A thousand apologies for not posting this sooner. I've had exams/family stuff going on so this fic has been put on a back burner. But I had a little spate of creativity today so I'm posting this chapter in anticipation of more to come fairly soon.
Chapter 9
When Mercia left Legolas' chambers, he allowed himself only a few moments before making his way to the King. What he had said to Legolas was the truth. He had no desire to betray his King more than he had already done. When he thought of what he was planning to do - lie to the King, aid in the unlawful release of a prisoner - Mercia's blood ran cold in his veins. But then, when he thought of Estel and Legolas, of himself and Hanfrith, he knew that he could not deny anyone the chance to love as he had loved. Truthfully, he did not know for sure whether Estel and Legolas would love each other with the burning, unending passion that he and Hanfrith had shared, but he knew that it was likely.
The way they had spoken of one another, and Legolas' unwavering devotion to Estel's innocence reminded Mercia forcefully of the way he had felt when he first met Hanfrith. Had someone presented a dead body to him, with Hanfrith's own blade and hands stained with blood, Mercia would not have believed him capable of murder. And he knew that Hanfrith would have fought for him in the same way that Legolas was preparing to fight for Estel. However this love, so tender and young, evolved, Mercia knew that it must be given a chance and it must be allowed to grow, to flourish. If the only way to give them this chance was for Mercia to betray his Lord, then so it would have to be.
Mercia was ushered into the King's chambers as soon as he arrived and when he heard the anxiety in Thranduil's voice, a crippling sense of guilt overcame him and he turned his face from the King, groping for a chair. Thranduil took his arm gently and guided him to a low, soft couch, placing a goblet of wine in his hand. Mercia sipped at the cool liquid, rich and spicy, trying desperately to strengthen his will, to remember Legolas and Estel's voices and the hope that he had felt radiating from Legolas as he had left the prince's chambers. Finally, Mercia raised his head and prepared to speak.
"My Lord, I can find no knowing deception in your son. If he has lied to me, he is not aware of it."
"And the human?" Thranduil asked.
"My Lord?"
"What of him? What did you learn from your meeting with him?"
"Very little," Mercia admitted. "I was not able to read his character easily. I sense that he is used to disguise and deception and that he will not easily trust me. And yet, I could find no ill will towards your son in his voice."
Thranduil sighed deeply and looked earnestly at Mercia as they sat together.
"What am I to do, old friend?" Thranduil asked. "My heart tells me that I should send word to Elrond of Rivendell, yet all wisdom is opposed to that path. Elrond loves the human like a son. I cannot suppose that he will find any flaw in the man's character."
"Elrond is wise beyond compare," Mercia admitted, "but my Lord, would it not anger him to find his foster-son treated like a common prisoner? Times are dark, O King, and Mirkwood cannot afford to lose allies."
"You are right as ever, Mercia," Thranduil smiled. Mercia's guilt attacked him again and he took another sip of the spiced wine to hide the flush that he knew was creeping over his face. "What would you advise?"
"With your leave, Lord," Mercia began, almost reneging on his pledge to Legolas at the last moment, and then strengthening his heart, "With your leave, I will walk alone with Legolas tonight in the depths of the woods. It may be that more information shall come to light if he is given peace and freedom to speak as he sees fit."
Thranduil thought for a moment. He was loath to think of Legolas going into the depths of the woodland, possibly near to the accursed spot where he had first seen the heir of Isildur. But then, the Elven King reasoned, Legolas would not be alone and in spite of his blindness, Mercia was still a fine warrior when the need called.
"I would be willing to do anything to learn what afflicts my son," Thranduil said finally. "Take good care of him, Mercia. He is..." For the first time that Mercia could remember, the King's voice faltered. "He is most dear to me," Thranduil finished.
"I know, my Liege," Mercia assured Thranduil, reaching for the King's arm and resting his hand gently on the silken cloth of Thranduil's robe. "I also care deeply for your son and I would be loath to see harm come to him."
"That is a great comfort to me," Thranduil admitted, placing his own cool hand over Mercia's. "I ask only that you stay close to him. He is as headstrong as his father," The King added with a rueful smile. Mercia smiled and stood, taking his leave of the King and slipping out into the woods, knowing that from this night forth, his life could change beyond recognition. If he was caught alone in the woods, or if Legolas was caught attempting to release Estel, then the future would be truly dark for all three of them.
Night fell slowly over Mirkwood, the light fading from the sky, final red fingers probing the trees as the sun sank below the horizon with a last blaze of light and heat. In his chamber, Legolas sat silently upon the bed, watching the sun sink lower and lower and the darkness deepen to shadow the land. Outside, the sounds of the forest at night began: a thousand chirping insects and the leaves rustling under the moonlight. He knew that Mercia would not dare to come anywhere within the sight of the buildings. He was alone.
Silently, he threw on a dark, non-descript cloak, pulling up the hood to hide his hair and to cast a shadow over his face. Into his belt, he slid two fine daggers, light and perfectly balanced, small enough to go unnoticed by anybody who did not make an effort to look for them. Looking around the room, Legolas took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool, dimly lit corridor. There were torches burning in brackets on the walls at intervals and they cast a flickering light in wide half circles, leaving patches of darkness between them. Legolas slipped from shadow to shadow until he felt the cool night air on his face. Then, he ducked out into the cover of the trees, pausing momentarily to gather his thoughts.
He had realised with a sudden, jarring shock that he did not know how he intended to release Estel or what they would do afterwards. His mind had been so focused on seeing Estel again and on getting the man out of prison and away from danger that he had not thought of himself at all. How was he supposed to go back to the way he had been living before, knowing what he now did about himself? And worse, would Estel welcome Legolas' company on his travels? Certainly the man had not seemed to want Legolas anywhere near him when he awoke outside Mirkwood. Maybe he would blame Legolas for his situation. Maybe Estel would want only to escape and never return, to turn his back on the woodland realm forever. Legolas could not think of anything that would ease his pain if that were to happen.
Ignoring his doubts, Legolas began to move again, towards the edges of the cluster of buildings, towards the dungeons. He still had no clue as to what he would do when he reached the dungeons and even less of an idea of what would happen afterwards, but he knew that there were times when thought had to take second place to action, when something must be done and the only option was to do it, even if you did not know exactly how or why you were compelled to do the deed.
The opening to the dungeons loomed before Legolas like the mouth of a cave. Deep inside, his eyes could just make out the flickering light of a torch. Straining his ears, he managed to hear snatches of conversation from inside, low murmurings among which he could only distinguish a handful of individual words. Moving to once side slightly, Legolas bit his lip. What did you expect? He asked himself harshly. Did you believe you would simply be allowed to walk in and open the door and that would be the end of the matter?
Gathering his courage, Legolas slipped inside the dark opening and made his way as silently as he could towards the light. Holding back beyond the circle of ruddy orange light, he listened intently. The voices had faded a little and Legolas took his chance, slipping beyond the light into another patch of shadow. Legolas had never been this far into the dungeons before, and he had not realised how many individual cells they contained. Granted, many of them seemed empty, but he was still slightly taken aback by the sheer number of prisoners that the place could potentially hold.
From down the hall, Legolas could hear the soft sound of breathing. Deep, even, quiet, but unmistakeably not elven. Legolas froze for a moment, wondering how to move next. Almost without conscious thought, one hand strayed to his belt and returned with a knife. Edging forward inch by inch, he drew level with the door of the cell from which the sounds of breathing came. Ahead of him, the corridor curved, and around the corner, he could hear the voices and footsteps of the guards as they patrolled. Legolas let the knife slip in his hand until he grasped the flat of the blade between his thumb and forefinger, the handle of the blade resting against his wrist and arm. The curve in the corridor was not brightly lit and Legolas took a chance, hoping that the guards would have their backs to him. Stepping forward, he found that so far at least, his luck was holding. The guards did indeed have their backs to him and, better still, another corridor joined this one beyond the corner.
Aiming carefully, Legolas threw the knife with skill, embedding it into the door of a cell that was opposite the opening of the second corridor. Without waiting to see the guards' reactions, Legolas turned and slipped back to Estel's cell. Behind him, he could hear one guard running up the other corridor, footsteps muffled by the soft ground. The other guard stooped to examine the knife and to pull it from the wall.
With his heart beating wildly, Legolas took the other knife from his belt and slid it into the tiny gap between the door and the wall of the cell, running it up until it caught on the lock. Pushing and twisting the knife slightly, Legolas glanced over his shoulder. In the dim light, he could see shadows moving and voices were approaching. Desperately, Legolas heaved the knife upwards and heard a click and an intake of breath from within the cell. Pulling the door open as quietly as he could, Legolas looked inside the cell and yes - it was the right one. The thought had barely occurred to him before now, but he wondered what would have happened had there been another human imprisoned here and he had gone to the wrong cell.
"Estel," Legolas breathed, as silently as he could. "You must come with me. Now. Now! We must leave!"
Legolas knew that Estel could not see his face, but even so, the man was at the door in an instant and hope surged in Legolas' heart. For the first time, he allowed himself to think of afterwards, to think beyond this night. Taking Estel by the arm, Legolas turned swiftly but before they had taken two steps, there was a raised voice and a cry of 'Halt!' Panicked, Legolas and Estel did the exact opposite and ran from the sound of the voice.
Ahead of them, the woods were just visible beyond the cavernous opening to the dungeons. The trees could only be seen as darker smudges against the shadows, but the sight of them filled Legolas once more with hope. Then the hope crashed and shattered as two forms melted out of the shadow and blocked the doorway. Whirling desperately, Legolas looked about him. From behind him, the way they had come, he could hear running footsteps and raised voices. The doorway was blocked. In the other direction, the corridor ran on for a brief while and then turned a corner. From around the corner came yet more voices and footsteps and even a swaying, flickering light that could only be the light of a torch.
They were trapped.
Legolas still held his knife in his hand but he knew that he would hesitate to strike one of his woodland kin.
"What do we do?" Estel asked, his voice low and tense, his body perfectly balanced, ready for flight.
"There is nothing..." Legolas began. He got no further before rough hands seized both of them, dragging them into the light. After one brief look at Estel, the guards dragged him to a different cell than the first one. To his credit, Estel did not make their job easy. He thrashed and fought and in the end, it took four elves to move him.
One of the elves from the doorway stepped forward and pulled Legolas' hood back, exposing his face. The guards recognised him immediately, of course and after a bare moment's confusion, he was being lead gently but with undeniable force away from the dungeons. Legolas attempted to fight at first, pulling and pushing at the elves surrounding him but the only noticeable effect was that the guards held him tighter and walked faster. Straining to see, Legolas realised that they were walking him towards his father's quarters, past members of the household who recoiled in shock at seeing their prince being led like a common criminal.
Thranduil emerged unsuspecting from around a corner, deep in conversation with an advisor. Looking up, he saw his son, the guards and the gathering crowd. Dismissing the advisor, the King ordered all but one of the guards back to their posts and told the crowd to return to their own pursuits. The sole remaining guard stood awkwardly, unaware of what the King expected him to do.
Thranduil solved that problem by placing a gentle hand on Legolas' back and guiding him into a small room. Leaving his son there alone, Thranduil went back into the corridor to converse with the guard. Legolas looked around wildly but the room had no visible exits, only the door through which he had entered. There was also a low couch and now, his mind whirling with thoughts of his father's impending return, Legolas sank onto this couch, tension in every line of his body.
To Legolas, time had always seemed an irrelevancy. It had passed him by, as a river passes a boulder in the midst of its flow. He was aware of the passage of years and centuries but they left no mark upon him and he had given no thought to them before now. The moments in the small room, on the low couch, however, seemed longer than any moments Legolas had yet lived and he willed them to pass more quickly, wanting to face the tide of his father's wrath before it built to unmanageable levels.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, the Prince sat on the low couch, fears building in his mind of what vengeance his father would claim against Estel. Legolas did not believe that his father's anger would fall upon himself. Legolas knew too well that his father was blind in some ways to his faults, and Legolas knew that blaming Estel for his son's actions would be an all too easy route for the King to take.
Finally, with the tension of what felt like long, tortuous hours weighing heavily on his mind, Legolas stood and edged towards the door. There seemed to be only silence beyond the door and warily, he placed his hand on the handle and pulled the door open. Immediately, the guard loomed into view, blocking the doorway.
"Prince Legolas, I am not allowed to let you leave this room," the guard said, his manner respectful but strict.
"Where is my father?" Legolas asked.
"He is busy," the guard said.
"What is he doing?" Legolas demanded.
The guard looked at him for a long moment, wondering where his allegiance should lie and whether or not he would be censured for telling the Prince of his father's plans. Finally, deciding that there would be nothing Legolas could do even if he was aware, and, although he would not admit it to himself or any other, moved by the obvious distress clouding Legolas' eyes, the guard spoke.
"He is leading the search for the healer Mercia. Your father wishes to speak with him." the guard said quickly. "Now you must return to the room, I am not permitted to see you leave."
Almost to the guard's surprise, Legolas bowed his head and retreated into the room, the door closing with a thud and a click that sounded of finality. Inside the room, Legolas walked blindly to the couch, almost falling into it and covering his face with his hands.
Estel was still alone in prison, Mercia was alone in the woods, innocent of the King's approach and Legolas himself was confined to a small room, left to await his father's return.
He had damned them all.
tbc
Chapter 9
When Mercia left Legolas' chambers, he allowed himself only a few moments before making his way to the King. What he had said to Legolas was the truth. He had no desire to betray his King more than he had already done. When he thought of what he was planning to do - lie to the King, aid in the unlawful release of a prisoner - Mercia's blood ran cold in his veins. But then, when he thought of Estel and Legolas, of himself and Hanfrith, he knew that he could not deny anyone the chance to love as he had loved. Truthfully, he did not know for sure whether Estel and Legolas would love each other with the burning, unending passion that he and Hanfrith had shared, but he knew that it was likely.
The way they had spoken of one another, and Legolas' unwavering devotion to Estel's innocence reminded Mercia forcefully of the way he had felt when he first met Hanfrith. Had someone presented a dead body to him, with Hanfrith's own blade and hands stained with blood, Mercia would not have believed him capable of murder. And he knew that Hanfrith would have fought for him in the same way that Legolas was preparing to fight for Estel. However this love, so tender and young, evolved, Mercia knew that it must be given a chance and it must be allowed to grow, to flourish. If the only way to give them this chance was for Mercia to betray his Lord, then so it would have to be.
Mercia was ushered into the King's chambers as soon as he arrived and when he heard the anxiety in Thranduil's voice, a crippling sense of guilt overcame him and he turned his face from the King, groping for a chair. Thranduil took his arm gently and guided him to a low, soft couch, placing a goblet of wine in his hand. Mercia sipped at the cool liquid, rich and spicy, trying desperately to strengthen his will, to remember Legolas and Estel's voices and the hope that he had felt radiating from Legolas as he had left the prince's chambers. Finally, Mercia raised his head and prepared to speak.
"My Lord, I can find no knowing deception in your son. If he has lied to me, he is not aware of it."
"And the human?" Thranduil asked.
"My Lord?"
"What of him? What did you learn from your meeting with him?"
"Very little," Mercia admitted. "I was not able to read his character easily. I sense that he is used to disguise and deception and that he will not easily trust me. And yet, I could find no ill will towards your son in his voice."
Thranduil sighed deeply and looked earnestly at Mercia as they sat together.
"What am I to do, old friend?" Thranduil asked. "My heart tells me that I should send word to Elrond of Rivendell, yet all wisdom is opposed to that path. Elrond loves the human like a son. I cannot suppose that he will find any flaw in the man's character."
"Elrond is wise beyond compare," Mercia admitted, "but my Lord, would it not anger him to find his foster-son treated like a common prisoner? Times are dark, O King, and Mirkwood cannot afford to lose allies."
"You are right as ever, Mercia," Thranduil smiled. Mercia's guilt attacked him again and he took another sip of the spiced wine to hide the flush that he knew was creeping over his face. "What would you advise?"
"With your leave, Lord," Mercia began, almost reneging on his pledge to Legolas at the last moment, and then strengthening his heart, "With your leave, I will walk alone with Legolas tonight in the depths of the woods. It may be that more information shall come to light if he is given peace and freedom to speak as he sees fit."
Thranduil thought for a moment. He was loath to think of Legolas going into the depths of the woodland, possibly near to the accursed spot where he had first seen the heir of Isildur. But then, the Elven King reasoned, Legolas would not be alone and in spite of his blindness, Mercia was still a fine warrior when the need called.
"I would be willing to do anything to learn what afflicts my son," Thranduil said finally. "Take good care of him, Mercia. He is..." For the first time that Mercia could remember, the King's voice faltered. "He is most dear to me," Thranduil finished.
"I know, my Liege," Mercia assured Thranduil, reaching for the King's arm and resting his hand gently on the silken cloth of Thranduil's robe. "I also care deeply for your son and I would be loath to see harm come to him."
"That is a great comfort to me," Thranduil admitted, placing his own cool hand over Mercia's. "I ask only that you stay close to him. He is as headstrong as his father," The King added with a rueful smile. Mercia smiled and stood, taking his leave of the King and slipping out into the woods, knowing that from this night forth, his life could change beyond recognition. If he was caught alone in the woods, or if Legolas was caught attempting to release Estel, then the future would be truly dark for all three of them.
Night fell slowly over Mirkwood, the light fading from the sky, final red fingers probing the trees as the sun sank below the horizon with a last blaze of light and heat. In his chamber, Legolas sat silently upon the bed, watching the sun sink lower and lower and the darkness deepen to shadow the land. Outside, the sounds of the forest at night began: a thousand chirping insects and the leaves rustling under the moonlight. He knew that Mercia would not dare to come anywhere within the sight of the buildings. He was alone.
Silently, he threw on a dark, non-descript cloak, pulling up the hood to hide his hair and to cast a shadow over his face. Into his belt, he slid two fine daggers, light and perfectly balanced, small enough to go unnoticed by anybody who did not make an effort to look for them. Looking around the room, Legolas took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool, dimly lit corridor. There were torches burning in brackets on the walls at intervals and they cast a flickering light in wide half circles, leaving patches of darkness between them. Legolas slipped from shadow to shadow until he felt the cool night air on his face. Then, he ducked out into the cover of the trees, pausing momentarily to gather his thoughts.
He had realised with a sudden, jarring shock that he did not know how he intended to release Estel or what they would do afterwards. His mind had been so focused on seeing Estel again and on getting the man out of prison and away from danger that he had not thought of himself at all. How was he supposed to go back to the way he had been living before, knowing what he now did about himself? And worse, would Estel welcome Legolas' company on his travels? Certainly the man had not seemed to want Legolas anywhere near him when he awoke outside Mirkwood. Maybe he would blame Legolas for his situation. Maybe Estel would want only to escape and never return, to turn his back on the woodland realm forever. Legolas could not think of anything that would ease his pain if that were to happen.
Ignoring his doubts, Legolas began to move again, towards the edges of the cluster of buildings, towards the dungeons. He still had no clue as to what he would do when he reached the dungeons and even less of an idea of what would happen afterwards, but he knew that there were times when thought had to take second place to action, when something must be done and the only option was to do it, even if you did not know exactly how or why you were compelled to do the deed.
The opening to the dungeons loomed before Legolas like the mouth of a cave. Deep inside, his eyes could just make out the flickering light of a torch. Straining his ears, he managed to hear snatches of conversation from inside, low murmurings among which he could only distinguish a handful of individual words. Moving to once side slightly, Legolas bit his lip. What did you expect? He asked himself harshly. Did you believe you would simply be allowed to walk in and open the door and that would be the end of the matter?
Gathering his courage, Legolas slipped inside the dark opening and made his way as silently as he could towards the light. Holding back beyond the circle of ruddy orange light, he listened intently. The voices had faded a little and Legolas took his chance, slipping beyond the light into another patch of shadow. Legolas had never been this far into the dungeons before, and he had not realised how many individual cells they contained. Granted, many of them seemed empty, but he was still slightly taken aback by the sheer number of prisoners that the place could potentially hold.
From down the hall, Legolas could hear the soft sound of breathing. Deep, even, quiet, but unmistakeably not elven. Legolas froze for a moment, wondering how to move next. Almost without conscious thought, one hand strayed to his belt and returned with a knife. Edging forward inch by inch, he drew level with the door of the cell from which the sounds of breathing came. Ahead of him, the corridor curved, and around the corner, he could hear the voices and footsteps of the guards as they patrolled. Legolas let the knife slip in his hand until he grasped the flat of the blade between his thumb and forefinger, the handle of the blade resting against his wrist and arm. The curve in the corridor was not brightly lit and Legolas took a chance, hoping that the guards would have their backs to him. Stepping forward, he found that so far at least, his luck was holding. The guards did indeed have their backs to him and, better still, another corridor joined this one beyond the corner.
Aiming carefully, Legolas threw the knife with skill, embedding it into the door of a cell that was opposite the opening of the second corridor. Without waiting to see the guards' reactions, Legolas turned and slipped back to Estel's cell. Behind him, he could hear one guard running up the other corridor, footsteps muffled by the soft ground. The other guard stooped to examine the knife and to pull it from the wall.
With his heart beating wildly, Legolas took the other knife from his belt and slid it into the tiny gap between the door and the wall of the cell, running it up until it caught on the lock. Pushing and twisting the knife slightly, Legolas glanced over his shoulder. In the dim light, he could see shadows moving and voices were approaching. Desperately, Legolas heaved the knife upwards and heard a click and an intake of breath from within the cell. Pulling the door open as quietly as he could, Legolas looked inside the cell and yes - it was the right one. The thought had barely occurred to him before now, but he wondered what would have happened had there been another human imprisoned here and he had gone to the wrong cell.
"Estel," Legolas breathed, as silently as he could. "You must come with me. Now. Now! We must leave!"
Legolas knew that Estel could not see his face, but even so, the man was at the door in an instant and hope surged in Legolas' heart. For the first time, he allowed himself to think of afterwards, to think beyond this night. Taking Estel by the arm, Legolas turned swiftly but before they had taken two steps, there was a raised voice and a cry of 'Halt!' Panicked, Legolas and Estel did the exact opposite and ran from the sound of the voice.
Ahead of them, the woods were just visible beyond the cavernous opening to the dungeons. The trees could only be seen as darker smudges against the shadows, but the sight of them filled Legolas once more with hope. Then the hope crashed and shattered as two forms melted out of the shadow and blocked the doorway. Whirling desperately, Legolas looked about him. From behind him, the way they had come, he could hear running footsteps and raised voices. The doorway was blocked. In the other direction, the corridor ran on for a brief while and then turned a corner. From around the corner came yet more voices and footsteps and even a swaying, flickering light that could only be the light of a torch.
They were trapped.
Legolas still held his knife in his hand but he knew that he would hesitate to strike one of his woodland kin.
"What do we do?" Estel asked, his voice low and tense, his body perfectly balanced, ready for flight.
"There is nothing..." Legolas began. He got no further before rough hands seized both of them, dragging them into the light. After one brief look at Estel, the guards dragged him to a different cell than the first one. To his credit, Estel did not make their job easy. He thrashed and fought and in the end, it took four elves to move him.
One of the elves from the doorway stepped forward and pulled Legolas' hood back, exposing his face. The guards recognised him immediately, of course and after a bare moment's confusion, he was being lead gently but with undeniable force away from the dungeons. Legolas attempted to fight at first, pulling and pushing at the elves surrounding him but the only noticeable effect was that the guards held him tighter and walked faster. Straining to see, Legolas realised that they were walking him towards his father's quarters, past members of the household who recoiled in shock at seeing their prince being led like a common criminal.
Thranduil emerged unsuspecting from around a corner, deep in conversation with an advisor. Looking up, he saw his son, the guards and the gathering crowd. Dismissing the advisor, the King ordered all but one of the guards back to their posts and told the crowd to return to their own pursuits. The sole remaining guard stood awkwardly, unaware of what the King expected him to do.
Thranduil solved that problem by placing a gentle hand on Legolas' back and guiding him into a small room. Leaving his son there alone, Thranduil went back into the corridor to converse with the guard. Legolas looked around wildly but the room had no visible exits, only the door through which he had entered. There was also a low couch and now, his mind whirling with thoughts of his father's impending return, Legolas sank onto this couch, tension in every line of his body.
To Legolas, time had always seemed an irrelevancy. It had passed him by, as a river passes a boulder in the midst of its flow. He was aware of the passage of years and centuries but they left no mark upon him and he had given no thought to them before now. The moments in the small room, on the low couch, however, seemed longer than any moments Legolas had yet lived and he willed them to pass more quickly, wanting to face the tide of his father's wrath before it built to unmanageable levels.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, the Prince sat on the low couch, fears building in his mind of what vengeance his father would claim against Estel. Legolas did not believe that his father's anger would fall upon himself. Legolas knew too well that his father was blind in some ways to his faults, and Legolas knew that blaming Estel for his son's actions would be an all too easy route for the King to take.
Finally, with the tension of what felt like long, tortuous hours weighing heavily on his mind, Legolas stood and edged towards the door. There seemed to be only silence beyond the door and warily, he placed his hand on the handle and pulled the door open. Immediately, the guard loomed into view, blocking the doorway.
"Prince Legolas, I am not allowed to let you leave this room," the guard said, his manner respectful but strict.
"Where is my father?" Legolas asked.
"He is busy," the guard said.
"What is he doing?" Legolas demanded.
The guard looked at him for a long moment, wondering where his allegiance should lie and whether or not he would be censured for telling the Prince of his father's plans. Finally, deciding that there would be nothing Legolas could do even if he was aware, and, although he would not admit it to himself or any other, moved by the obvious distress clouding Legolas' eyes, the guard spoke.
"He is leading the search for the healer Mercia. Your father wishes to speak with him." the guard said quickly. "Now you must return to the room, I am not permitted to see you leave."
Almost to the guard's surprise, Legolas bowed his head and retreated into the room, the door closing with a thud and a click that sounded of finality. Inside the room, Legolas walked blindly to the couch, almost falling into it and covering his face with his hands.
Estel was still alone in prison, Mercia was alone in the woods, innocent of the King's approach and Legolas himself was confined to a small room, left to await his father's return.
He had damned them all.
tbc