A friendly trip

15.

"No!"

The scream echoed through the corridors of Minas Tirith. Legolas was held back by his father, who had grabbed Legolas around the waist the moment the servant had mentioned King Elessars passing.

He had been in Gondor for a few weeks, following Aragorn's recovery. He had been old and sick, but everything looked fine one moment only for everything to crumble the next.

"No! Let me see him." Legolas said, weaker than intended.
"Please..."

Thranduil noticed all the looks from the people around them, but one stern look from the King of Mirkwood they all looked away. Eldarion bit his lip hard to fight tears, already losing the battle as they streamed down his red cheeks. (Aragorn and Arwén's son)

"He is not dead." Legolas said and blinked away the tears, trying to tell himself that.
"He is not dead..."

"Legolas..." Thranduil sighed and held his son tighter, a quiet way of promising he wouldn't leave.

He tried not to tell Legolas 'I told you so.' He needed to grief, and they would talk later. He wanted so badly to take his son's pain away, but was unable to.

Legolas bit his lip hard as he looked at the closed door in front of him. It was all that was between him, and his lover, dead and cold. The life had left him, which was very hard for Legolas to understand. He wasn't supposed to see or experience death, and the closest person he knew except his father had just died. Everything was cold.

"No..." He slowly shook his head as he broke away from his father to lean against the wall, slowly sliding down. He wrapped his arms around his knees, and no one had ever seen the elven prince so small, so fragile.

Thranduil hesitated before he sat down beside his son, laying a hand on his knee. Legolas looked at it, having a hard time through his tears, and a soft sob was heard from his throat.

"Legolas, I warned you." Thranduil said quietly until he realised it was the wrong thing to say.

Legolas sobbed again and lay his head on his father's shoulder. He almost expected him to flinch away, but instead the King lay his arms around his son, drawing him closer. As Legolas cried harder he rubbed his arm, whispering soft words in his ear or just embracing him.

Suddenly, so sudden it scared him, Legolas longed for the sea. The calming waves, the peace. He knew he promised his father to stay, he needed his only heir. Not only because he needed to take the throne, but also because he was his son. He loved him, even if he was too stubborn to say it.

All sounds slowly melted away, like under water, as he fell asleep, exhausted by grief.

When he woke up on his stomach the first thing he noticed was how cold it was. A cold breeze stroked his thin nightshirt, making him shudder a little. The blanket had fallen down as he had turned in his sleep, and lay now at his feet. It scared him, he wasn't supposed to feel cold.

He slowly opened his eyes to face the empty sheet beside him. It was Aragorn's bed, but no warm body to warm it up. He could smell the special scent of Minas Tirith in the pillow, and unconsciously turned his face down, drawing deep breaths. The smell always reminded him of Aragorn.

He suddenly frowned and leaned up on his elbows, looking around the small room. The curtains were opened, and a cold breeze blew in through the window. It gave some comfort as he suddenly remembered everything. He would never feel the warm presence in his bed again.

Tears began to form in his eyes again, and he swallowed hard. Rising from the bed he walked out on the balcony, wearing only his thin, silken night skirt. The only thing he missed was those arms around his waist as Aragorn kissed his neck. The breeze cradled his hair and shirt gently, like it was whispering soothing words in his ears. Why did everything suddenly felt so..cold?