perhaps sometimes it wasn't, and he just said it was. It wasn't like he enjoyed lying, but those meetings... by the Valar, they had gotten more boring, much more stuffy and somehow noisier. He longed to just stay outside chatting with the wind like he used to. He had missed it so very much, and though his ability was back, he had found very few times to truly enjoy the whispers. Between the meetings, time with the healers, and tailors needing his measurements, he found little time to truly relax outside. He had been thankful for the small moments he had found, though. They were short and later in the evening. He and Legolas would sit on the balcony; the Prince typically curled up against the listener's right side and let the night speak. Sîrion would sometimes tell of what the wind was saying or mutter his own response to it. It was a peace they needed. A peace they could revel in without the looming evil of Sauron.

Tonight, Sîrion was wishing that is what they could do. but, much to his dismay, Aragorn had requested the elves' presence at this next meeting.

"I do not understand why I must wear this," Sîrion complained, pulling at the stiff half-collar, "This was not required for the other meetings."

Legolas smiled softly, brushing Sîrion's hands away and straightening the collar, "This one is much more important. The Lords of Gondor have gathered for the coronation and will be present," The Prince cupped the listener's cheeks, "Besides, it is better to wear this before coronation day. The tailors could have made a mistake, and we will want anything fixed well before then."

Sîrion sighed, leaning down and pressing his forehead against Legolas', "I suppose."

The tailors had done a wonderful job replicating elvish fashion, or at least Legolas seemed impressed as Sîrion was completely clueless on what was worn by elves of importance. He was given a dark green, long-sleeved tunic, small golden vine embroidery lining the collar and any edges. The middle was clasped together with small brown ties. It was the most gorgeous clothing Sîrion had ever worn, and he truly was grateful, but it was nothing like his travel tunics. The white undershirt was weirdly scratchy, and the tunic itself was oddly stiff.