A/N: And Chapter 5, just as promised.
Man, I am so tired. No more updates then until tomorrow. Goodnight all!
By the time most of those within the Hall has finished with their plate and have begun conversing, the second Prince of Eryn Galen finally decides to make his entrance.
Lhosbend picks silently at his food, no doubt well aware of the trouble he will face upon returning to his chambers. Legolas, in an odd reversal of roles, tries now to cheer up his nephew. It does not go well.
"C'mon, Lhosbend. I'm sure Lhosben will not ban you from the training grounds for too long…"
"Oh, he will." Lhosbend mutters angrily. "Always I try to be his perfect son, and now look! I sit on a carrot, and he disowns me for three centuries."
Legolas tries to stifle the bubble of laughter which rises in his throat. "I-I don't think he has disowned you, Lhos."
Beside their miserable nephew, Annith's dark gaze widen in surprise, and she tugs at the silk sleeve of his tunic. "Ai, Laeslas, look who has finally decided to leave his garrison."
There comes a banging of a staff on the ground, and to the left of them the Lady Elegessil rises hurriedly from the table. Her lips are stained red with wine, and she dabs at them hastily, caught off-guard. "Announcing Prince Aeglostor, He Who-"
From across the hall, Aeglostor waves a hand, silencing the singyll. He wears only a simple grey tunic and muddy boots, but as always does not seem to care for how dishevelled he is compared to the entire hall and its autumn colours. "No, Lady, please. Take a seat. I am only here for the Dorwinion."
Laughter trickles through the chamber, faces turning to catch a glimpse of their prince.
"Oh, sweet Eru," Faervel hisses from beside Legolas. Her eyes are pinched with concern.
Legolas watches, surprise licking at his fae, as the broad-shouldered figure of his older brother strides easily down the hall to the High Table. He hasn't seen his brother for many seasons!
All watch and wait as Aeglostor stops before the King, and sketches a loose bow. From where he sits, Legolas thinks he catches a glimpse of his brother's gleaming eyes, but he cannot be sure.
Ada unexpectedly rises from his seat, and in the glittering lights he seems to be adorned with stars. "Ion nin," he says, though his voice remains cool as though he were addressing the Council. There is not even a hint of surprise on his face at the surprising appearance of the prince. "Gi nathlam hí."
"Le fael, Aran nin." Aeglostor returns with ease. Only his shoulders are stiff; as though he waits to be reprimanded. "I am glad I have not missed all of the Dorwinion."
"There is plenty here, muindor," Annith calls, and with a nod to an ellon draws over another seat. "Move over, you two!" She urges to Legolas and Lhosbend.
Aeglostor sketches one last bow to Ada before turning and making his way to where Annith has drawn a seat. "Ah, muinthel, how good it is to see you!"
His glittering eyes are cold as they brush over Legolas. "And Laeslas too! They really have brought out everyone, haven't they?"
Annith gives their brother a sharp look as he, with exaggerated care, takes a seat beside her. "Unfortunately."
Legolas smiles hesitantly past the bulk of Lhosbend. "It is good to see you."
Aeglostor glances over him once. "I cannot say the same, unfortunately. I was dragged here by Riressil" he nods down towards a table, where Legolas spies a red-haired elleth chatting animatedly to her neighbour.
Annith rolls her eyes. "Yes, I remember her. The one with a tongue like a viper."
Aeglostor reaches for a half-filled goblet, takes a swig and swallows loudly. "Ah, there is nothing better than a good cup of Dorwinion. Now," he burps, "tell me of the goings on within dear Adar's council. I heard a rumour that Belathon outspoke every member there."
"You heard true," Lhosbend says. "He left the council in uproar."
"Oh, I can imagine." Aeglostor says easily, "if he spoke about opening up trade and clearing that damned Southern border-"
"Aeglostor," Faervel turns so swiftly that Legolas nearly jumps. "We do not swear while at feasts, nor do we burp."
"My deepest apologies, Aunt." Aeglostor places a hand on his chest mockingly. "I did not know I was still an elfling."
A worm of discomfort wriggles in Legolas' chest. Why does he have to be so rude? And to Faervel?
Faervel only narrows her eyes. "You are not one in age, perhaps, but your manners are of one."
"You wound me, dear Aunt, truly!"
The dark-haired elleth gives Aeglostor a look of complete disapproval, before stiffly turning her back.
"Now that is one elleth I have not missed while away." Aeglostor says in an undertone. "She hasn't softened at all, has she?" He eyes the back of Faervel, and the angular face unexpectedly hardens.
Something squeezes in Legolas' chest. He doesn't like the way Aeglostor looks at his aunt. "Muindor" he says quickly, and those stormy eyes turn on him. "Tell me of training."
Aeglostor rolls his eyes. "Are you still trapped in that childish dream, Laeslas? Hasn't Adar given you the talk yet?"
"No, Laeslas. You are too young to train. You must wait your turn."
"He-he has." Legolas admits, and glances at Annith. Her dark eyes flicker from Aeglostor and then to him, but she says nothing. "But he will have to say yes eventually."
The narrowed lips twist up into a sharp smile, one that Legolas knows he could easily hurt himself on. "Once you are two hundred summers, yes, he will. Now quit bothering me; I have better things to entertain myself with."
Legolas watches, hurt burning at his throat, as his brother then turns to Annith and launches into an impressive conversation about the durability of eagle feather fletching over that of a hawk fletching.
"Lhosbend-" he turns to the broad ellon, desperate to pretend that his brother's words don't hurt. Only, Lhosbend has spotted a friend amongst the crowd of tables, and with a quick "save my seat," heads over to join them. And Legolas is left alone.
"Is this seat taken?" A familiar voice asks.
Looking up in surprise, Legolas finds himself staring straight into silver eyes. "Belathon?"
The tall Silvan stands behind him, dressed in a red and gold tunic. His mouth curls into a slow smile. "Hello, little prince. May I sit?"
"Oh-" Legolas glances briefly over to where the bulk of Lhosbend sits, now chatting happily with companions. Manners, says Faervel, you are a prince of this Realm! "Yes, of course."
"My thanks" the silver-eyed ellon slides down beside him, and his eyes flicker to where Aeglostor sits. "I hope I do not intrude, little prince, but I could not help overhearing what your brother said."
Legolas flushes, tries to push down the hurt that rises in him. "It- it's nothing. Aeglostor…"
"Can be a real yrch, am I correct?" Belathon finishes. His bright eyes grow serious. "It is not worth taking his words to heart, little prince. Your brother has a way of offending many edhil."
If it were any other, Legolas knows he would take offence at the description of his brother. But something in him softens at Belathon's words, the glimmer of his eyes. "You were in the same patrol with him, weren't you?" He says softly. "I think I remember my brother speaking of you."
"That's right," Belathon agrees with a nod of his dark head. "We trained together as apprentices. Needless to say, I have had to nurse my own fair share of wounds, thanks to your brother's sharp tongue."
"It-" Legolas suddenly finds words building up on his tongue, waiting to fall. "It can be hard to ignore them, though. Not when he's right."
"About being too young?" The Silvan elf asks. His eyes are not soft, but his tone is gentle.
Legolas nods. "Yes. No one- no one thinks of me as anything but an elfling. And I know- I know I am young," he says hastily as Belathon's eyes flicker. "But I want- I want to be seen as something more than just a child to be hidden in the Nursery."
At first, Belathon says nothing, and Legolas feels his toes curl in his boots. No doubt the Silvan elf will also see him as just an elfling, a child to be handed from tutor to Aunt. How stupid I am to say all of that, to one of Aeglostor's friends!
"I understand," the quiet voice makes him look up. Again, those silver eyes do not leave his, but burn into him, press down into his fae. "I truly do. It is hard, being restricted by something as simple as age. You are a prince of Eryn Galen, and right now, she needs all of us to defend her from the Shadow."
"But?" Legolas waits for those words. But you are too young. You must wait. Wait wait wait wait-
"But nothing," Belathon says, and draws back. The air around him, the lights above, makes his eyes look as though they are jewels set in the pale circle of his face. "Look around you, little prince. All of these people, these edhil, they depend on us to defend them. To honour their wishes. Age does not matter, not when you are in a position to create change- when you can help those most in need."
Though Belathon glances at the edhil beneath them, Legolas can do nothing but stare at the Silvan next to him. His words strike him deep within his chest, makes his fae ring.
He can create change, even as an elfling. Even as the youngest prince of his people. He can help. "You speak truly?" Legolas breathes, and the dark-haired ellon turns to look at him.
"Of course I do, little prince. Would a friend lie to you?"
Abruptly, there is a hand pressing on his shoulder. Legolas turns- and finds Faervel staring at him. At Belathon.
"Lord Belathon? What do you do here, at the High Table?" Her eyes flash, and Legolas inhales sharply as her fingers dig into the soft flesh of his arm. You hurt me, aunt, let go; he tries to touch her mind through their bond, but she does not heed him.
Belathon smiles, a strange twist of his lips that doesn't resemble anything like how he'd smiled at Legolas before. "My Lady, I have come to visit the Prince Aeglostor."
Faervel's gaze grows narrow. "Speak to the Prince Aeglostor if you wish; he could do with some of your…bold…words, but leave my nephew out of it. He is too young for any sort of political discussion."
"I am 57 summers, Faervel, not 30!" Legolas protests, frustration building in his chest.
His aunt's hostile gaze suddenly shifts to him, and he flinches as her grasp tightens. "That you may be, Laeslas, but you are still my charge and will not speak rudely to your elders!"
"Please, Lady," Belathon cuts in as Legolas' eyes burn with tears of sheer frustration. "The young prince meant nothing by his words. He was only pointing out the truth."
Faervel draws her head back as though struck. "I did not know you speak for elflings also, Lord Belathon. You usually keep your words reserved for those who do not know the truth from the false."
Belathon grows still, and for a long heartbeat he stares at the elleth, his face as white as new snow. And then- his twilit eyes flicker to Legolas. "I will take my leave, Prince Legolas" he rises, and bows to him. "Tell your brother that I wish to speak to him, when you can." With nary a look at Faervel, he slips back down into the crowded tables.
No, don't go. Legolas wants to reach out and grasp the ellon by the sleeve of his tunic. Your words are true to me.
"That snake," his aunt hisses as soon as Belathon sits down amongst the tables below. She releases Legolas' arm; the flesh throbs from where her nails dug into him. "You don't speak to him again, you hear?"
"Yes, Aunt." Legolas agrees. Her anger is as meaningless to him as a storm against rock; nothing matters now, not when he knows someone understands him. Not when all he can hear is what Belathon said.
Age does not matter, not when you are in a position to create change, when you can help those most in need.
Would a friend lie to you?
A friend, he thinks, and his fae warms at the word. I have a friend- someone who speaks to me as they would an equal!
"Laeslas, look at me." His aunt spares him the embarrassment of grasping him under the chin like she would if he were 20 years younger, but her words are strong enough that he is pulled away from the warmth that is spilling down into his fae.
"What did he say to you?" Her dark eyes are no longer angry, but rather shadowed. Her mouth presses together as it does only when she is deeply worried.
My silly aunt, Legolas thinks with a burst of affection. You worry too much, and all for nothing. Belathon is my friend.
"Nothing of importance," he says instead. "Truly, aunt. He only- only mentioned what Aeglostor was like, when they used to train together." And that is true, isn't it? He isn't lying, not really.
Faervel sighs. "He shouldn't encourage you, not about training."
"He was only trying to be nice, Aunt." Legolas says. While he knows he isn't lying, the words sit heavily on his tongue.
"Nice, hmph. That'll be the yen." His Aunt gives him one last look, before staring out into the bright hall and all the edhil who gather there. "I do not trust him, and nor should you. That ellon brings only trouble."
There is the most minute pressing of a mind against his, and his fae sings quietly. Legolas twitches, looks up. Beyond them, still seated beside his lords and ladies, Ada watches him. The twinkling lights catch on the rubies upon his fingers, and they wink at him like tiny red eyes.
Hello Ada, he greets. This time, there is no joy or welcome in his voice; the discussion of earlier hours still lingers between them, like a chasm that cannot be crossed. Ada seems to know this, as he knows everything, for at first his mind seems to retreat.
But then, just as Legolas thinks their bond is closed, there comes again the brush of his father's powerful mind, the leap of his fae. This time, his father's touch is not gentle. There is the uncomfortable sensation of pulling as their bond is probed, and and his mind grows heavy, as though Ada is searching for something buried deep within him.
For what Belathon told me, he realises. He wants to know what passed between us. He thinks I am still an elfling to be watched and fussed over.
Ada's gaze narrows, and the weight of his mind sinks deeper into their bond, sensing words-
No! His fae trembles as Legolas pulls away. No, Ada! Why must you always treat me as an elfing to be constantly watched? I am fine.
Beyond him, Ada's eyes flash with surprise. But then, slowly- slowly, the broad mind retreats from his, and their bond closes.
Legolas releases a breath he did not know he was holding. I have done it, he realises. He has, for the first time, denied his father access to his mind. A lump forms in his stomach, seethes against him. It hadn't been wrong of him to do that, had it?
But then, he realises that if Ada had of heard what had been said between him and Belathon, he wouldn't have understood. He might have even grown angry that the Silvan had encouraged him.
And the last thing Ada wants, Legolas thinks bitterly, is for me to hope that I might train.
All around him, his family continue on talking as though nothing has changed. Annith continues listening to their brother, but as he peers at her, the rigid lines of her face do not soften, not even once. She looks as though she wishes she were anywhere else in the hall, and speaking to anyone other than their cold, calculating brother.
And their father? Ada's gaze has lifted from him, and travelled onto the bright figure of Aeglostor. Those grey eyes do not leave until his brother shivers and glances about him as though he has heard someone calling his name.
Belathon's words, Legolas decides, they belong to me alone. Neither Annith nor Lhosben, nor Faervel, or even Ada would understand what has been said between us.
Maybe- maybe there will come a time when I don't have to hope, and what Belathon says will be true. But until then, isn't it best that only I know?
A/N: Well that was longer than I anticipated! What did you all think?
Sindarin: Ion nin- my son
Gi nathlam hí- You are welcome here
Le fael- You are generous
Aran nin- My king (As though Thranduil needs more reminding that Aeglostor sees him as only his King)
Yen- a thousand years, or a really long time
The Royal Family: Thranduil- King of Eryn Galen, and widower
Nidhel- deceased Queen of Eryn Galen- has a sister, Faervel, who is now the nurse to Legolas
Lhosben- firstborn son of Thranduil and Nidhel and Crown Prince/heir to Eryn Galen. Approximately 2000 years old
Emlinel and Lhosbend- the Silvan wife of Lhosben, and renowned scholar and favourite of Thranduil; Lhosbend- the only son of Emlinel and Lhosbend
Aeglostor- the second son and Prince of Eryn Galen; a fierce archer on the King's Guard, estranged from the Royal Family since the death of the Queen. Approximately 1500 years old
Annith- Princess of Eryn Galen and only daughter of Thranduil- one of the Captains of the King's Guard. Approximately 1000 years old
Legolas- youngest Prince of Eryn Galen and child to Thranduil and Nidhel. 57 years old.