Trapped

Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he's desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU.

Disclaimer: I own my fingers. I own my thumbs. I own my keyboard. I certainly own my brain. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Chapter One: Formality

"Even the smallest noble has duties to do, things he must perform to keep his lands running. But, they never really go above the small things, the social ladder, and the problems with the servants.

When you're a prince, even the youngest, it's harder, because you have to do your duty at the age of around five (for an elf) or six and go up. And the duty weighs you down, consumes you totally. Nobles can escape, but we're born into the yoke and we can't imagine any way out.

I feel sorry for my oldest brother, most. He's going to have to be king, going to be forced into further slavery. But, he's got a reward at the end, we haven't. That's what makes it so difficult. We're trapped in formality, there's no way out."

Legolas stopped writing and blotted the ink, putting the pen and the inkwell back. He closed his book, his diary a small leather bound thing and knelt down to slip it into the small cavity where the floor and stone wall met, something worn away by time. It was invisible; only someone who knew it was there could possibly find it.

He sighed, wistfully, and then stood up, brushing back his silken hair and examined himself critically in the mirror that hung on the wall. Green robes, the colour of the house of Mirkwood, a band of silver declaring that he was a prince. Bare feet – elves only wore shoes in extreme conditions. His azure eyes stared coolly back and he felt like shooting his arrogant, icy reflection. It told so little – only the person behind the eyes knew there was more and that no one would ever find it.

He stopped wallowing in self-pity and wondered what the hour was. It would soon be time for his music lesson (the princes were expected to play the harp, the flute and the clarinet (A/N: Sorry, couldn't resist) excellently; the hall often rang with their music) and his music teacher would be extremely annoyed if he was late. He stepped outside the room, one of the many used by the princes as studies, and looked up and down the corridor to see if a servant was nearby. There was. And she was obviously searching for him, opening each door, muttering an apology to his brothers and going to the next one.

Legolas walked over to her, "Do you know what the time is?" he asked, curtly.

She dropped her brown eyes, "It's nearly four, lord."

"Good." Legolas turned away, but the girl cut in.

"Excuse me, lord, but… a message, from the King."

Legolas turned around, sharply. "You didn't speak of this before. What is this message?"

"Lord, a party of elves sent from Rivendell are coming to dine with your father tonight. The king bids you be ready by seven at the latest and to bring your instruments."

Legolas sighed. He hated performing in front of a crowd of strangers, it made him nervous. He realized the servant was still standing there, blushing.

"Thank you," he said, harshly. "You may go about your business."

The girl was surprised at how abrupt the prince was, but went about her business, scuttling along the corridor, not daring to look back. Legolas moaned under his breath. He did not want another lock to be snapped on the gold cage. But there was nothing else except his duty. He had to do it.

*    *    *

At seven exactly, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood walked regally down the stairs, the last of his brothers to join the party, but undoubtedly one of the fairest.

He had been given the softer looks of his mother who was one of the most beautiful ever to have walked the earth. His famed stubbornness came from Thranduil, so did most of his other characteristics, pride, secretiveness… There were many more.

Yet, there was another two inherited from his mother, pity and sentiment, but they did not dominate his emotions as much as pride, which held him up in his troubles.

Legolas walked in between his kinsmen and the strangers. Social events bored him terribly and so he had developed a way of becoming "invisible" – he would make himself inconspicuous, completely. No one would notice him; Thranduil would berate him afterwards for not being there.

He concentrated hard and then just walked, casually through the elves and reached the recess in the wall where he usually went on these occasions. It was masked by a red velvet curtain and though it was sometimes chilly, the fire had had a good chance to warm the room and even the stones of the hall itself were slightly tepid against his delicate fingers.

He pulled back the curtain and jumped in surprise. There was someone sitting in his spot, reading a book. Legolas decided to retreat, but the person had seen him. He lifted his head and regarded the elf with gentle, quizzical grey eyes.

"You can sit here, lord," he said, his voice gentle. "These are not my halls and you do not disturb me."

Legolas smiled and nodded a thank you and sat down. It was obvious the Man, it was a Man, did not know who he was. That was a relief; he could stay here for a while.

He took out his diary, taken after his lesson, and started to write, but after a long silent while, the Man finished his book, and began to talk.

"You're from Mirkwood?" he said, "I did not see you in the group on the way here."

Legolas nodded, "This is my country. You're from Rivendell?"

The Man gave a quiet breathy laugh, "Yes. My name is Estel."

Legolas scrambled for a name, "You don't need to know mine yet… I mean you'll find out very soon…" he spluttered inelegantly.

Estel laughed, "Well what can I call you, lord?"

"I… erm… oh, dina," Legolas hissed as he heard the voice of his father outside the recess. He closed his eyes. Go away. Don't let Thranduil find us here. He would never forgive me…

Gradually Thranduil's voice faded away and Legolas opened his eyes. Estel was staring at him. "What was that about?" he said, quietly.

"N…nothing," Legolas stammered, "Just…"

"That was the King of Mirkwood. You're not meant to be serving are you?" he paused, then added, "Dina."

Legolas smiled weakly, "No. I'm exempt from serving. I… just hate crowds."

"We share an interest then, Dina."

"Aye…" Legolas dropped his gaze and felt himself flushing. He returned to his diary, writing fast and furious in an effort to escape here in his thoughts, in written ink…

He was so absorbed he only noticed it was time for the princes to play to the guests when the Man clutched at his sleeve.

"Dina? The princes of Mirkwood are about to play… aren't you going to listen? They are said to be the finest musicians in the whole of Arda."

To his surprise Dina leapt up and, pushing back the curtain, abruptly vanished without so much as a word. The Man looked surprised, but then considered Dina was probably a skiving servant and that the words had recalled him to his duty.

He didn't know how accurate his words were.

-TBC-