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 Two: Thinking
"I have no idea what a Man is doing in Mirkwood with the Rivendell elves, but I shall ask Thranduil. It seems wildly unlikely that he is a noble lord due to his dress. Yet, I hardly know why I am discussing the matter. I am safe behind this curtain and Estel does not seek to throw me out into the merciless arms of my father. He doesn't even know who I am, thank Elbereth! That proves he has little or no acquaintance with Mirkwood before. I hardly blame him, I rarely venture beyond Southern Mirkwood. There are things of dark evil there, I know. Once it was Greenwood the Great – but times change and the merriest ones fade fastest, like…"
The elves gathered round, their fair faces lifted to the stars dimly visible through the trees. Legolas started to tremble slightly with nerves. He always did when playing to strangers was involved, though he was extremely good even for a royal prince.
Thranduil had chosen to make them play the flute, all the same instrument for once. It was not Legolas' personal favourite, but he liked the sound, it mirrored the stars silent in their heavens, blending soul with mirror images.
There was a total silence and Legolas wondered if Estel would come out to listen. But, no, he did not like crowds. It was highly possible he would miss this, and save Legolas from embarrassing explanations.
They began. It had been recently composed by the heir and was extremely complex, yet light and easy on the ear and beautiful when it soared into the heavens. Legolas could not relax however, making sure that Estel was not going to come out and find him playing as the son of Thranduil.
Thank Elbereth, the song had finished, but if he knew his father then there would be about five or six more of the same thread. He was so arrogant when it came to his family, never giving a thought to how they may feel.
He guessed that he had inherited that quality and feared to let it slip. He was firm that he never would, but in worry or anguish he might just. He didn't want to hurt his children like Thranduil had done, even without knowing. Thranduil was a good father, but he was a little too harsh, he passed judgment without hearing the whole story, he bruised emotionally. He wanted his sons to be perfect. Second best was simply not good enough.
Legolas felt tears pricking his eyes as memory came and took him, flooding out his insides and replacing them with solid led, even as he played on. Music was just an instinct, something he did unconsciously without being told while his mind roared ahead, something beyond music, something beyond comprehension.
Something beyond logic as well. Music was logical, neat, simple, but his mind was a vast confusion of notes that blended and sung in complex melody, better than any logical arrangement of notes could ever do and needing no instruments but the words of his inner voice to play the tune.
He finished the last, a confusing round and stood patiently until his father came up and whispered a few words in each son's ear.
[Good, Legolas, but you could do better. Practice more and you'll get there.]
Legolas smiled in pleasure. It was not often that he got a compliment from his father that didn't have a backlash. Do better next time, well he would practice more. He'd get there in the end; he had eternity to do it in.
He was excused from the merry-making and slunk back to the curtain, remembering that he had left his diary on the seat. However, the curtain had been drawn back and the alcove was empty and chilled. A cold dread rose inside Legolas' heart. Maybe Estel had been watching.
His diary lay, where he had left it. He swooped down to pick it up. He could be less lucky next time. Men were so untrustworthy, he had to be careful or that Estel could have been reading aloud his thoughts to the King himself.
When he picked up the book, he heard a small cling and, bending down, saw it was a ring. It had been left there, under the diary for him to find, Legolas knew that much. It could not possibly have been placed there by accident.
It was silver with some nameless gem set in the centre – very beautiful, but it would be far too delicate for Estel's hand, maybe for that of a woman – or an elf.
He slipped it on, holding it up so that it glittered in the light. He wouldn't keep it forever, naturally. He would find this Estel and tell him, give it back. Then he would see what he would see.
The elf slipped out, unaware that in the shadows of the hall a Man sat watching.
-TBC-