A/N: Hello again! Here is Chapter 10- I've been busy editing all the other chapters, so apologies if this isn't quite up to my usual quality.

xxx

The set of rooms Belathon leads him down are ones that Legolas has never visited. They are in the eastern part of the King's Halls, and much like the rest of the kingdom, the snug little rooms are hewn into the living stone. Each contain enough space to support a desk, bookshelf, wardrobe and at one corner, a bed.

"This is my room," Belathon says with a wave of his hand, striding into a pleasant, if messy, room with books strewn all across the desk.

Legolas is surprised; he never imagined the well-spoken ellon to be so untidy when in such small quarters. The hard-backed books even pile up on the bookshelf, and on his bed!

"Please excuse the mess- I did not plan on having royalty over." His tone is dry, but Legolas grins.

"It is well- my sister Annith is not tidy at all; her room can be disgustingly messy. This is nothing."

"Ah, yes, Lady Annith." Something crosses Belathon's face so quickly that Legolas cannot discern it. "A fiercer elleth I have not yet met."

His sister, fierce? Legolas knows she is a brilliant fighter, but to him she is just his sister, funny and bright and prone to laughing at improper moments. "I suppose she is that," he admits, "being the Captain of the Guard."

Belathon only hums, and reshuffles a pile of books so that he may lean against his desk. "Now, onto business. I must give you the logistics of my plan, for else how will you know when to leave your rooms, or which door to take that will lead you from these Halls?"

The corner of his lips rise, but it isn't a nice smile. More expectant. As though waiting for him to protest again that he isn't an elfling. Legolas presses his lips together and waits.

Slowly, one dark eyebrow raises, and with a look to him, Belathon unravels his plan.

He will leave during the Mereth-en-Giliath, that much is pressed into him. For otherwise there is no chance of him sneaking past guards who answer directly to the King. Who will stop all, even an elfling- "especially the King's elfling" quips the Silvan- who dares to try and breach the Halls.

At the feast, Belathon explains, there will be Dorwinion and plenty of food, and that will leave all attendants sluggish and full, and even the guards will relax. Surely then the King's magic will ease enough so that he may overlook a slight break in his security as something his mind brings up.

This sits ill with Legolas, despite the fact that he and his father have not spoken since their fight, and how just the memory of their angry words still causes pain to rise up in his chest. To think of his father as- as weakened, even by wine, brings his fae to shiver and pull. Even at his most exhausted, the King has never been anything but alert and aware of all which goes on within his Realm.

Belathon does not care, or maybe he simply does not see the indecision that roils within Legolas' rhaw. He carries on, draws out a map which displays the entirety of Eryn Galen, and the King's Halls.

Once Legolas has left the Halls equipped with the necessary clothes and message for the leader of Laketown, he will exit via the King's Gates, or if that fails, the western door which leads out onto the Forest River. If the former, Legolas will trek through the forest until he reaches the river, and from there will travel downstream where he will meet a Man and be taken to Laketown, where he will then give his message. If the latter, Legolas will not have to cut through the forest, but instead continue on walking downstream, but avoid the guards who stand at the Water Wall and are in charge of the barrels which return downstream.

Once in Laketown, Legolas will meet with the leader of the Lake- the Master- and give his message. He will stay the night, if hosted well, and then return once the trade has been settled.

"Then, and only then", Belathon impresses, gaze flickering up as though making sure Legolas still listens "may you return to the King's Halls. Once you do, however, you shall be met with joy and pride."

"It-" unease makes his stomach turn, his rhaw shiver as though he wishes to run. As eager as he is to feel the Song of the forest about him, he is also aware that he has never had such expectations on him before today. "It is a lot to remember."

I knew the cost for my freedom would be steep, he thinks, but I do not know if I am ready to pay it.

It is the wrong thing to say, for rather than reassure him, the calm-faced ellon draws back and looks upon him with a curved half-smile. The pull of lips shows only a glimmer of teeth, but they flash at him in warning. "Do you wish for me to draw out a list for you, or hold your hand?"

Legolas immediately flushes, embarrassed by how easily he sounds like an elfling. More than that, he does not like how Belathon looks at him, as though he is not worth a moment of his time.

"No!" He protests, uncurls his fists. "No, I will remember."

"That is all I ask," the Silvan says, and again there is an undercurrent in his voice that suggests he finds Legolas amusing- childish- petty.

"Now," Belathon sweeps on, "I have managed to snatch a Messenger's outfit, but I will have to get it tailored down for your measurements. You are quite gangly."

"Do we have enough time?" Legolas tamps down on the flare of irritation he feels swarming like an angry nest of bees within his chest. The feast is tomorrow, and he knows how particular some of the seamstresses and tailors can be with making sure their designs are just-so.

Once, when he was small, he remembers Ada having to wait nearly two summers- No. He pushes that memory away, trying to quickly staunch the wave of pain which rises in him.

"I suspect so," the ellon turns to his books, runs a finger down the spine of one of them, "if we pay them well enough. Don't worry, I have enough stored away to pay for it."

Abruptly, his brother's voice speaks angrily into his ear. "He looks only to gather more wealth in his pocket!"

Does Belathon seek to gain wealth? Though Legolas has only ever heard him speak of helping his people, the call of coin and jewels is one that even the wisest of his people struggle to resist. He casts an uncertain look over the tall ellon. He is fair, and his brow wide and expressive; every movement he makes is as the rippling of a stream, or the easy sway of tree branches. Could it be possible that he suffers from the song of greed?

Resolution settles in his chest. No- never in all of his speeches, nor in the way he has spoken to him, has the Silvan ever given a hint that he desires riches above the safety and prosperity of their people. Lhosben has been wrong before, he reminds himself, and so he must be now. It does no good for me to think on this; not when Belathon has put so much faith in my leaving the Halls.

"So?" Belathon raises his dark head, catches his gaze. "Is the little prince satisfied with what I have planned?"

Though a small part of him bristles at being called such a diminutive name, Legolas nods. "Yes. But- the clothes will arrive tomorrow eve, in a satchel?"

The Silvan gives a curt nod, his jaw muscles flexing as he looks to the door. "Correct. I will place a map within, and of course the message you are to deliver."

The map to lead me through the forest! The world grows bright around him, and he feels as though light has at last broken through the stone walls and spins the world to pure sunlight. He sees the forest stretched before him, her red and gold branches bobbing and creaking as he passes by. Underfoot, the fallen leaves crunch and soften his footprints so that he is near floating. He has no fear in his heart; his fae pulses and dances as though it is a part of the great Song of the forest, and the branches tickle his skin as he passes, urging him to stay-

"-Legolas? Do you hear me?"

He blinks, and the light filters away until he is again left in the room, surrounded only by small speckles of light and shadows pressing in on him. "Sorry."

A look of impatience crosses Belathon's face, tightens his jaw. "I was only saying that you ought to leave, if you wish to remain in the good graces of your tutor."

Badhron! Alarm races through him, makes his blood freeze. Hopefully his tutor has been asleep the entirety he has been away, and has not yet noted how long he has been away for. "Yes, that would be a good idea."

Belathon escorts him from his room and they begin to head back towards the royal wing of the Halls. But something halts them- the entire cavern is drenched in silence.

"What has happened?" Legolas questions one of Maeasson's fair-haired apprentices as he and Belathon stop by the kitchens. Anxiety makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he feels as though he stands directly beneath a stormcloud and awaits the deadly strike of lightening.

The elleth shakes her golden head, and gestures out to the centre of the cave with a spatular, where the throne of the King lies. "The King has been interrogating the leader of the naugrim- it does not go well."

And then- Legolas hears it. That deep, rumbling voice which is distinctly of stone and earth and jewels, now speaks and- and shames his father before his entire Kingdom!

"-would not trust Thranduil, the great King, to honour his word should the end of all days be upon us! You lack all honour!"

"Eru Above," someone hisses behind him, "does that dwarf have no shame?"

"He must know that all hear him," Belathon says quietly, his eyes glittering with a light that Legolas does not understand.

Mortification spreads up Legolas' cheeks as the furious voice continues to slander the King, relentless, heedless of the fury his father no doubt bears upon his face.

"- turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people, and the inferno that destroyed us! Imrid amrâd ursul!"

While no one within the Halls understands the dwarven tongue, Legolas feels his ears burn all the same.

"Well!" Huffs a growling voice; it Maessaon, and his cheeks are lit as though he stands beside his brazier. "We all knew those hairy little naugrim had no manners, and now their leader proves it! Tolo, you three. This feast will not cook itself."

"But to speak so to our King-" one ellon turns to his master, eyes narrowed in anger. "I ought to run that little creature through with my knife, teach him what it is to slander Thranduil Aran before his people!"

Even though their bond wavers, lies untouched for days, there comes a rise of rage from his father, as though he is a predator with an unslakable urge for blood-

The angry clatter of a fresh pan of roasted vegetables falling upon the bench-tops pulls him away from the burning anger which twists his fae.

Maeasson glowers at his apprentice. "Ai, and what would that accomplish? Are we not supposed to be the wiser race, the one Eru Himself granted with long life and longer patience? Let the King sort out that creature- he is not one to abide such words being flung at him."

"Tolo, Legolas. We must return" A touch from Belathon to his shoulder urges him onward, away from the kitchens. The Silvan leaves him once they reach the royal chambers, hesitating before the turn in the corridor, ever cautious not to be seen by the guards who stand at attention at each door. His eyes turn clear as water in the weak sunlight, but his glance is full of meaning.

Butterflies fill Legolas' stomach as he makes his way back to his study, nodding carefully at the guards who stand there. Tomorrow, in less than the time it takes for anor to cycle the sky, I will be out in the forest!

"I have returned, Badhron," he calls, stepping into the study. The figure who rises from the desk is not his wise tutor.

"Ah, Legolas," Lhosben gives him a tentative smile. He is dressed in a silver and white tunic and soft leather boots, clothing he would wear only around his family. A silver circlet pressing into his dusky brow is the only sign of formality.

Even so, Legolas' step falters from surprise. "B-Brother," he immediately gives a bow, mind racing. What is he doing here, in my chambers? Has Badhron said something to him about my leaving to visit Galion? "I did not expect to see you here…"

"Yes, well," Lhosben's eyes are warm, the dark irises gleaming under heavy black lashes. "I hope it is not an inconvenience to send away Badhron, but I wished to speak with you."

"Now?" Legolas cannot stop himself from glancing about him, his skin prickling under the considerably warmer gaze of the Crown Prince. It isn't like Lhosben to chase his tutor away when he knows Legolas is in his lessons.

Lhosben steps away from the desk, moves towards him. "Yes, Laes. I- I heard from Adar that you and him had… a spat of sorts, yester-eve, and wanted to see if you were well."

A spat? A swirling mix of anger and humiliation rises to Legolas' cheeks. "I am fine, Lhosben, truly." The words are stiff in his mouth, like splintered wood.

Ada's furious voice slams against his fae, and fissures of pain run down his rhaw like ice cracking and splitting under a heavy sun. "You will stay here and wait out your years as all elflings must"

"I do not wish to speak of it," he says, and there is an edge in his voice that he cannot hide.

The dusky face of his brother softens, full lips pressing down into a pained line. "Laes…It is hard, having Adar speak so harshly- I have known it also, as has Annith and Aeglostor. But it does not bode well for you, or others, to dwell on what has been said."

Anger rises in him as swiftly as storm clouds rolling over a hill. "How can I not?" He protests, and to his mortification his voice trembles under the words. "He- He does not listen-"

Lhosben raises a hand in objection. "No, Legolas, be assured that he does. It is harder than you think, being both a King and a father. Sometimes those roles intermingle until he cannot differentiate between which is needed."

He just wants me to feel sorry for him, Legolas thinks bitterly. So that I may forgive and go on, as though I am not as trapped as those naugrim in the dungeons below! He pushes these thoughts back, wary of letting them spill out into the air where Lhosben will hear and surely grow angry.

"I do not wish to speak of it any more, Lhosben. Please- let it be."

Something in his face must bring Lhosben to pause, for his slim hand lowers, and the dark head nods slowly. "Very well. But- Legolas…"

The sound of his name in his brother's quiet tones causes him to lift his head up, wait. For the first time he takes in the figure of his brother, and sees the shadows beginning to darken the soft space under his eyes. He is miserable with our fighting, Legolas realises, and the first tendrils of guilt rise up in his chest and press at their bond, demanding to be seen. And all because I cannot find any happiness in staying here.

"If- if you are troubled," Lhosben says softly, and their bond sings quietly as for a brief moment he allows Legolas to press close to his steady, calm fae. "Please- do not think I will not gladly listen, or help you to try and settle your pain."

I will be giving all of this up, if I leave. Even if it is only for a brief moment within my many years, I do not want to cause him pain.

Gently, though his own fae cries out angrily at the action, he pulls away from the soothing touch of his brother's spirit. "Thank you, brother, but I already have Faervel."

He drops his gaze, not quite able to bear the weight of that penetrating dark glance, looks to the far wall which is now beginning to dapple with afternoon-heavy light. It is the forest I want, the light that I wish to feel upon my face, and I will soon have them both.

Lhosben shifts, leans against his desk as though uneasy with the sudden fall of silence. "I must confess that I did not come here just on the basis of seeing if you were well. Adar- well, he has asked me to inform you that your presence is required at tonight's dinner."

Horror rushes through him, and he immediately takes a step towards the lithe figure. "What? No! I cannot see him- we- we still- I don't think he will even want to look at me!" Not after what I said about Aeglostor…

Lhosben is heedless. "That is why I want you to try and put your angry words behind you- so we may have a dinner that does not dissolve into tears, or fury. You must attend," he says firmly when Legolas opens his mouth to beg an excuse- to say no I cannot- you do not fully understand-

"Lhosben!" His voice rises, matches the rush of emotions he can feel writhing in his fae, "please- I know I will not be-"

He snaps his mouth shut just as the words attending the Mereth-en-Giliath are about to leave his mouth. Eru!

Lhosben's dark eyes narrow, this time in irritation. He does not seem to notice his sudden silence, nor the flush climbing up his throat. "No, Legolas. He wishes to speak to all of us tonight, and that means you also."

Grinding his teeth together, Legolas paces across the floor. His boots scuffle against the cold stones, add to the rush of sound. "I- do you know if he will want to speak to me?"

It is a foolish, childish question- of course his father will want to speak to him! But then- the memory of how cold, how remote, his father had looked rises in front of his eyes. Perhaps- if he is quiet, and avoids his gaze, his father will not look to him or prod him with questions.

"-I presume he will, Laes, else why would he order you to attend the dinner after such a scene transpired between you both?"

A flinch runs down his back. Yes- being forced to sit in front of his father will be excruciating. But what is worse is that he will have to do so with Belathon's plan for escape pressing against his mind, the slow trickle of time beating in his chest. One tiny slip could so easily reveal the treachery he has involved himself in, and his father will not be in any mood to accomodate his excuses. His fury- well, it might just shake the very stones of their Halls to their core.

Eru, I must be careful. His pacing slows until he stands once more before his brother.

"I am sorry, Laes, I truly am. But there is nothing I can do to dissuade him."

The air pools in his lungs, eases the anxiety that jitters in his bones. "No, it isn't your fault," he allows. I just have to keep quiet at dinner, not allow anything to stir me.

The clear gaze of his brother travels to the entrance of his study. "Now, tithen muindor, forgive me but I must return to Emlinel. She needs my help sorting through some several dozen scrolls."

"Scrolls?" Legolas walks with his brother to the doorway, pauses there.

Lhosben gives a grimace. "On naugrim and the line of Durin. It is exhausting."

Badhron had been looking for the same thing! He recalls. And then- Durin! Thorin Oakenshield was of the line of Durin. That is why his name had been so tantalisingly familiar.

So his father had not just any random group of dwarves in his dungeons, but one whose line descended from Aule Maker of Hammers and Guard of Forges himself!

Tentatively, for he never knows if he will receive an answer on private information, he asks, "what are you looking for, exactly?"

Lhosben gives him an unreadable look. "I am afraid Adar would not wish me to say, not even to you. He has only entrusted the best scholars to involve themselves in research, and as such I must return to it."

"Oh," as expected, Lhosben avoids the subject. Legolas looks to the corridor, the emptiness of the rooms, and it sends an ache through him. "I- I suppose I will see you at dinner."

His brother places a hand on his shoulder. The touch is soft and not completely unwelcome, and lasts only a heartbeat. "You will. Until then, enjoy having a break."

"What?" Legolas eyes his brother as he begins to walk back to his chambers. "What about my lesson with Badhron?"

The easy stride of his brother halts as Lhosben turns to glance back. In the weak light of the afternoon, one side of his face is painted to show his full lips curled up at the edges. "I believe he has retired early to rest."

Warmth makes his chest swell. His brother has put aside a few sweet, uninterrupted hours for him to spend as he wishes.

"Le fael, muindor." He calls, but Lhosben only raises a hand before turning into his own chambers. The wooden door swings closed with a quiet thud, and Legolas is left alone.

A/N: I hope that was alright- next chapter, and the one following, is where the drama really begins to build.

Sindarin: Le fael- my thanks

Muindor- brother

Laes- baby

Naugrim- dwarves

Fae- spirit

Rhaw- body