A/N: And chapter 12! This one is long too, so apologies for that!
Also, just a quick head's up. This chapter does contain some form of non-consensual attempts at breaching another's mind, and making a character appear almost intoxicated. If this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please tread carefully.
Faervel does not speak as they return to their chambers, not even when Legolas questions her. She remains in what he presumes is deep contemplation, marching ahead with such speed that Legolas has to nearly trot to keep up.
He too is stunned by the announcement made by his father. Leave the forest whose Song greets him from dawn till dusk, and who soothes him when he wakes at night unable to sleep and wracked with longing to walk among her great branches and mighty boughs? Let her Song be swallowed up in shadows by that dark spirit he knows only from old tales?
His fae shivers, as though repulsed by the very thought. It is not in my blood to let the forest die. To allow a force to steal away all that is good and light- it is wrong.
He understands now why Belathon is so desperate to change things. If his father, though given council by both Lhosben and various edhil, could not understand how unnatural it was to leave the forest to a cruel and painful fate, how could he understand Belathon and many other edhil's longing to be allowed from the King's Halls?
But I will change this- won't I? By visiting the town upon the Lake, I will make sure my people will have a better life- will be able to help the forest.
And the King- the King might be proud of me.
But this desire for his father's approval- should it hold so much sway over his heart? What matters more to him- the smile of his father, or the wellbeing of his people?
It is a thought that refuses to leave him, and even with the promise of escape racing through his blood he lies awake until the first of anor's rosy fingers begin to paint the sky.
Though the entire stretch of the King's Halls is buzzing with excitement for the Mereth-en-Giliath, Legolas finds that he can hardly make himself rise from his bed. His stomach lurches as though unbalanced when he eventually persuades himself to get up. Uneasily, he grasps the bedpoles to steady himself. A slow breath in and out helps him to centre his nervous fae and brush against the Song of the forest, now tantalisingly close.
Today- that word persistently bounces around in his head and refuses him the ability to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of porridge when at breakfast- today I leave my father's Halls!
Yet more than that, he is also filled with a distinct, unusual terror. One that makes him jump at shadows, flinch at the casual touch of his aunt's hand upon his shoulder. All that night his mind had been taunting him with the thoughts of what could wrong. He imagined at last walking amongst the green fringes of the forest, only to find that Belathon had betrayed him and left him with neither map nor message. Or worse- reaching Laketown and stating his purpose only to receive silence or the refusal to take him seriously. The Leader's cold eyes seeing immediately through his disguise and declaring that you are clearly an elfling and we do not deal with children of the Elves, now go back to your King!
"You are worse than yesterday," now recovered and bright-eyed, tutor Badhron is dismayed with his inability to concentrate on more than a few sentences. "Come, Prince Legolas, what has gotten into you?"
You would not believe me if I told you, Legolas thinks. Instead, he only shakes his head, trying not to slump against his desk. "I am- just tired."
It is not quite a lie, he notes guiltily, trying in vain to quell the unease that grows in his stomach.
"Well, you are young" his tutor says resolutely, "you can easily spring back from late nights to jump right back into your lessons."
"May we-" desperate to get away from the history of Doriath, Legolas thinks quickly for another topic his tutor might humour him with, "may we look into the history of dwarves? Just for today?"
"Dwarves?" Badhron's prominent nose scrunches up as though he has smelled something horrid. "Why would you want to learn about them?"
"Because there are 13 of them in our dungeons, and I know nothing about them," Legolas responds quickly. Badhron responds best to a change in topics when he finds out that Legolas knows nothing and he himself can talk for hours upon the topic without interruption.
"Well not many do…" his tutor trails off uncertainly, glancing about him as though uncomfortable. "In truth, my prince, I do not know if I should tell you this, but they are no ordinary dwarves who your most noble father holds in his prison."
"Really?" Legolas stretches his eyes wide. He knows about Thorin Oakenshield, of course, and how he is a descendent of Durin, but otherwise nothing more.
Badhron nods. "Their leader is a dwarf of high standing among his people, whose blood travels back to the first of their line, Durin the Deathless. One could almost say that the leader has a claim to the long forgotten throne of Erebor…"
Erebor? Surprise makes him lift his head. "Do you mean the dwarf kingdom which was overtaken by a wyrm?" He was only a few summers old when it happened- truly an elfling- but the story of a great dragon descending so close to Eryn Galen was one that was spoken of ever since he was old enough to listen.
"The same," his tutor says. "But of course, he is in our prisons now, and so has no chance of escape or of reclaiming his throne. The King likes to be cautious even so, and so has had a team of scholars researching the naugrim. Has he not spoken of it to you?"
The question is meant to be harmless, but even so Legolas stiffens. His father never bothers with discussing important matters, not when with him. Not even when he asks. And now? Now he will most likely never speak to him again. "He- he does not speak of business when with us."
"Of course, a most wise decision, keeping the weighty business of Kingship and the task of fatherhood seperate." His tutor says with admiration clear in his voice. "But let me inform you- the leader of that gaggle of dwarves is none other than Thorin Oakenshield, and one whose claim to the throne of the Lonely Mountain has no equal. He says that he journeys to visit his kin, but the King thought a more prosaic task was at hand, and so, to be truthful, do I."
"You mean, he wishes to reclaim the throne? Even when the dragon may be still alive?" Were dwarves always this stubborn? How could Thorin Oakenshield wish to claim his throne when a dragon still lived? And lead a company of his fellow dwarves into danger while doing so?
"The dragon has not been seen for nigh on six and ten years, by the reckoning of mortals," Badhron says carefully. "Some suspect that it may even be dead."
"And- and what do you think?" A weight settles in his chest, one that is impossible to shake off. Even though he knows that the dwarves are safely locked away in the dungeons, that there is no hope of their escape, that the dragon either sleeps on in its mountain or lies rotting on a pile of dwarven coins, his fey blood whispers to him, warns him that it is not true- some things must come to pass-
Badhron looks at him, and his grey eyes are grave. "No true wounds were landed on the drake when it invaded the dwarven kingdom, so why would such a foul beast give itself unto death? No, my prince, I do not think it is dead. I think it only sleeps, and waits for a time to rise up again and douse the world in its fire."
The day passes achingly slow, and even with Badhron jumping from topic to topic, Legolas finds that he cannot focus or sit still. His legs jitter under him, and his heart picks up speed at even the thought of the forest. I want to run and never look back, I want to walk among trees and feel the breeze through my hair. I want to look and see only sunlight.
Eventually Badhron relents and packs up his lessons for the day, uttering the excuse that he must prepare for the feast. "The perfect robe takes a long time to choose, my prince, especially for something so glorious as the Mereth-en-Giliath. You will understand when you attend your first feast."
Legolas is all too happy to nod at his tutor's words and wave goodbye. By now, even the very thought of eating makes his stomach churn, and he paces anxiously within his chambers.
I must remember to slip away only when the signal is given, he recalls, glancing to the water-clock. And I must not tarry by the gates- as soon as they are open I must run and not look back, and stop only once I am amidst the woods. He is so nervous that when a rustle comes by his bed, he spins around and prepares to face accusations of betrayal. Of course, no one stands there, but he still feels as though he is a flighty young colt, ready to bolt at the slightest sound.
Faervel eventually comes into his rooms to prepare and get his opinion on her gowns. She tries on two beautiful gowns, one the shade of rubies and with sleeves of ebony, and the other a pale purple with trimmings of grey that make her eyes shine. They choose the purple gown, and she smiles for the first time that day.
"I hope you will not be too lonely, here in your chamber." His aunt comments as she stands by his mirror and adjusts a pretty crown of wildflowers atop her head.
Legolas swallows, pushes down the knot in his throat that tightens as every hour passes. "N-No. I will be fine, really."
"Well, you know I can return early if you wish," she says, and frowns as a flower refuses to submit to her touch.
This is exactly what he does not want. Legolas summons his courage, and offers her an encouraging smile. "It is fine, aunt. You should enjoy tonight. I will be fine- I've decided to help Maeasson down in the kitchens with dessert, if I get too bored."
"Oh, alright." Faervel doesn't even look at him. "Just keep out of the way of his knives…"
A knock comes at the door, startling both Legolas and his aunt. "Laeslas, Lady Faervel? It is Lhosbend."
Legolas opens the wooden door, and is greeted by the sight of the fair-haired ellon dressed in- Purple?
"You look…bright," Legolas offers, and the tension in his stomach melts as Lhosbend shoots him a scowl, colour beginning to creep up his throat. He wears a purple robe, trimmed with gold to match his pale hair, and looks as though he could attract every bee within the Kingdom.
"Yes, I know, I look ridiculous, no need to rub it in. Is your Lady Aunt nearly ready?"
"Faervel?" What does Lhosbend want with his aunt?
"Yes, the same." Lhosbend rolls his eyes, and explains in a rush of embarrassed words. "Naneth wanted me to make sure that she did not go unescorted to the feast…and happened to find out what she would be wearing. She wouldn't take no for an answer."
Legolas grins at the thought of tiny Emlinel forcing her son to wear the monstrosity of gown. "Well, at least you won't be lost in the crowd."
"Shut up, orch!"
His aunt soon appears, and greets Lhosbend only with a raised eyebrow. With a distracted pat to his shoulder, she says goodbye to Legolas and allows the golden-haired ellon to walk her towards the feast.
Legolas watches them go, his fae aching. Will this be the last time I see you? He wonders as the heather-shaded figures turn the corner and vanish from his sight. Will you be glad to see me come home, or furious?
The thought of his aunt's fury leaves him not just anxious and eager for the night's events, but also guilty. Faervel, who has shared his every moment, watched him walk and caught him when he fell, has no knowledge of the secret- the betrayal- he keeps close to him. She has no idea that he will soon be escaping the Halls and leaving her watchful eye.
But then- won't she be proud? To see me deliver a message and return triumphant? The thought does not console him, nor soothe the guilt that itches under his skin. So he instead turns his mind to what lies ahead.
Soon, he thinks, returning to his chambers and falling down upon his bed. Soon, I will be in the forest and walking into the golden light of autumn and then onto the river- and then to the town of Men and…and…
"Laeslas?"
Even amongst the unexpected melody of sleep, Legolas knows that voice. Eyes clearing, he bolts upright on his bed and looks to the direction of the voice.
His father stands by the doorway.
"Ada?" He croaks, unable to believe both that he actually fell asleep and that it is his father who stands before him. "What- what are you doing here?"
Ada takes a step into the room, as though he is hesitant- hesitant!- and his grey eyes are brighter than Legolas has seen them for days. "I wished to check on you, before I went to the feast. Are you well?"
For some strange reason, or perhaps because sleep still clings to his bones and slows his mind, Legolas does not mind that his father's silvery form stands before him. The pain of their argument only prickles against his mind, as though it were seasons ago.
"I am well," he says, and oh- he feels as though he is swimming in light and warmth, he can hardly move.
"Are you well?" He asks, the question slipping out of him before he can stop himself. Strangely, it does not bother him as it usually would.
"I- I mean," he tries to find his tongue, and flushes when he cannot. "Only- you have been pale of late…"
Ada does not smile, but his eyes grow warm. "I am well now. I only wish that I could fix what has passed between us."
He stands very close now, almost near enough to touch. This close, Legolas' fae is crying out for joy, leaping within his chest, and their bond thrums happily, welcoming the familiar warmth of his father's mind.
"It-" he tries to remember what made him so angry, but he is floating and happy under the light of his father's eyes. Why look back to memories that are painful?
"I don't…" he offers up a sloppy smile at the shining figure, apologetic. "I can't seem to remember… but it does not matter. You are here now."
Legolas is fairly certain that if Ada allowed it, if he but leaned a little closer, he would happily fall asleep in his arms.
"I am here," Ada says gently, and pale fingers brush Legolas' cheek. The touch is beyond gentle- it is the brush of feathers on his skin, and it makes him want to speak, apologise.
"I-" his tongue is clumsy, heavy in his mouth, and he smiles at it. "I am- I didn't mean to…"
Ada shakes his head. "It is no matter now. But… won't you tell me what troubles you?"
Trouble? What troubles me? Legolas smiles easily; he feels as though one puff of air could cast him up into the air, or straight into his father's gaze. All of the anger he has held close to him has disappeared, drawn out of him like the sting of a bee. "Nothing troubles me," he says easily. "Nothing…"
His father's gaze sharpens, and the brush of his fingers is no longer so soft. It turns into a firm press of hard digits on his cheeks, digging in until they reach his cheekbones. It does not quite hurt, but it is uncomfortable.
"Won't you let me see?" Ada presses, and he is so close now- Legolas can feel the heat of his gaze sweeping across his face, searching-
Why did he have to make such a fuss over words said days ago? Why was he so troubled? Why was he so focused on that ellon with silver eyes-
It is as though he has been plunged into cold water, for Legolas jolts and blinks.
Ada- his father- stands before him. More than that- he has a hand on his cheek, and his brows are furrowed and eyes focused.
"Ada?" Shock colours his voice. What is he doing here? Why does he touch him? Doesn't he know that Legolas does not want to ever see him again?
Ada leans back as though struck; the hand on his cheek lifts immediately, draws away, back into the folds of the silver robe. Before his very eyes, he lifts his chin and becomes a King. "Laeslas."
What- his limbs are like honey, or slow moving vines. Even when he moves to stand he trembles as though he has been afloat, but the hurt rushing back into his chest is his own. "What are you doing here?"
The pain in his voice must be clear, for Ada draws back, just a tiny step. His grey eyes flicker with something close to shock. "I wished to visit you, before I went to the feast."
"Why?" He is trembling like a startled rabbit; something is wrong, but he cannot tell what.
The King shakes his crowned head of autumn leaves and bright red berries. "It is of no matter now. I wish you a good eve, and will see you tomorrow at breakfast."
And then without another look back, he turns and strides from Legolas' chamber, the sweep of silk and rustle of clothing the only sound upon the cold stones.
Legolas is left behind, bereft and confused. His fae aches fiercely as though struck, and his mind beats against his skull.
What has happened? What did I do? And- Ai! Belathon! It all rushes back to him; frantically, he whips around to stare at the water-clock. Relief makes him sag back down on his bed bonelessly. It is not yet of the 10th hour. He has not missed the signal.
But what is more pressing- what was his father doing in his chambers? And why- how- had he fallen asleep so easily?
A terrible suspicion taps against his mind, demands consideration. Could- could it be that Ada had used some of his powers to put a sort of spell on him?
No; the very thought makes his whole body shake. Even though things between them are tense and uncomfortable, he cannot imagine his father doing such a thing- there was no reason to do that!
Unless, whispers a tiny voice, he suspects something between you and Belathon. Then he would have more than enough motivation to put a spell on you. Or even try and enter your mind.
Horror rushes into him so rapidly that he nearly collapses back against his bed. No! Ada is strong and his magic powerful, his mind even more so, but Legolas knows him, trusts him- He wouldn't do that. He couldn't do that. Not to me- not to one of his own children…
It goes against everything he has been told. It is not true.
Legolas shakes his head, and pushes the thought from his mind. Whatever happened, he knows Ada. He would never push aside Legolas' defences and try to scry his thoughts; to see into the whispered words between him and Belathon.
That's just not what fathers do, he consoles himself. A true father would never…
But he isn't just a father, that hateful little voice whispers again. He is a King, and Kings above all protect their people. Even if it means breaking the trust of their children.
His head and heart aching, Legolas tucks his knees up against his chest and waits for the hours to pass him by.
A/N: We're getting real close to when Legolas will finally leave the Halls, people! Stay tuned!
Also I understand that what Thranduil attempted to do may seem very OOC for some of you readers; I too found it difficult to write, however it was a scene that would not leave my head. He is ultimately aware that something is going on with Legolas, and suspects Belathon's involvement. Knowing this, and being aware that Belathon isn't exactly eager to follow his rule, he decides to push the line and unfortunately in doing so breaches his son's trust. At this point in the narrative, Thranduil is very much a King and less-so a good father, and will eventually realise what he has done wrong, and what he needs to change. It will just take a little while.
xxx