A/N: Anddddd chapter 8. I'm a little nervous about this one, to be honest. Hope you all like it!
Before Belathon can utter another word, Legolas shakes his head and steps away from the Silvan. "I must leave, for my father calls me."
"Leave now?" Says the dark-haired elleth. "Hir nin, we must not-"
"No," says Belathon, "it is well. The little prince must return to his father before he is missed. But promise me this, Legolas. You will not breathe a word of this to any other, not even your Lady Faervel."
Legolas twists his hand out from the Silvan's hold, anger stirring in his chest. Though he has agreed to follow Belathon's word, he no longer trusts him, nor likes the way he speaks down to him. "Do not treat me as though I am still an elfling!"
"He must leave now, hir nin, if the King calls him" An elleth steps forward, places a hand on Belathon's arm. "And so must we."
Belathon nods shortly to Legolas. "I will send a messenger for you when we need to speak again."
A dozen pairs of eyes look down on him, expectant, and Legolas realises with a jolt that he has been dismissed- dismissed! As though Belathon is his own hir, not just an elf who has promised him his freedom. A weight settles in his stomach as he turns and leaves the dark cavern.
I wanted my freedom, but at what cost will it be? Does Belathon now expect me to bow to him?
Legolas does not even look to the cells which hold the naugrim- that time of curiosity seems so long ago, and he feels as though his feet are leaden as he climbs up the stairs.
I come, Ada, he reaches for the bond which lies dormant in his fae and nudges it, careful to keep his thoughts to himself. Almost immediately their bond sings as Ada's mind responds to his call. He has heard, and Legolas sees a flash of books, the ancient desk carved from beechwood, feels the press of a pen in his hands. Ada waits for him in his study.
It does not take long for him to reach the royal quarters- most edhil remain quiet and their faces tight with anxiety, eager to return to their own homes. The day's events have startled all, shaken everyone to their roots. Even the usually bustling kitchen is oddly quiet, with only the sharp demands of Maessason and the subdued response of his many apprentices the only true noise in the King's Halls.
But even as he hurries up the steps which take him down the corridor back to Ada's chambers, he can hear his aunt's furious voice.
"-rest assured my lord Thranduil that I will have words with your son for departing so abruptly from his quarters! And to think that he did not even leave a note for me!"
The rumble of his father's voice cuts through Faervel's sharp words. "He comes now, Faervel, and you may repeat your scolding to him."
"Laeslas!" There come the stomp of angry feet as Faervel swings around from the entrance to his father's study. Her face grows dark as she spots him, and Legolas nearly turns and runs.
"Where, exactly, have you been these past hours?" She lunges for him as though sensing his fear, and grasps him by the arm. Up close her cheeks are pale and eyes bright with fury.
"Aunt?" Legolas tries to keep his voice calm, but he can feel her mess of emotions trembling within their bond, like the wild tempest of a storm. His own voice wobbles, as though about to spill over. "I am sorry- I did not mean to leave for so long…"
"Oh you know how often I have told you to stay close to your chambers! Why do you not listen?" Her grip is relentless as she pulls him into the private study of his father, and he presses down a noise of pain as the bone within his arm grinds against the other. "I cannot believe that all my teachings, all my lessons, have failed me and left me to deal with such an irresponsible child!"
Within the study, Ada sits at his wooden chair, legs crossed and crimson gown spread about him in a deceivingly casual manner. But even by the doorway Legolas can see the tightness around his eyes, and the pale cut of his cheeks. One white, bejewelled finger taps rapidly against the pile of papers which sit upon the desk.
He is equally as furious, Legolas thinks, heart sinking down to hide behind his ribs.
Faervel continues her berating even as she releases him to slam the door behind them. "Do you know- do you have any idea how worried I have been? No- of course you do not, for I see now that you take no consideration in how others might feel when you bolt from your chambers and race off who knows where-!"
"Aunt," Legolas pleads, but his voice is small against her tempest, "I went only- only to the kitchens." The lie sits heavily on his tongue, like a stone that he cannot be rid of. He does not dare look to Ada.
"I do not care if you went down into the dungeons themselves Laeslas, I only care that you did not tell any edhel before doing so!"
"Goheno nin, Aunt, but I- I wished to stretch my legs. I…I did not think." He looks to the smooth stones underfoot, ears burning. If only she knew- her fury would be nothing now…
"That has been made clear by your behaviour!" Faervel growls. But something in her voice softens, and he dares to peek a glance at her. The storm-clouds are fading from her features, her mouth loosening from its rigid line.
"Listen, Laeslas. I- we-" she glances at Ada who remains motionless, "we grew worried when I came to see you. I know you were locked in your chambers for a long while, but it is so frightening to go to your charge's room and find it devoid of that which we hold so dear."
"But-" Legolas sees an opening and takes it, only for Ada to raise one hand.
"No, Laeslas," he says, and there is an edge to his voice that makes his fae shrink back, nestle further down into the flesh of his rhaw- a rabbit startled back into its burrow. "You do not understand what we now face with these naugrim in our Halls."
"Then," Legolas finds his voice has become soft, pleading, "will you not tell me? I could- I could help…"
"You can help," Ada says, and his voice shakes suddenly. Abruptly he pauses, looks aside for a heartbeat. When his grey eyes look to Legolas, they are dim, as though they see something he cannot. "You can help by staying where your Aunt requires you to be, and not causing more of a headache for all."
A headache? Stay where I am required? I am 'required' out in the world! Not in my chambers!
All softness he feels for his father dissolves. "Don't- you can't just dismiss me!" He says sharply, heat entering his voice. "I am not an elfling."
Ada's mouth goes rigid with anger, and he can see something sharp and cutting flash over his eyes. "Only an elfling would say that, and you truly are one."
His words strike Legolas as equally as a blow. "That is because you treat me one!" He hurls back, voice trembling with anger. "I am not- I am not a child to be stuffed in my chambers! I don't want to be locked in my chambers for the rest of my life, I want to help- I want to train-"
"Laeslas-" Faervel says sharply, voice tinged with warning, but it is too late for Ada rises and the entire room grows dark with his anger.
"Enough!" He snaps, and he is no longer Ada, but King Thranduil, merciless and cold. The change is as shocking to Legolas as a slap to his face, and he suddenly sees that formidable King who has brooded over his kingdom for yen upon yen, the one that Belathon had spoken of with such disdain.
"I will hear no more of you wishing to train, or help, or any other desire which goes against my wishes," those cold grey eyes flash at him, knock any chance of words deep down into his chest. "Not for another fifty summers when you are then ready and able. Until then, you will stay here and wait out your years as all elflings must."
Amidst his anger and humiliation and horror and the sensation that he has been struck by a dagger, Legolas can feel tears prickling at the backs of his eyes, but he does not care. He no longer cares. His father cares not for him, or for what he wants- he does not listen!
Belathon was wrong about you, he seethes. You are not weak, but you are as merciless as every cruel device which snaps their jaws about an animal only to leave them to them die slowly and in agony.
"I understand now," he chokes out, voice thick, "why Aeglostor hates you so much. You are cold, and you are cruel and I-I do not wish to see you ever again!"
"Oh, but you will." Ada says, and Legolas can no longer see his face clearly through the veil of tears. But his voice rings out, relentless and as hard as mithril. "You will have to face me and bow each and every morning, and one day- one day, child, you will know I did all of this to protect you."
"Thranduil-" Faervel's voice cuts through the heavy silence. The syllable is low and unsteady, as her voice only is when she is deeply upset.
"No," blurred though his vision is, Legolas can still see that bejewelled hand wave a dismissal. The pale digits waver before his eyes, as though trembling. "I will not hear it. Take the child and leave me."
"Come, Laes. Come, child." Faervel's hand is insistent against the small of his back, the other wrapped around his shoulders. Quickly, yet gently, she leads him from the study, past the guards who stand outside, and down the corridor.
It is halfway back to their chambers that Legolas feels his feet begin to slow, his knees wobble beneath him. "Aunt-" he chokes out, and shame rises and squeezes within him as tears burn a slow path down his cheeks. "Aunty-"
"Hush, Laes, just keep walking. We are nearly there."
His Aunt's warm embrace keeps him walking until they at last turn past the guards, whose eyes immediately land on his tear-stained face and then just as quickly look away, and into his bed-chamber. She guides him to his bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. Gently, cool fingers reach up and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.
Desperate to maintain what feeble strength he has left, Legolas forces down the urge to lean into the touch.
"Now, Laeslas," Faervel strokes his hair, voice a low murmur which trembles, "your Ada…he- he has been facing a lot of pressure from the council recently. He does not mean- I know his words were harsh, but I also know that he loves you deeply. What he said just then- those words only reflected everything that he has been faced with."
"H-He treats me like I am a child!" Strangely, the tears that left him feeling like an elfling no longer fall. He is instead filled with fire- a fire that licks at his bones, burns against his chest.
Faervel nods. "That he does- but Laes, do you not see why he wants to protect you? While it is well meant, everything you said about helping and training, for everything I have taught you, can you truly not accept that you are- only 57 summers?"
I am only 57 summers, he had said, only just this afternoon. Before, those words had been the hardest he had had to ever say. Now- now they are unbearable.
Age is no excuse, Belathon had said. But to his father, to all, they are chains which keep him from leaving, from doing anything to help Eryn Galen.
I can do nothing. "I know, Faervel." He says, and his voice is empty. "May- may I be alone?"
Sadness spreads across his aunt's face. "Of course, dear heart. I will be next door, if you need me."
He does not watch as she stands and leaves through the interconnected door. He stares out, across his sun-painted room, to the window where the Song calls to him in amongst the forest. Instead of anger, he can only hear the quiet resolve that lies within his heart. The words of Belathon, which once he hated and thought to be mistaken upon, are now all he has left.
Fifty more summers, Ada had said. He had handed the words to him, like a piece of bread, whether he wanted it or not.
No. Fifty summers in these Halls is too long. I cannot bear it. Belathon had said I could leave the Halls, could earn respect. And now, with my freedom left to dangle upon a knife's edge? What other choice do I have but to trust in his word?
I will go, he thinks. I will go, and I will listen to the Song of the forest, while she still lives. I will leave these Halls, and do what it takes to earn respect. I will help my people.
This time, he does not hesitate.
While his knees shake under him as though he is a newborn deer, Legolas stands and makes for the small desk tucked by the window. Across it, he digs about the piles of paper and pulls out one that remains unblemished by ink-stains. And he writes.
Belathon- Tell me what I must do to have my freedom, and I will gladly do it. Your word is mine to follow. L.
Folding the paper neatly in half, Legolas rises from his desk, and with a furtive glance at the interconnecting door, makes his way to the entrance of his chamber.
"Guard," he calls, and from where the guard stands by his door, they turn their head to him. Underneath their mask, hazel eyes view him with a gentle sort of caution.
"Prince Legolas," the guard snaps to attention, waits.
Drawing himself up as best he can, Legolas nods up at the tall edhel. "I- I wish you to deliver a private letter to the Lord Belathon."
"My prince?" The guard does not tilt their head, but their eyes blink slowly in confusion. "Would it not be better if you gave the letter to your father's butler?"
No- that is no option for him. Galion is above all loyal to his father, who in turn will surely take the letter and read it, and then his hopes will be destroyed. Legolas takes a breath, shakes his head. His insides feel as though they have turned to water, and slosh around inside of him.
"I- I believe Galion to be with my father, in council. I require this letter to be delivered as soon as possible- would you not do so?"
"Forgive me, my prince," the guard says slowly, "but it is not in my position to be delivering letters across the King's Halls."
"Oh," Legolas sags his shoulders, widens his eyes. "If- if you say so…" His heart is beginning to pound against his chest. What can he do? There is no way he can ask either Faervel or Galion to deliver the letter.
Just as he is beginning to fear that the guard will refuse, their stiff posture softens and they give a huff. "I really should not be doing so, but.. very well, my prince." One gauntleted hand reaches out and carefully takes the letter from him. "I will deliver this to Lord Belathon as quickly as I am able."
"Oh!" Legolas gazes up at the guard, relief bringing all the tension in his muscles to fade, "thank you kindly.."
The guard nods. "Tervon, my prince."
Legolas smiles. It is as though a hand has reached down and lifted all the weight off his shoulders. "Thank you, Tervon. I am truly most grateful."
"Yes, well" the ellon says quickly, "please do not mention it to my superiors. Or to the Prince Aeglostor."
Legolas manages to summon a smile, but it is as empty as a hollowed out tree. "Of course I won't. Your secret is mine to keep, Tervon."
The guard gives one last nod before departing down the corridor, leather boots soft across the stone floors.
Legolas watches until the masked head vanishes from sight, before turning and retreating back to his chambers to wait.
A/N: I hope Legolas' reaction made sense- he is very young, and doesn't possess the wisdom he will have later on. And while he doesn't entirely trust Belathon, he is offering him a chance at freedom, and at gaining respect from his family.
Sindarin: Fae- spirit
Rhaw- body
Hir nin- my lord
Goheno nin- forgive me