Work Text:
Bard sat in his rocking chair, looking out over the grand halls of the Woodland Realm, his home far more than Dale was these days. He had moved here years and years ago now, when Bain was king and Sigrid was married, Tilda old enough to marry but instead choosing to come and live among the elves, they had welcomed her with open arms.
They visited Dale often of course, neither of them could be kept away from their beautiful grandkids for long, even if they were all grown now, there was even the great-grandbaby, little Asta who was only three. But it was late in Bard’s years, and he was not as strong as he once was. Each time the trip was a little more exhausting, no matter how much he would pretend to be fine, Thranduil would notice. Bard could not bear the look on his face whenever he did.
It was dread.
Thranduil had stoically ignored the grey hairs that appeared on Bard’s head, the wrinkles that began to crease his skin. But it was far harder to ignore the things that stopped Bard from behaving like he used to. And now every day brought a slower, shakier step, a slightly weaker constitution and less time before he was tired again.
He knew Thranduil noticed, that expression of terror that intensified every time something happened, his hands would be around Bard the second he so much as stumbled, terrified he would not be able to get back up.
And such was his age that he might not.
Thranduil tried to pretend that everything was fine, he was so very good at hiding his expression. But so many years together had taught Bard how to read his love, and now he was an expert. He could see how every day now wore on Thranduil, tore at his heart. He often heard him crying when he thought Bard could not hear. Or he would feel the tears on his neck when Thranduil thought he was asleep, Thranduil held him so tight during the nights now it was almost suffocating.
Bard could not bear it. To see his love so sad, to know that he was the cause, but also knowing that there was nothing he could do to help. He could not slow the sands of time. And leaving was not an option even if he could stomach the thought. Thranduil was going to lose him, no matter what, and it was killing them both.
So Bard pushed himself. He did not allow himself to seem tired, he tried not to need his cane, he refused to so much as cough around Thranduil. He pushed himself. And he pushed himself straight into illness.
Worn down and worn out Bard had gotten sick, more susceptible to it now anyway in his winter years, and less likely to recover. It had been a difficult couple of weeks.
Thranduil had refused to leave his bedside, even through his fever Bard could hear him crying, begging to the Valar not to take him yet, that he was not ready.
“Don’t go.” He had wept, clinging onto Bard’s hand so hard it bruised. “Please, meleth nín, don’t go. You cannot leave me here all alone. Not yet, I am not ready.”
Bard could hear his cries whenever he closed his eyes.
They would never be ready.
It made Bard feel guilty, like he had selfishly stolen Thranduil’s heart, knowing full well what the future held for them. But really he knew that they had done it together, chosen this path as one, even being aware of what was to come.
But knowing what the future held and living through it were two very different things. To watch as the cruel, relentless passage of time wore him down and broke Thranduil slowly. Only able to watch, for all his riches he could not save Bard, and Bard knew he would give them up in a heartbeat if he thought he could.
It became hard to see the last few years as a life, it felt more like a slow death, wearing them down like the water beats at the rock. They enjoyed themselves of course, Thranduil had shown him almost all of middle earth in his short life.
Bard was suspicious that every time he had ever mentioned a place he would like to see Thranduil had immediately began planning the trip. He had seen the beautiful forests of Lothlórien and the haven of Rivendell, the might of Rohan and the faded glory of Gondor.
They had even gone to the Shire, that had been one of Bard's favourite trips. He remembered it fondly, he had thought to mention to Balin that they would be making the trip, and before he had known it every surviving member of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield had joined their convoy – much to Thranduil’s annoyance and Bard’s amusement.
They had insisted on not getting to Bilbo’s house until four exactly, when they had all tumbled into the hobbit hole without so much as a knock. Bard and Thranduil had followed in after the dwarves a little bemused, but he knew they must be missing something that was just between the company. They all pretended not to notice the little tears that were shed by the hobbit.
They had left the happy, and only a little melancholy, reunion to it, going off to see the green groves of the shire. The happy tranquillity of the shire was like a little slice of paradise, a place of light as the world began to darken again. They had ended up staying a full week before dropping in on Bilbo and making their way back, dwarves in tow – and for a little while a tiny hobbit on board until they had noticed and taken the little scamp back to his worried uncle.
It is funny, Bard thought, how often his mind drifted back to the past these days. He would like to see those places again, but he doubted he would managed the whole round trip without dangerously exhausting himself.
If it weren’t for the miracle of elven healing he knew that he would not be here even now. They had managed to carry him through his illness, Bard had fought hard, unable to even think about anything other than the elf crying into his side as he willed his own fever down. But mortality was a battle with only one outcome, not matter how he may fight. Either way he knew he did not have long left.
He had fully recovered from his ailment almost a fortnight ago. When he had been able to stand again, Thranduil had taken his head in his hands a kissed him fiercely and with such force that Bard had known he meant something by it, although he had not been sure what.
But he thinks he knows now.
Because he had not seen Thranduil since, and it had been weeks.
He had kissed the breath away from him and then he had left. Bard now thinks it might have been an apology, though it had felt more like a promise. An apology for leaving, because it appeared that he had indeed left. Bard missed him, as he sat in his chair in their home he missed him agonisingly and wanted nothing more than to spend the what would most likely be the last year of his life wrapped up in his loves arms.
He wondered that maybe Thranduil had reached his limit, had found himself unable to watch and decided it would be easier to simply not be here. Bard wanted to be angry at him for leaving, but really he was just sad, as he did not know if their positions were reversed, if he would be able to handle it either.
So he just sat in his rocking chair, blanket over his legs looking out on Mirkwood, hoping that at any moment he would hear the door open and familiar arms would wrap around his neck and he would feel those lips on his cheek once more.
But it had been weeks now, every day Bard found it harder to believe that he would see Thranduil again.
Even Legolas did not know where he had gone. He had been back in Mirkwood for the past couple of years, he had never said it, but they all knew it was because he did not want his father to be alone when the inevitable came to pass. Instead he spent his days trying to take Bard’s mind off of things, playing card games with him, or escorting his children and grandchildren and even now one great-grandchild back and forth to see him, there was always at least one of them with him.
He would go to Dale, but he did not want to move, just in case Thranduil came back. He could find him in Dale of course, but Mirkwood had ended up being their primary home.
Their rooms felt cold and empty now, the bed was too big and he found it hard to get warm.
Bard was asleep, lying alone in their large bed when he could feel a familiar smooth hand against his cheek, caressing a thumb along his cheekbone.
He did not open his eyes for fear the feeling would vanish with the dream.
Bard could hear the words meleth nín ghost through the air around him, he remembered what they had sounded like so well that his dream had them sounding as if they had fallen from Thranduil’s real lips.
Bard sighed into the sounds and feelings of the dream, tipping his hand into the not really there hand and truly believing he could feel it on his skin. But that could not be right, Thranduil had left.
“You know, my dear Dragonslayer, I do wish you would open your eyes. I have missed them so.”
Bard’s eyes snapped open, all the air leaving his lungs as he looked up at a sight he had almost given up on ever seeing again. Just as beautiful as the day they had met, Thranduil’s eyes glittered in a way Bard had seen slowly going out over the past few years.
Thranduil opened his mouth to speak but Bard caught him off guard, dragging him down into an embrace, Thranduil had to catch himself from landing his full weight on Bard even as he clung onto his neck and pulled Thranduil onto him fully so that he could bury himself in him and just breathe him in.
“I am sorry.” Thranduil breathed into Bard’s hair, holding him close in his arms. “There were some things that I needed to see to.”
“I thought you weren’t coming back.” It came out in a gasp. “I thought I would never see you again. That you weren’t going to let me say goodbye.”
“I am sorry, I just needed to go for a little while. But I promise I will never leave your side again.”
No, Bard thought, it would be him that would leave, never to return.
The next couple of days Thranduil was behaving strangely, but Bard was a little too preoccupied with simply being relieved that he was back to question it too much.
So when on the third day he was greeted in the dining hall by not just Thranduil but their entire family, he was a little confused.
There was Tilda, Legolas, Bain and his wife Meera, and their son Brand, Sigrid and Rainar, their son Hallam and daughter Thora and even her little toddler Asta.
“What’s the occasion?” Bard asked with a raised eyebrow at his positively gleeful looking family.
“We’re going on holiday!” Brand beamed at him.
“Thranduil organised the whole thing!” Sigrid smiled at him, the lines on her face showing just how much smiling she had done in her life.
“Is that were you disappeared off to? Making arrangements.” Bard smiled softly at Thranduil, old habits apparently died hard.
“You always said you wanted to see some of the places we visited again, melinden. We still have time.” Thranduil replied softly, calmly, as if they really did have time.
Bard wanted to protest, he was too old for any new adventures, he genuinely feared he would not survive the return trip. But looking at the faces of his whole family, smiling at him expectantly, he couldn’t help but agree.
“Alright then, one last adventure.” Bard smiled, his ever lively family practically erupting into cheers as they hurried off to finish preparing the horses, Legolas following at a far more leisurely pace, smiling at his pseudo-family that Bard knew he loved dearly.
Thranduil pulled him in and kissed him soundly as their family scurried off to make final preparations for the journey. The feeling of Thranduil’s lips against his own, moulding together like they were designed to perfectly slot together, was one of Bard knew he would miss, whatever the afterlife held for him. He knew there was no way he was not going to miss that. So he would make the most of that before he could no longer.
“That’s still as gross as it was thirty five years ago, come on!” Bain called with a grin, pulling them out of their little world and back into the present as he beckoned for them.
“I still need to pack.” Bard pointed out.
“I have already done it.” Thranduil smiled, and of course he had.
“You knew I would say yes.” Bard smiled fondly, Thranduil knew him far too well.
“When have you ever been able to deny me anything?” Thranduil smirked, pressing another kiss to the corner of Bard’s lips and taking his hand. “Besides, if that didn’t work I was going to put Asta in your arms and talk about her first ever trip and how you wouldn’t want to miss that would you.”
Bard barked out a laugh, squeezing Thranduil’s hand in his as his love provided all the support he needed to walk without his cane – although he was sure Thranduil wouldn’t have neglected to pack it.
“You never were above playing dirty.” Bard remarked. “Especially to get your own way. Stubborn elf.”
“Yes, but I am your stubborn elf.”
“Aren’t I lucky.” Bard snarked back, but his tone was filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated affection as Thranduil helped him climb into the carriage.
Riding was out of the question for him, so he and Thranduil travelled in a little carriage with Asta and Thora, everyone else happily making the journey on horseback, as Bard used to. Riding was probably one of the things he had missed most as he grew old, feeling the wind whipping through your hair, Bard had always imagined it was kind of like what flying must feel like.
Watching Tilda ride just as well and skilfully as Legolas always made Bard proud, even if he had only taught her the basics he had still been the first to put her on horseback. She was one of the fastest riders in Mirkwood, being so slight in frame made her light and the horse faster, she had never grown tall, although no one could ever make her feel small.
The trip was long, and Bard was not entirely sure where they were headed, although everyone else seemed to know. They stopped in Rivendell but only for a day to rest themselves and the horses, still Bard was glad he had been given the chance to see it again, it was an enchanting place.
He did not hear what was said between Thranduil and Elrond, nor could he quite read their faces his eyesight was not what it once was, but they parted with a warm grasp of forearms and the gesture that Bard had learnt elves used instead of a hug. He wondered why they parted in such a way, bard assumed they would be stopping here again on the way back, it must have had something to do with what was said. Elrond may well have been offering him some kind of support for after– well, just after.
The journey wore on and Bard recognised the changing scenery of Arnor until it faded into The Shire.
“I always wanted to see The Shire again.” Bard smiled, resting against Thranduil’s chest on their long seat in the carriage.
“Then you shall have to look out you window, for we are not yet stopping.” Bard could feel the smile Thranduil pressed into his hair, and he wondered to himself what the rest of Eriador held that Thranduil wanted him to see, taking him deeper and past the lands of The Shire.
Bard drifted to sleep easily in the carriage, letting the rhythmic bumps and rolls of the carriage and Thranduil’s firm steady chest behind him lull him to sleep.
“Wake up, meleth nín, we are here.” Thranduil whispered to him, softly waking him from one of his long, travel-lethargic naps.
Thranduil took his hand and steadied him as he climbed out of the carriage, and what he saw was utterly breath-taking, if a little confusing
It was a harbour, built from beautiful masonry, everything was white and seemed so very pure. But what caught his eye the most was the simple but sturdy boat moored to the white stone pier. It had a pure white sail and delicately carved railings that wound around each other and seemed to melt into the engraved designs on the sides of the boat. The style reminded Bard of the Woodland Realm and its weaving and intricate branches.
“I don’t understand.” Bard said dumbly, looking from the boat up to Thranduil who was looking at him like he was the entire world. Did Thranduil wish to take him on another adventure? Perhaps choosing to sail down to the southern lands of Middle Earth rather than going by carriage? It would be easier in many ways yes, but Bard feared the long journey would take a toll on him that they could not afford, especially as the waters were unlikely to stay as calm as they were in this haven.
“My love you have shown me the whole world in a single lifetime, but I fear I may be getting a little old for another big adventure.” Bard admitted quietly as Thranduil tucked a loose lock of grey hair behind his ear.
“I want to show you a different world.” Thranduil whispered, the smile on his lips reflected in his voice.
“What do you mean?” Bard asked confused.
“I want you to sail west with me.” Thranduil told him, like it was the simplest thing in the word and sparking the tiniest flicker of hope in Bard.
“Is- is that even allowed?” Bard ask tentatively, terrified to really hope.
They had never even entertained the possibility; Valinor was a place for the elves, not men. He was worried that Thranduil was just getting desperate, that it was not actually possible, but he did not look desperate, only calm and content, looking at Bard with warmth and an expression that let Bard know that his mind was already set.
“By the Valar I do not care. I built the ship I learnt the navigation and I will take you to Valinor. I would like to see someone try and stop me.” Thranduil declared fiercely, and how could Bard doubt him? When he was so very certain, besides, Bard knew that when Thranduil set his mind to something, he always got his way.
“Stubborn elf.” Bard smiled, letting it take over his face completely. “I should have known something a trivial as mortality wouldn’t stop you from finding a way.”
Bard pulled Thranduil in by his gowns sealing their mouths together in a searing kiss filled with promises.
Filled with forever.
The goodbyes were hard, but soften somehow by the fact that they all knew it would have been goodbye soon anyway.
He held Asta who didn’t understand what was happening but gave him and Thranduil a sloppy kiss on their cheeks and a big smile. Their grandkids and son and daughter in law all got big, tight hugs – from both him and Thranduil, with promises to be good – but not too good because that’s no fun.
Legolas put a hand to his heart and extended it to them both with a steady, honest smile, he and his father saying goodbye, but it was with warm smiles, they would see each other again.
Sigrid Bain and Tilda all locking him in a bone crushing hug. No matter how old they got they would always be his little kids, that would never change. He was going to miss them so much, burying their heads together and not even pretending not to cry, they were a team, always had been.
“You look after each other okay.” He told them, squeezing his kids tight, even if Bain was taller than him. They all nodded. “I love you guys so much.”
“We love you too da.” Came the joint response, tugging on Bard’s heart as they finally started to let go, well, Sigrid and Bain forced themselves to pull away, Tilda held onto him so long Bard wasn’t sure if she was ever planning on letting go.
“You keep those elves in line, you hear?” Bard whispered into her hair.
“Yes da.” She replied somewhere between a sob and a laugh, just a release of emotion.
They piled onto their ada, pulling Bard into the embrace as well, the last time they would be able to be like this again. But they would never stop being family.
Finally, after another round of goodbyes and a lot of tears on both sides, Bard and Thranduil climbed onto the boat.
“You ready.” Thranduil asked, squeezing Bard’s shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah I am.” Bard smiled, looking out at his family, waving as they moved off. Shouting their goodbyes until longer after no real words could be made out.
Thranduil took his hand and they headed for the horizon.
The only person who was surprised, when Legolas turned up many years later with a dwarf in tow, was Thranduil.
But that was mainly because of the dwarf.
“Oh where did I go wrong in his upbringing?!” Thranduil had sighed dramatically, slumoping onto Bard like the drama queen he was.
“I think we may have had a bad influence as far as the rules and regulations of this place go.” Bard smirked back, knowing full well that Thranduil would get over it pretty quickly for the sake of his son.
“You’re a dragon slayer, you’re allowed.” Thranduil had grumbled.
“Yeah, but I think the reason I’m here is because I’m your Dragonslayer.” Bard pointed out, knowing the real reason he was here was simply because of Thranduil was Thranduil and he wasn’t prepared to lose like that again, he would have done the same if he had never been more than a bargeman in his life and they both knew it.
“Indeed you are. And you’re not going anywhere.” Thranduil smiled, dropping a kiss on the end of Bard’s nose and holding him tucked in close to his side.
“As if you would let me.”
They smirked at each other, just lounging back and taking in the beautiful place that they now lived, everything about it so ethereal and semi-divine. Bard lay there and shut his eyes, just listening as Thranduil resumed his half-hearted, mostly for show tirade about Legolas and Gimli. Bard knew he didn’t really care, if Legolas had found someone so important to him that he could not bear to see them pass, then well, Bard knew Thranduil got that, he was the living proof.
So he was happy to just settle back and listen to the music of Thranduil’s voice as he whinged half-heartedly.
It was okay, they had time.
They had forever.