A/N: And chapter 9! Wow! I'm pretty happy with how this is going, but of course what matters is how YOU readers are liking it! Let me know :)

The next morning sees Legolas without answer from Belathon and still confined to his chambers. With the morning promising to be pleasant and the cold air warming slowly under the weakened rays of anor, all but himself are once more permitted to wander in the Halls.

And him? He must instead sit in his study and arduously go through yet another lesson of Sindar history with his tutor, as though he does not ache with worry and anger.

"No, no, my prince, it was in the years of the trees that King Thingol became enmeshed in the woods and came upon the Maiar Melian- you are thinking to the time wherein the mortal Beren stumbled across fair Luthien." Badhron gives a sigh large enough to shake the very stones around them. "Where is your head today?"

"Still on my neck, my lord." Legolas replies listlessly. He can hardly bring himself to focus on history when he is wondering if Tervon truly delivered the letter to Belathon, and whether Belathon has read it and responded.

His tutor does not seem pleased with his arch comment. "No, not on your neck, my prince. Think- among the clouds, perhaps? Or within the forest?"

The forest. Legolas suppresses a shiver of longing. Soon, I will be out there.

"Come now, my prince. Let us turn now to the time wherein Beren came across the fair Luthien. I shall not ask you dates, for I see that you are bored with numbers today, but shall ask you to repeat to me-"

There comes the sound of heavy, armoured feet upon the stone floor, and a guard knocks loudly on the door. "Prince Legolas?"

"Oh, Eru Himself would be pressed to answer questions today," Badhron puffs, but gestures to the door. "You may come in!"

Legolas raises his head as the guard steps inside his chamber; his eyes are drawn to the small piece of parchment held in one gauntleted hand. The hope that resides quietly in his chest swells. A note!

"My prince," the guard sketches a polite bow to him, puts aside a nod to his tutor. "I bring to you a letter from the butler Galion."

Galion? Legolas' fae trembles as he murmurs his thanks, taking the parchment in his hand. Has he been discovered? Had Tervon reported the letter he sent to Belathon?His stomach sinks. Hopefully his father has not sent him a request to join him for lunch.

"Pardon me, tutor Badhron, but may I…" he turns beseeching eyes on his weary tutor.

"Yes, my prince, you may take a break to read the message. Only- let me sit by your desk for a while. My legs ache in this cold weather."

Concern rises through him as his tutor slowly eases himself down onto a chair, as though he is as old as an oak which groans in the fierce winds. "Badhron, are you well? Do you need me to fetch a Healer?"

"No, no" his tutor shakes his auburn head, though his eyes are stamped with dark rings and his cheeks are wane. "I am well. Just- let me sit for a moment. You may read the message where you wish."

"Only, if you are sure…" Legolas gives the older ellon a look, and with a nod from his tutor, he hurries through his study door to his bedchamber. Hands trembling, he hurriedly tears at the seal over the letter, and uncurls the parchment to see familiar, curled handwriting.

Prince Legolas,

I must first extend my apologies for sending the letter in such a form. To get this past the guards, I had to plead that it was sent from your father's loyal butler. I received the note you sent, and I ask only this: explain to whoever keeps you that Galion requires your presence in his office at noon-tide. Say it is about the upcoming Mereth-en-Giliath. Meet me by the storage-rooms, near the kitchens.

There, everything relating to your previous note will be explained. I am afraid the matter is quite urgent, so do hurry.

Burn this as soon as you have read this. There can be no proof that we ever conversed.

B.

Legolas glances to the water-clock, his heart beating with excitement and slight trepidation. It is near noon! I must burn the letter first, he reminds himself as he turns to race out the door. And I must get Badhron to believe me.

Unfortunately for him, the fire that usually is kept burning in his bed-chamber has smouldered out, and he resolves to shoving the note under his mattress. I will return and burn you later, he thinks, once all is sorted.

"Tutor Badhron," he calls upon re-entering the study, and immediately regrets it. Badhron is lifting his head from where he had been resting against the desk, looking as though he hasn't slept for a yen. "I-may I speak to you?"

"Oh?" His tutor shakes his head quickly, as though trying to dismiss the call of sleep. "Forgive me, my prince, but your royal father had me chasing all the records on naugrim until the small hours." He gives a weary smile. "I'm afraid all the lack of sleep and long hours studying have finally caught up with me."

Dwarves? Legolas frowns. What is his father trying to find amongst the record of naugrim? "It- it is no matter, Badhron. I- Galion requests my presence in his office."

"His office?" Badhron blinks. "Whatever for?"

Legolas shrugs, as causally as he can. "He says it is for discussion about the Mereth-en-Giliath and…and what I should wear." He tacks on the last bit desperately, searching for an excuse that seems reasonable.

It works; his stuffy tutor snorts, of all things. "Trust that fussy old ellon to worry about gowns and finery. Do you need my presence there?"

Legolas shakes his head, trying not to fidget. Time is slipping away, and he must hurry. "No, it is fine. I can manage to find my way there."

His tutor is nodding before he can finish his sentence, and rubs an eye blearily with one veiny hand. "Very good, my prince. I will wait here, until you return."

He bows, relief hammering in his heart, and quickly turns and walks as fast as he can out of the chamber without raising suspicion.

"Legolas!" A familiar voice hisses to him as he hurries through the bustling kitchens and onto the storerooms behind them.

Belathon stands just inside an open storeroom, and raises a hand to beckon to him.

"Mae govannen, Belathon." Legolas greets quickly, trying not to wrinkle his nose as he steps into the storeroom. It stinks of wild onions, and carries the earthy smell of potatoes, piles of which wait patiently at the back of the room. "I am glad-"

"Hush, little prince. Wait until I have closed the door." As soon as he is inside, the tall ellon reaches out and carefully shuts the door behind him. A single lamp illuminates their surroundings, and each other.

Legolas tries not to giggle. To think that they are plotting his escape in a room full of onions and potatoes! "It is…a strange place to meet." He says with a grin.

Belathon does not smile, and the shadows casting sharp lines across his face make all amusement in Legolas splutter and die away. "We do not have time to chat, little prince. I have only just come across a way of allowing you to have your freedom, and us our liberty, but we must be swift to act."

"Of-of course," Legolas draws himself up, tamps down the excitement that races under his skin. "I am ready to do anything, if it means I may see the forest."

Belathon's pale eyes catch his in an upward sweep. "You will see much more than just the forest, if my plans come to formation."

The ellon leans in, and his eyes flash in the gloom like an owl's, fierce and full of confidence. "How do you think you would manage being a Messenger for King Thranduil?"

A Messenger? For his father? His heart seems to stop its constant beat under his skin. "Where to?" He breathes. There are few places I can go outside of the forest that lead to places of trade!

Belathon glances about him, as though taking in the stocks about him. "To the town upon the lake."

Laketown? Disbelief coats his stomach and colours his words. "You mean- to the Men's place?"

Belathon nods quickly. "You would act as a Messenger for our king and deliver the Master of Laketown a message, and then return home. There, your father will see what you have done to aid all of us, and praise you."

Legolas cannot hear anything but the fact that he will be seeing and talking to another race. "How- how would I get there?" He knows his forest as well as any other edhel, but the only way to reach the town upon the lake is by boat-

"You follow the Forest River down to where the port of Men deliver their barrels of wine and wheat, and there a barge will take you to the Lake." Belathon must see the apprehension that Legolas feels churning inside of him, for he places a careful hand on his shoulder. "Do not fear, little prince, I will give you a map and all that you require."

His touch is steadying, roots him back to the ground. But anxiety is building in his throat, and a rush of words fall from him. "I- I just..are you sure? That I will be able to do such a thing? I don't know anything about messengers…"

"Legolas," Belathon says, and the name hangs between them, makes him pause. "You say you are no elfling, then prove it. Be brave and know that you help your people."

Legolas says nothing. It feels as though he stands upon a great precipice and peers down into the steep valley below and knows not where his feet will land, nor whether he will survive the journey down.

His fae shivers in his chest, uncertain and afraid. I am afraid, he realises, of going out into a world that does not know me, meeting races who hold no more regard for elves than they do their own.

I am not afraid of disobeying Ada, though.

That thought surprises him more than any other. Any anger he will face from his father seems inconsequential when he knows they have already exchanged such bitter words.

The still form of Belathon gives a small sigh, as though disappointed. The tiny light from the lamp casts strange patterns across his skin, as though he is the forest floor to be dappled with the shadow of leaves and lines from tree branches. His silver eyes dance and flash, like those of a wild animal.

Slowly, Belathon takes his hand from his shoulder, looks down on him with slitted eyes. "If you do not feel you are capable of such a thing, I am always able to ask another who is more confident."

If I am too much of an elfling, you mean. The thought immediately brings him to straighten his shoulders, tilt his chin up in a look he has been told is entirely the King's. No. I have chosen my path.

"I will do it." He says, and this time the words are entirely his own, his voice strong. "I will go to the Lake."

Again, Belathon does not smile, does not offer him a single look of approval. It is as though his words have made no difference to his plans, as though the very act of agreeing has no consequence to him.

But even in the gloom Legolas can see how grave his eyes are, the irises flickering like light upon a river. It is a serious matter, what they discuss. "Very well, little prince."

Silence falls between them for a moment, but not the one that makes him squirm. It is full of promise, full of a future that has Legolas in its grip and away from the darkness of his father's Halls.

And then Belathon looks to him, gesturing to the door. "Now, before we discuss this any further, let us find a more pleasant room."

Legolas smiles, ducks his gaze down to his surroundings. "Yes. I do like potatoes and onions, but not that much."

"As do I, my prince," Belathon says with ease, and swings the door open, making sure to carefully check his surroundings before exiting. He smiles, but it is shallow and completely untrue, only there to blind any who cross him.

You are pretending, Legolas realises, following the slim ellon out the door. You make it seem as though all is well and that we were simply making a joke, or having fun. A weight settles in his fae, pulls his feet to slow and stop upon the stones. If Belathon pretends now to smile, how many times has he hidden what he truly feels?

But then the Silvan is glancing behind him, back to Legolas, and his smile grows. This time Legolas watches as it touches the clear gaze, spins the pale shade of his eyes to a startling brightness. "Well, little prince? Do you follow?"

"I do," he says, and hurries to catch up to the tall figure.

A/N: I have to admit, although Belathon is really not very sensible, I do have a soft spot for him. But what do you guys think of him?

Also, I think this might be the last update for a few more days. Although I have written a fair few more chapters, I want to spend some time writing the rest, and of course editing and reviewing what I have already written.

Of course, things may change.

Until then!

Bonnygirl