Chapter Twelve: Read In My Eyes

Legolas swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. As soon as they were around the corner, Ainan's hand tightened on the prince's shoulder, digging into his skin. Legolas squirmed, trying to wrench away but his uncle had a firm grip on him. Soft footsteps alerted them to another presence coming up behind them. Tirien with his son Lóthmir at his side fell into step beside them. The Royal Guard captain's eyes were watchful.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said with a nod of his head to Ainan. "But the King asked me to accompany you." Ainan's face tightened but he smiled and returned the gracious nod as he released Legolas' shoulder. The prince winced slightly but walked on straight ahead as his friend walked with him ahead of the adults.

"What happened, Legolas?" Lóthmir asked, shooting a glance back at his father. "Ada won't tell me anything. Do you know what's going on?" The prince merely shook his head, feeling his uncle's furious eyes boring into his back.

"I don't have any idea."

The younger elf tried a small smile and plucked at the prince's sodden sleeve.

"What happened, mellon? Did you fall in the fountain watching the stars again?" Legolas smiled slightly but it was forced. Hearing the comment, Ainan answered, the first he had spoken since the pair had joined them.

"We should get you out of those wet things, tôrion, before you catch a chill." Legolas nodded in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner though his hands were shaking. He knew now there was no escaping. Lóthmir grinned uneasily and glanced around at the darkened corridors as Tirien hurried his son along.

"Let me know if you find anything out," he whispered until his father lightly cuffed him on the head. Legolas flinched back, wondering if Lóthmir too suffered as he did. He began to think of even Tirien's kind face concealing dark designs. The younger elf protested with an annoyed grin.

"Ada! I'm sorry I just want to know! What's the big secret?" Tirien shook his head at his son's inquisitiveness.

"That is not for you to know, ion (son)." He shot a glance up at Ainan and bowed stiffly. "I'm afraid I must take my leave of you here, my lord. I must get my son home." Ainan smiled graciously and swept his hand outward.

"By all means."


Legolas shifted uneasily as he kept his eyes firmly on the red carpet beneath his boots.

"Where have you been all night, tôrion? You did not come to me for our usual lesson- I was worried."

Legolas tried to meet his uncle's gaze and failed.

"I-I was cleaning up in the cellars, Vedhir… for my punishment ea-"

"You are lying to me, Legolas," Ainan interrupted, his face calm and composed but disappointment laced his words like acid. "I have already seen the cellar servants today and they told me they have not seen hide nor hair of you since early this evening. You know I do not like it when you lie to me." Legolas said nothing, his blue eyes still fastened on the red carpet beneath his booted feet.

"I know you were present where you should not have been this night, Legolas." The prince swallowed uncomfortably, remembering the strange elves he had seen earlier, overhearing their words to kill his father…

There was no use in denying it, Ainan already knew- he always did.

"Yes, Vedhir," the prince replied numbly. His heart was thumping so loudly he was sure his uncle could hear it.

"I ask you," Ainan asked in a deceptively soft voice. "Would you care to talk about what you have heard?" Legolas shook his head mutely, too terrified to speak. His uncle's handsome face tightened as he leaned towards the child who recoiled.

"Good. For I shall flay you to within an inch of your life if you speak of this to anyone." Legolas did not reply afraid that if he spoke to either deny or affirm his uncle would mean another beating and more pain. Then he thought of the crumpled form of Telas and the conspiracy of his uncle, his mother's tearful face…

Legolas' eyes flashed though his stomach coiled with fear as he wrenched away from his uncle. So used was Ainan to obedience that this movement shocked him enough that the prince was able to wriggle away.

"I know of your plans, uncle!" Legolas stated boldly. "You're going to murder my father! I will not be your pawn anymore!" Aiann smiled dangerously and unease swept through Legolas. With serpentine speed, the older elf lunged forward and caught the young elf by his wrist. Legolas closed his eyes and his face twisted against the pain but he did not cry out.

"No one will believe the words of a spoilt, pampered, palace brat who does not understand the need for discipline in his life. You are my pawn until I release you!"

Suddenly, the mad elf released his grip on Legolas' arm. Startled by the sudden loss of support, the prince dropped to his knees, cradling his arm close. Ainan took his nephew's chin in his hand, leaning over him dangerously.

"Rise."

Legolas did so, his legs shaking so badly he feared he would drop again. He could not look into his uncle's face and fixed his gaze fervently on the floor.

"Remove your tunic."

Used to this order by now, and knowing what was coming, Legolas peeled off the wet garments with shaking fingers as his uncle disappeared and returned a moment later with the supple rod in his hands. Legolas closed his eyes.

A sharp crack followed by a sharper intake of breath.

"You told me once that you did not want to be treated as a child," Ainan said quietly, twirling the rod idly between his long fingers. "I treat you as an adult. This is the adult world, Legolas- it is a painful one, harsh, unfeeling. But everyone must grow up sometime and leave their childhood behind- it is a part of life."

Legolas took a deep, shaky breath, clenching his hands tightly until his fingernails dug into his palms. He leaned his forehead against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut tightly and his jaw so tight, his neck hurt.

"It is time you grow up. Cast aside those childish tears- they only make you weak and simple-minded. You are no longer a child. That part of your life has long been over." Ainan smiled slightly as he punctuated the remark with another stinging blow across prince's left shoulder blade.

"Now, you stand up straight as an adult and take the pain as your father would. As I used to," he murmured too low for the prince to hear. "And not a sound will you make. Not one."

Legolas gritted his teeth in preparation for the next blow but it still wrenched a startled gasp from his lips. His bare skin was no protection at all from the terrible rod and he was soon shaking, clawing at the stone wall until his fingers ached as he tried to find some outlet for the pain he couldn't release.

Ainan paused and without preamble, kicked Legolas' legs out from under him. The prince crumpled to the floor, shuddering as agony rocked through his small body.

"You told someone."

"I didn't tell anyone, Vedhir!" Legolas twisted away and scrambled away on hands and knees from his enraged uncle and froze as his sore back touched the wall. Ainan seized his nephew by the hair and craned his neck back to look into his eyes.

"There is nothing so poisonous as a little child who tells lies," Ainan warned softly, as he raised the bloodstained rod threateningly. "I know you told someone, Legolas. Telas knew or he would not have dared to accuse me of treachery." A sickening smile crossed the elf's face as he leaned over the immobile child on the floor. Legolas felt as though he were going to be sick.

"You… Telas…"

"I made sure he would never speak of such treachery again." Ainan's sharp eyes caught sight of something and he jerked Legolas into the firelight. Legolas shivered and looked away from those terrifying eyes, focusing on the outside window where he could see tree branches whipping against the window panes. The prince squirmed slightly as he felt cold fingertips brush his neck and a painful touch upon the bruises he knew to be there.

"Where did you get these?" Ainan asked suddenly. "These are not mine." Legolas shifted slightly, not quite knowing how to answer that. He shot a glance at his uncle's face. His surprise seemed genuine enough.

"And don't you dare lie to me," the older elf hissed, his grip tightening around the young prince's neck. Legolas flinched and stared at the ground.

"The elf… with dark hair. The one that followed me…" Legolas' already unsteady voice trailed off into silence. Ainan slapped him firmly across the face.

"The idiot! He should have finished with you!" Legolas could have sworn his uncle's eyes pin-wheeled with crimson sparks. But perhaps it was only a trick of the firelight.

Legolas believed he was staring into the eyes of a demon at that moment and no elf as his uncle seized him and shook him, his handsome face twisted with rage.

"He will not dare… he would not dare…" His voice rasped, low and fevered, his eyes unfocused, staring past the prince. Legolas tried to fight back, thinking his uncle surely must have gone mad. But his struggles only hauled in Ainan's attention and his blazing, silver-blue eyes snapped back to the younger elf, capturing the prince in his stare like a hawk's talons.

Legolas had his father's eyes.

Ainan felt something explode in his chest and his vision hazed red. His grip tightened agonizingly on Legolas' arm. Suddenly, he heard a sharp crack; Legolas whimpered and cried out in pain. His uncle released him and the young prince crumpled to the ground, his wrist twisted in an abominably wrong way.

Startled from his sudden anger, Ainan knelt beside his nephew and turned him roughly over. He touched the young one's forearm, eyeing the bruises and odd placement of his wrist. It was broken to be sure, he thought as he examined it carefully. Legolas moaned and twisted in his unconsciousness. Ainan cast a hurried glance about the room, making sure the door was shut tight and locked.

He lifted the prince in his arms and laid him down in the bedroom. Wasting no time, as the prince was beginning to wake, he popped the boy's wrist back into place with a painful crunch and ripped the filthy sheets apart to wrap a makeshift sling around the boy's wrist and shoulder to keep it immobile until he could find more suitable bandages.


When Legolas awoke, he still lay in his bed but draped in warm comforters though he could not remember how he had gotten there. Everything seemed so fuzzy. He tried to move but his head ached terribly and his mouth was dry. He felt a curious numbness in his right arm. He struggled to sit up but a strong hand and a spinning head forced him back into the pillows.

"Do not move. I have drugged you to dull the pain." A cool cloth touched his forehead, easing the heat he had not even felt until now. Legolas closed his eyes, thinking of his mother. Then as the voice in his mind registered, Legolas felt a sudden surge of helplessness and vulnerability. His eye snapped open as a dark shadow loomed over him. He struggled to sit up, fighting the drug that leadened his limbs and made his head spin.

"You are not helping your wrist," a fuzzy, disembodied voice said sternly from somewhere above him. Legolas felt a hard pressure on the unique point beneath his pointed ear and oblivion stole over him once more.


Red sunlight touched the tips of the bare trees, slanting through the emerald colored windows, irradiating everything in a burning orange. The sunlight alighted on a pale face beneath white sheets, still and quiet.

Thranduil sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been an impossibly long night and the dawn brought no relief. His body and mind ached with weariness but he knew he would find no sleep. Anariel, angel that she was, had gone to fetch him some sort of sustenance for the morning. Serkë too stood watchfully by, his eyes on the sleeping form of his father.

"The hunt will have to be canceled," Thranduil said quietly into the silence. The mutilation of his councilor had rattled him deeply.

"You must keep up pretenses, my lord," Serkë insisted though his own grief at his father's attack was certainly visible. His face was pale and pinched with fatigue as he crossed the room to stand beside his lord.

"What would the people think if their king canceled one of the greatest events of the year for seemingly no reason- for certainly we cannot let word of this get out? The last thing we wish is a panic. But they would lose all confidence in you, hir-nin. We cannot allow that to happen with the kingdom such as it is already." Thranduil nodded.

"I know." He smiled slightly at the younger elf. "You are as good as your father, my boy." Serkë bowed.

"Thank you. Simply be careful, my lord," Serkë cautioned softly. Thranduil smiled humorlessly.

"So everyone keeps telling me," he said dryly. He cleared his throat as Anariel walked into the room, bearing with her a steaming mug of tea which he drank gratefully.

"I shall leave by midmorning then." Thranduil lifted his eyes and pecked his wife on the cheek before lifting his dark blue cloak from the chair it had been draped over. He swung it about his shoulders as he left the room and walked slowly down the hallway.

The kingdom was most divided over the treaty of Lothlórien. Many had railed against the King's wish for an alliance with the other elven realm. Those elves who had given little support to the Last Alliance and had cost their woodland brethren so much in the end but suffered little themselves in the safety of their Lady's power.

Many like Eraeriel and her family were malcontent with Thranduil's rule. They wished for a high king, a stronger ruler who would expand the forests from the Misty Mountains to the Grey. They were elves who heeded ambition's lustful call and they had found among themselves a ruler befitting the title of King.

Thranduil knew that the rule of his kingdom was slipping from his fingers; it was like trying to hold a cupful of water in his hands and if he did not watch his step, he could become the next victim of attack. But he and his family were not all alone.

There were still those willing to fight for noble Oropher's son. Tirien, Sarithan and their men had always rallied to Thranduil's cause and he had no reason to doubt that they would not now. But were they enough? The King wasn't sure in whom he could place his trust anymore. Everywhere around him there seemed to be enemies and yet he could not see their faces.

"Leaving, muindor?" That voice snapped him back to the present and Thranduil looked up and nodded absently. Ainan smiled, looking surprisingly well-rested as he draped an arm about his sister's shoulders.

"We shall care for everything, dear brother. Don't you worry." Thranduil smiled slightly.

At least, he knew one thing.

He could always count on his family.


Legolas awoke early. For a long moment, he just lay there, staring at the frieze on his ceiling. Then memory flooded back and he closed his eyes as his uncle's pinched, angry face flashed before his eyes… the pain in his wrist. He tried to move the injured limb and found that he couldn't: a wooden splint trapped the bones in their aligned places. It had been well-wrapped and attached to his side by the sling around his shoulder. Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, fighting back the tears as the painful ache grew in his wrist. He knew he ought to try to go back to sleep. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep.

But, he couldn't.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the dark elf's fingers tightening around his neck, the shocking cold of the water, the tightness in his chest as he felt himself dying… or his uncle, the firelight on his face and the mad glint in his eyes as he struck the shaking young boy again and again with the cruel rod which Legolas could just see over the edge of his bed, leaning innocently against the corner. It was quiescent for now, abandoned by cruel hands. And his wrist hurt abominably now.

Tossing aside the sweat-dampened blankets, Legolas rose shakily to his feet, shivering as his bare feet touched the coldness of the icy flagstones. His arm ached dully in protest of his movement. Swallowing hard, he opened his bedroom door and peered out into his room.

It was empty.

He had to find his father- he couldn't put this off anymore.

With difficulty, Legolas managed to pull on a fresh tunic to cover the tender welts on his back one-handed and throw his cloak about his shoulders. There was no way he could lace up his boots so he simply went without them and walked swiftly barefoot down the orange sunlight-limned corridor. The stone felt terribly cold on the soles of his feet thought there lay a thin rug beneath them.

The prince looked out the window and frowned. There was a crowd in the courtyard. At least a score of elves and their horses stood ready, quivers and swords at their sides. Legolas frowned as he saw his father in their midst, his hair tied back in long braids and his leather hunting breeches replacing his royal robes. The prince hastened down the broad stairs, ignoring the chill wind that cut through his cloak like a knife.

Legolas looked up and saw Kirar walking towards him. He hadn't spoken to his

teacher since the day before on that night beside the river., the night Telas had been found Legolas thought he looked rather haggard though a leather quiver of green arrows peeked over his shoulder and his horse was saddled and ready for the hunt.

"If I might give you some advice before I take my leave, my prince," Kirar said softly. "Pay as little heed to those foreigners as you can." Legolas frowned slightly as he glanced in the direction that Haldir and his friends stood in, giving their farewells and blessings to the King.

"What do you mean?"

Kirar took a deep breath and it seemed suddenly to Legolas that his teacher didn't or wouldn't meet his eyes. As though the prince had done something wrong that the elder elf was ashamed of. He didn't even look or ask about the young prince's wrist. So deep in these troublesome thoughts was he, that Legolas almost didn't catch his teacher's next words.

"Have you not realized that strange things have been happening of late? Things that happened as soon as they arrived- dangerous things… Have as little to do with them as you can, my prince. I fear they mean you ill."

Without another word, his teacher stood and strode away.

Legolas stood rooted to the spot, bemused and troubled by words that seemed to so clearly reflect his uncle's. The hand on his shoulder startled him and the golden-haired prince jumped, spinning around to face Ainan himself who glanced down at him before taking his hand from the boy's shoulder. He nodded towards the elves gathered in the courtyard.

"Farewell your father, tôrion," he said softly. "For when shall you see him again?" he whispered in too low a tone for the prince to hear. Legolas shifted uncomfortably as Ainan looked down at him, his silver-blue eyes narrowing at the sling that held the child's wrist in place.

"And not a word to your mother," his uncle warned him. "It was an accident."

A false and rather shame-faced smile passed across his face as Anariel hurried towards them, her long, silver white hair whirling about her like a net of stars. Ainan intercepted her halfway with Legolas trailing numbly behind.

"I tried to dissuade him, sister- he would not have it and insisted upon riding in this bitter cold." He wrapped his arms around himself as though he suffered from such cold and shook his head grievously. "But the horse was spooked by some rabbit or creature and threw him. I raced to his aid- but apparently too late."

The Queen's fingers were pressed to her lips as she turned to her young son and gave him a gentle hug.

"Ion-nin, my poor darling," she soothed, stroking his hair gently. Legolas leaned into her, chancing a glance up at his uncle who glared back at him, daring him to speak truth. "And Lintedal usually has such an easy temper too." Anariel frowned slightly.

"Why would you ride so early, little one, when it is still so dark?"

"He wished to take his mind off of the unfortunate incident, sister," Ainan put in gently.

"Thank you, Ainan, I would Legolas speak for himself. What troubles you, ion-nin (my son)?" Legolas shot a glance from his uncle to his mother, looking uncomfortable as he touched the sling that bound his wrist.

"I-I fell off my horse," he stammered. "It was an accident. I just wanted to ride a little," he said, his eyes cast to the ground to hide his shame of lying before his mother. Anariel embraced him gently, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

"There, there, dear one. You are safe now." She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and caressed his face.

"Now, my brave boy. Go hug your father before he leaves."

Legolas did as asked and walked up to his father who dismounted to embrace him. His brow furrowed as he looked at his son's bandaged arm.

"What happened, Legolas?" he asked. The prince looked uneasily at his father.

"I-I broke my wrist, Ada, falling off my horse." The King frowned slightly, touching his son's injured arm gently.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little," Legolas answered bravely. This was his chance. He should tell his father now- everything, about Ainan, the plot… But paralyzing fear clove his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he tried to speak.

"Your Highness."

The King turned as Kirar reined his horse in beside him.

"It is time."

Thranduil sighed deeply, cursing this annual hunt that took him from his family. He knelt next to Legolas and placed his hands on his shoulders.

"I leave you in charge, my boy. Take care of your mother," Thranduil said, smiling fondly as he tousled his son's hair. Legolas dutifully nodded and clung to his father tightly despite the painful pressure on his wrist. He had a sudden chill of premonition: as though he would never look into those eyes again, eyes that so resembled his own.

Legolas watched his father and his guard gallop away underneath the dark trees and bitterly wished that he could go too and leave the darkness of the palace behind him.

It was too late.

He hadn't told him. He had failed.

His father was gone. The only barrier that had ever held his uncle at all in check.

"Where is Cálivien?" Rameil asked, his brow furrowed as he watched the King and his royal guard recede into the darkness of the forest, the clarion calls of their trumpets ringing back in farewell to those watching. Ancadal grinned conspiratorially.

"I have a feeling we shan't see him this early in the morning."

"Why wouldn't we?" Rameil asked, glancing sharply at the other soldier. The younger elf winked with a sly grin.

"Ah, I don't believe you had the good fortune of meeting the beauty on his arm last night. I do not think our commander will rise if the King himself were dead," Ancadal countered tactlessly.

"For shame, Ancadal. Do not speak of such things," Haldir chastened lightly, his grey eyes fixed on the small figure, huddled against the wind, his blond hair flying loose about his pale face. The older elf frowned slightly as he scrutinized the prince more closely.

Legolas caught his gaze, spun around and abruptly disappeared into the palace. Haldir's brow furrowed further in consternation. He had hardly seen his young friend at all over the past few days. The prince had kept more and more to himself and Haldir was starting to worry. And what had happened to his wrist? He turned to his friends and soldiers at his side.

"Keep your eyes open."

"What do you mean?" Ancadal asked. Haldir shook his head slowly, unsure quite how to answer that.

"I don't know. Something's not right." He had not seen or heard anything unusual last night. But the silence. The palace had been awfully quiet as though the stone had been holding its breath. There was a tension in the air now; he could feel it as surely as he could smell a storm coming.

"And find the commander. We're leaving soon," Haldir said quietly. Thranduil had finally agreed to the treaty and they could at last go back to Lothlórien. Haldir was glad to be going home for he missed it terribly but he wanted to at least say goodbye to Legolas before he left.

Following in his young friend's footsteps, he ducked out of the chill of the wintry midmorning and into the warmth of the palace.


Legolas could not help but feel a small sense of triumph. Not for himself, perhaps. Though his father had not been warned, at least he was gone and his treacherous brother-in-law could not get to him.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Legolas wondered if Haldir would follow him. He had seen the older elf's eyes on him and knew that look all too well; that's why he had fled. He didn't want anyone to ask him any more questions. Questions he couldn't answer.

The young prince scratched at the itchy sling that bound his wrist in place irritably. Legolas felt absolutely wretched as he walked slowly down the hall, his triumph vanishing like a candle being blown out. His fear returned as he realized that he was utterly alone. His mother couldn't help him and he dared tell no one else- not after last night.

He had known his father's councilor since he was very small and now his entire world seemed to crumbling down around him. With his father gone from the palace, what would stop Ainan from doing all of the things he promised?

Legolas knew he was a coward for not standing up to his uncle. And he felt guilt twist his insides, a gut-wrenching illness that refused to leave him alone. Telas had been hurt because of him. But now Telas knew. Telas knew how cruel his uncle was and maybe, he could tell the prince what he should do…

Changing direction, the prince walked off towards the healing ward which he figured was the most likely place Telas would have been taken last night.

The healers' ward was situated in the east wing of the palace. A bright, airy, cheerful place with long windows that cast streaming sunlight and dancing dust motes into the air, it was very quiet and smelled of dried herbs. Legolas looked around for it was not often that he came here and had not been in several years.

Legolas wrapped his cloak tighter about himself to hide the splint around his wrist as he walked up to the healer hesitatingly, inquiring where he might find his father's councilor. The woman smiled sympathetically at him and led him to a door at the end of the corridor on the right.

"He may not quite be up to it, my prince. His health is… not good," she said quietly. Legolas nodded, growing more anxious. What had his uncle done to his father's councilor? Feeling suddenly awkward and wondering if he should go back, Legolas pressed his free hand against the door and, taking a deep breath, he opened it and slid into the room after the healer.

Warm sunlight sliced across his back as he entered the room, looking around timidly. Though it was well-heated in the room, a roaring fire burned on the hearth and a figure wrapped in blankets sat in one of the winged chairs. Legolas felt tears clench the back of his throat and he swallowed hard.

Telas turned blank eyes to the young prince as Legolas sat beside him. The prince bit his lip, managing to keep his tears at bay as he flung himself into a chair and, looking upon the ravaged form of the councilor, his heart cried out for his friend. He suddenly stood and crouched by the older elf's side, looking up into his ageless face.

Slowly, Legolas pushed a piece of parchment and a quill towards the older elf.

"Can- can you tell me what happened?" he asked softly, his eyes pleading. "Please, Telas, I need to know."

The councilor looked long and hard at him before slowly taking up the quill and starting to write. Legolas bent close to the paper to read.

Darkness. The smooth, flowing elvish script spelled out horrors Legolas could not have possibly imagined. Chains. Lots of blood… pain… At this point, Telas' hand began to shake so violently the script ran together illegibly. A small, mewling sound of distress broke past his cracked lips and his head sank into one hand as he dropped the quill. The healer with all of her austere and compassionate nature laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Now is not quite the right time for questions, my prince- he's still very traumatized."

Legolas nodded but he had to ask one more question.

"Could-could you excuse us just for a moment?" he asked. The healer hesitated but nodded slowly and with a last pat on Telas' shoulder, walked briskly out of the room shutting the door astutely behind her.

"I'm so sorry, Telas," Legolas burst out, his throat raw with tears that would not come. The elven councilor laid his hand on the prince's golden head, stroking it gently as he shook his head.

Slowly, Legolas sucked in a deep breath and willed himself to be calm. He looked hesitatingly up into the older elf's eyes, his throat constricted.

"Telas…" he began but his voice choked; he cleared it and gamely pressed on, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Was-was it my uncle- who did… this… to you?" He waited, half-fearing the answer, half-hoping that at last he would have someone on his side- someone to help him.

That hope died with the abruptness of a branch shattering in a lightning storm as Telas shook his head. The prince stood on shaking legs, his eyes downcast. Who else could it be?At that moment, the healer entered with a smile and set down a steaming tray of broth on the table. Legolas sidled out of the room, unable to keep a choked whimper from escaping his lips.

His last hope was gone.

"I told you," a sibilant voice spat from the shadows. Legolas whirled round to see Nárvenien staring wild-eyed at him. A small smile spread across her pale features. Legolas noticed that her lip was bloody and for some reason that really bothered him. Save for her next words…

"Do you think Telas screamed before they cut out his tongue?" she hissed vindictively. Legolas recoiled in horror but anger blossomed in his veins too. How dare she treat this like a game! How dare she be so satisfied with herself and with others' pain!

"How dare you!" he spat as he shook with quiet anger, his hands unconsciously balling themselves into fists as. "How dare you."

Without thinking, his hand snapped out but a strong hand caught a hold of his before it met the girl's cheek. Legolas looked up sharply to see Haldir looking down at him, an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes.

Nárvenien leapt backwards in shock. Legolas, himself, was surprised by his own actions. Before he could think of anything to do or say, the woman whirled away from him and ran down the corridor. The prince stood momentarily frozen, feeling so suddenly and horribly guilty that it twisted his insides and for a moment, he wondered if he was going to be sick.

Haldir slowly released him, still looking at him with that odd expression on his face. Legolas thought he looked rather sick himself and the young prince felt shame and embarrassment burn the tips of his ears.

He couldn't stay here.

Whirling round, he nearly ran into the healer who sidled out of Telas' room.

"Prince Legolas," the healer narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully. "Do you need me to have a look at that?" She pointed at his wrist which Legolas realized, too late, had slipped from underneath his cloak. He jerked his mantle around his injured arm and shook his head.

"No, thank you, ma'am," he said hastily. "It is all taken care of." The woman frowned but nodded her acquiescence.

"All right. Let me know if it troubles you- we have plenty of herbs to spare." Legolas nodded absently, already halfway down the corridor.

"Legolas!" The prince heard Haldir call out behind him and walked faster. But the older elf's long strides quickly caught up with him and cut him off so he was forced to halt abruptly. Haldir gripped the younger elf's shoulders to keep him from sidling around him.

"Legolas, what is going on?" he asked quietly, his silver eyes narrowed shrewdly. The young prince looked nearly frantic to get away and his blue eyes darted around nervously.

"Please, Haldir," he pleaded. "I just don't want to talk about it." Stepping swiftly back, Legolas broke the other elf's grip and darted around him.

Haldir could only watch as the young prince pushed away from him and vanished around the corner.