A/N: And chapter 7!
I might post another chapter sometime today.
Hope you all are enjoying the ride!
Disbelief churns in Legolas' stomach, and every elven sense he has within his fey bones is calling for him to turn and leave. How can Belathon spread such untrue words? More than that, those ellyn he had followed- they offer their support for Belathon! They support his- his lies!
"We are forced to hide away in this cave, cut off from our forest, from her Song! She dies all around us, while we are forbidden from doing anything to aid her!"
That isn't true! Anger swoops down upon him like the talons of a hawk, and he can see nothing but red. He wants to shout, to push his hands against the wooden door and spill into the room, to defend his family!
"-the King is weak- this is true, my friends. Some of you I know to still hold ties of loyalty to him, but I must insist on this. He cannot see past this cave- cannot see into the forest which sickens and decays about us! He is too caught up in his personal grief to see what we all need!"
Ada- weak? Legolas bristles, the red wave of rage choking all breath from his lungs. How can Belathon speak about my father like that? He knows nothing!
"We need someone who is strong, who is full of promises and can lead us into a brighter future-someone who isn't caught up in their grief for a dead elleth-"
The rage that burns within him suddenly roars, and Legolas finds himself yanking at the latch, nails breaking under the force of his grip-
The door bursts inward- Legolas follows-
"Belathon!" The words fly from him as though they are daggers, and the Silvan's face turns white as fresh snow- "Belathon you-you traitor!"
"What-! Eru above!" At least a dozen edhil peer at him, some of their faces swiftly turning to anger, others fear. "Who is that-?!"
Abruptly, the room plunges into darkness. Legolas stumbles forward, his hands shaking with the force of emotions. He had trusted Belathon! He trusted him- he thought he had had a friend-!
"A spy!" Someone shouts, and several hands- their grip painfully tight- clench about his shoulders. "Grab him- hold him down!"
"How could you speak about Ada like that!" He thrashes even as those holding him push him to the ground, the air pressed from his lungs. He wants to run at the Silvan Elf who has stepped back against the wall, his face blanched of all colour.
"You-" he coughs, spits out chips of stone which has been pushed into his mouth- "my nana- you don't know anything about her! Let go of me!"
Nails dig into his shoulders, pinch his skin even through his tunic, and he yelps.
"Hir nin-" a voice gasps above him- "hir nin, what do we do?"
Legolas squirms, tries to kick out. The anger which makes his heart race is beginning to bleed from him, and ice trickles up his veins. But isn't relief- it is shock, and his limbs stiffen under him. Edhil- my people- they're holding me down.
"Hold still, rat!" Someone snarls into his ear. "You have no business spying on us!"
"Daro!" Belathon's voice shakes. "Let him go! Do you not know who you hold?"
Neck aching with the force of having to hold his head up, horror rushes into Legolas as warmth spills across his lips. He doesn't want to cry over Belathon, but now that the rage is fading, he realises his fae twists and aches with pain. Frantically, he tries to blink back the tears, but it is too late. All faces have turned to him, and no doubt see the silver lines which run down his cheeks. "I- I trusted you!"
"Let him go? Hir nin, he was spying on us!" A voice hisses above him.
Their knee digs into his back, the weight almost enough to make him cry out.
No- I won't! He bites his lip, glowers up at the shadowed face of Belathon.
"He-" the words wobble on the Silvan elf's lips, as though they are caught on an invisible thread, "he is the Prince Legolas. Let him go!"
Audible gasps and hisses of horror rush through the cavern. The crushing weight on his back eases suddenly, the sharp nails detract.
With a gasp, Legolas rises to his feet. "You-" he chokes, finds tears clogging his throat, making speech almost impossible. "You- why would you say such things?"
The dark form of the ellon in front of him does not move. He only stays very still, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"Belathon-" a dark-haired elleth hisses. "Belathon! What do we do?"
"Prince Legolas," Belathon says, and his voice is soft. "Little prince, listen to me. I-I did not mean to speak ill of your father. Truly. I only- I only want what is best for our people."
"If you didn't mean to speak ill of Ada, then why would you call him weak?" He demands. His hands shake against his sides, the air wheezing in and out of his lungs. Part of him wants to reach for Ada, to pretend that everything he heard isn't true. And it isn't!
"I-" the ellon shakes his head, lips pressed firm. "I-I…"
"See?" Legolas growls, "you do not even know why you say such lies! You're wrong!"
"He's not wrong!" Snaps the dark-haired elleth. "He-" she glances to Belathon, lightning quick- "when he referred to your father being weak, he was only pointing out what was true."
Legolas bristles. "My Ada ISN'T weak!"
"He is weak," the elleth says in a tone that brooks no argument, "but only because he cares. He cares too much for the well-being of his people, so much so that he overlooks the most important part of the realm; the forest."
Something in him grows very still, waits. "Kings are supposed to care," he says angrily, rubs away the tear-tracks on his cheeks. "It is their job."
"Yes, you are right, little prince," Belathon says lowly, and his gaze pierces Legolas like silver daggers. "Kings are supposed to care. Care for everyone, not just those who reside in their caves. Am- am I truly a traitor, for wanting all my people to be happy?"
You are a traitor for calling my Ada weak, and for wanting someone else on the throne, he glares.
Belathon must see the thoughts flickering in his eyes, for he glances away to those edhil gathered around them. Most faces are drawn, tight- afraid.
"I- I did not lie, Legolas, when I said that Eryn Galen needs you. That was what I spoke of, what you overheard. We want to help our forest, rebuild her to her former glory."
"Forests cannot be rebuilt, Belathon." Legolas retorts, thinking of Lhosben and how he gives away nothing even when speaking to those he does not like. "And Eryn Galen has my father to protect her."
Someone in the corner of the room makes a low noise in the back of their throat.
"That may be so for you," the ellon says, "but your Ada has not protected everyone within these walls."
"He protected everyone this morning when the naugrim came!" He snaps.
Belathon only shakes his head. "He restricts us, little prince. Can you truly not see that? He locked us all within his Halls, and forbade any from entering, or leaving."
"I-I" the words dry up on his tongue. He is right, a traitorous voice whispers, Ada did so.
No! He glares up at Belathon, tries to find anger in his heart. "You- you don't know that!"
There is a whisper of fabric as Belathon steps forward. "I do- we all do. The King- he belittles us. Pretends we are all children, who must hide behind his shadow for safety." His voice becomes bitter. "Our people are not elflings."
Legolas finds that he does not know what to say, and it must show on his face, for Belathon leans in, his eyebrows narrowed. "You are no elfling, am I correct?"
With nothing to say, he stays silent. The anger is fading from his heart as quickly as it appeared- no longer is he able to grasp at it, feel it burn in his chest. He is filled only with embers. I cannot lie, he thinks. I cannot say that I am an elfling, for that is not true. But I do not want to agree with Belathon.
He glances around him; the walls of the cavern seem to press in, like hands. The silent faces of the elves about him are as small moons in the shadows, watching him, continuing to wait. Only their faces have loosened, are no longer fearful. Why?
"My prince," the dark-haired elleth calls to him amongst the shadows. Her voice is no longer commanding, but heavy, as though weighed down with burdens he cannot see. "We are not all happy, here in these caves. You are- you are clever. You know who we are. We are of the Laegrim; it is the trees we seek, long for. You yourself are part Laegrim. Do you not feel the Song of the forest, how it weakens, day by day, yen by yen?"
The Song. He swallows. Even now, so close to the earth, it presses against him, as soothing as a lullaby. "I…"
"The King- he wants to protect us, it is true. But he is weak for it; he does not feel her Song as we do. That is why we have gathered here, in the dark, like criminals."
"Or traitors," Belathon says softly. "Húrneth is right. Little prince, do you think we do not love your father, for how he tries to protect us? Do you think we are not grateful that he tries?"
"I- you say you are tired of him, that you need someone who is strong." He tries to spit the words as though they are venom, but he feels as though he has traversed a great mountain and all energy is sapped from his limbs.
"That is true," The Silvan nods. They are so close now that Legolas can feel the ellon's breath against his head, see each murky strand of hair which slides down his shoulders. "We want someone to- to leave this Hall. To bring change to us. Not keep us from it."
Leave the Halls?
"No one can leave the Halls," he says quickly, and his voice is breathless, as though speaking any louder would bring all to hear and know what he has done. What has been said, here in the gloom. "Not without the King's permission." How can Belathon not see this?
"You can, Legolas." The Silvan leans in until the words creep across his skin, climb down into his fae. "And you will. I will show you how."
His entire rhaw prickles, as though he stands exposed under the sharp teeth of winter.
"I-" his words are silenced as his fae pulls, draws the heavy air into his lungs suddenly- and this sensation is followed by the sweeping touch of a powerful mind against his. Ada.
No. Again, he shrinks from the touch. Ada must not see this- he must not know where he is. He does not deserve to see how our people plot against him. I must protect him.
"You say you are no elfling, Legolas." Belathon continues on, oblivious. "Then do not behave as one. Think on what we have said."
An auburn-haired elf makes a sound of frustration. "Belathon- hir nin- you jest! He is an elfling- how can we trust him with- with this?"
The Silvan raises a hand.
Again, Legolas' fae sings in welcome as that familiar mind touches their bond. This time, it is more insistent- heavier- worried-
Ada, he thinks. Please-
Laeslas, his father shakes aside his plea as though it were the weight of spring leaves. Where are you?
In front of him, the dark-haired elleth is shaking her head- "-he is the King's elfling- we cannot-"
"-no, Húrneth, that is why he is the one to do it!" Belathon retorts, towering over her. "He is-"
"It is wrong-" intercepts the auburn haired ellon. "It sits ill with me, using one who has not yet seen a hundred summers-"
"Legolas" Belathon stands before him, places a hand on his shoulder.
Legolas does not move away- he cannot, for his feet are rooted to the stones beneath him.
"Do you heed me?"
Come back, says Ada. His mind tugs at him, urges his feet to climb stairs, to move. Come back to me.
"Heed you?" His heart is beginning to race- Ada is insistent, will not allow him to be put aside as he was last eve. "You- you are…"
"I am right, am I not?" Belathon's gaze is bright, impossibly so. "You are not an elfling. You do not have to wait for your Ada to tell you what to do."
You must wait, says Ada, Lhosben, Faervel- all of those he loves.
You are too young, sneers Aeglostor.
You are an elfling- a child amongst a people whose lives are endless-
"I-" he looks up into those silver eyes. They watch him, wait for him to speak. "I am only 57 summers…" They are the heaviest words he has ever admitted.
"Age, little prince," Belathon says, his mouth tight, "is no excuse. Not when you can help others. Not when you can help your people in ways your father cannot. Now- do you heed me? Do you want the respect of your people? Do you want to be seen as more than your 57 summers?"
Am I wrong, he wonders, to want to say yes? Even when Belathon called Ada weak- said such horrible things- am I wrong to want to be more?
"Don't you want to leave these Halls? Don't you want to see the forest? Hear her Song under your fingers?"
Longing rises in him, until all he can see is the light speckled upon autumn leaves, touching the forest floor. Still, he says nothing. He can feel Belathon's words ensnaring him, waiting for him to make a single move. Take a step, and that voice is there, holding him down until he relents.
What will happen when I give in? When I agree with what he says?
The dark-eyed elleth makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "Belathon, please…"
Belathon raises a single hand, and she falls silent.
Slowly, the Silvan gives him a long, searching look. In the dark, cold fingers find his wrist, and curl around the bone. "Don't you want to see your Ada smile? Look at you with pride, like he does Annith, and Lhosben?"
A weight settles in his fae. Yes.
"Yes," the words slip from him, far more easily than he'd expected. "I do." It is true- he knows it, has known it from the moment he realised what it means to be born last, and be the youngest, when all of his family have already done something to help the Greenwood. All that is left for him is to seek what remains of his father's praise.
Hope thumps in his chest. And surely when I make him proud, he will know who I am. Not an elfling, but a true prince of the forest. Even if it means resorting to plotting with Belathon and his traitor-words, Legolas will do it.
Yet- he cannot quite shake the sense that he is giving up some part of himself in the dark cavern beneath the earth.
Belathon smiles, his teeth flashing like many pairs of eyes. "Good. I will tell you, then, how you may do so."
A/N: What did you think? I tried really hard to make sure that while Belathon is speaking words that are most certainly treasonous, they ARE true. He just has no idea of what his words can inspire people to do, but I am sure he will soon find out...
Sindarin: Yen- a long time- a thousand years, roughly
Fae- spirit
Rhaw- body
Naugrim- Dwarves