It still went against his nature, and in spite of the conscious decision to drop into the sleep, Legolas struggled for a couple more moments. But eventually he did succumb, eventually he relaxed fully in his father’s presence, dropping any sort of guard he had kept up ever since their arrival in Thedas.

It was a great relief to close his eyes, at least physically, and before he had the time to become disconcerted by the ever present darkness — and fight against it with the sweet, sweet sensation of fingers combing through his hair — he was gone. Slowly his breathing evened out, his body had grown lax. He inhaled and exhaled both through his nose, though his mouth were parted, flashing the whiteness of his teeth. It was quiet, and his chest barely rose up each time his lungs filled, but it did.

Next would come the dreams, which Legolas dreaded, feared, even when they were nice. Yet the way he was, there was nothing he could do about them, or to stop them.