To Live Again {Lord of the Rings/ThranduilXOC Fanfiction}

3. Wrong Impressions

I bounce out of the armchair at the bedside, one in which I had been curled up on since my encounter with Thranduil in the early hours. The sleep tonic was useless I was too distressed by the grotesque images my mind kept mentally slapping me with. But his little voice broke through my brooding and I was fully alert and upright. Well technically not upright, I keep forgetting my ankle is banjaxed and I limp awkwardly to the side.

"CLARA! ADA IS SICK!"

Legolas is standing at my doorway dressed in what looks suspiciously like pyjamas. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are rimmed red from the obvious tears he has been shedding. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but for once in my life I actually lack words. I have comforted many kids in my volunteer work, I've heard all sorts of sad tales and consoled many a heartbroken child, but this is a little different this time - it is almost personal.

"Grandpa says he is sick and I cannot see him until he is better...and and and-" his voice cracks and a torrent of fresh tears begin. He throws himself on the edge of my bed whilst I gawp awkwardly at him, he is sobbing great big heart wrenching sobs and I am doing nothing about it.

"Hey, hush wee darlin' don't you cry," I soothe and hop to his side, mustering my best maternal voice - not that I even know what that is supposed to sound like. With effort I wrap my arm around his little waist and haul him onto the bed beside me, he shifts his weight and buries his face in my side continuing to sob softly. "Now if your Ada is sick he needs time to get better and I am sure it will not take long-"

"Grandpa said it will be a long time, a really long time, maybe weeks and weeks before I can see him," Legolas interjects and angrily thumps the bed in his confusion.

"Oh I see," is all I can manage to respond with. I bite my lip and attempt to think of something to console him with.

"Does he not want me there?" The child asks, fear and distress evident in his perfect little features.

"No way!" I gasp and shake my head in vehement disapproval; "of course he wants you there but I think he is very sick and needs to rest. He probably wouldn't be much fun to be around, and maybe he doesn't want you to see him sick in case you worry."

"I don't care!" Legolas shouts and shuffles away from me, frowning he adds, "he is my Ada and I want to see him!"

I roll my eyes, clearly this child is used to his own way but I can understand. Whatever worry they thought they were shielding him from was going to manifest in his heart anyway. This kid was smart, far too smart, he knew something was amiss and he knew he had the right to be worried.

"Well maybe I can speak to the healers and see if we can arrange a time to see your Ada?" I suggest like I have the right to even make such a suggestion; I should not be making promises to him if I cannot keep them.

"It is no use I already asked them," he pouts and glares furiously at the door. I giggle at his tenacity, he had every avenue covered, he was obviously determined to see his father.

The angry scowl stays on his face for the briefest of moments before he starts to sob again; I sigh and wrap my arms around him. He responds in turn and crawls onto my knee and rests his head on my chest. I find myself rocking him gently and singing Irish lullabies to him, this seems to settle the tears and quieten him. In my humble opinion - and it is just that - nothing can beat a cuddle. I used to watch other mothers or older sisters cuddle their kids and I was incredible envious, I only ever got one if it was entirely needed, usually from Mary, she was often the more caring of my 'adoptive,' family. But it really does have a soothing effect; the evidence is plonked right on my lap.

I am too busy humming quietly to my little shadow that it takes a moment before I register a figure frowning at me from the doorway;

"Legolas I told you to stay in your chambers today," Oropher spoke - his voice calm but there was most definitely an undertone of exhaustion and frustration, and who exactly could blame him? His son was an inch from obliteration just a few rooms up. "You are being a pest child, come."