Chapter Seven: Rising Darkness

The setting sun seemed to set the very leaves ablaze for the days were growing shorter and night came earlier. Legolas glanced out of the frost rimed windows. He moved gingerly, wriggling free of the linen restraints with difficulty. A muffled groan threatened to tear itself from his raw throat but the prince kept his lips tightly clenched as he stood on trembling legs.

He staggered over to the basin of water and washed his back as best he could. The fresh cuts stung as he cleansed them and he bit his lip until he nearly tasted blood to keep from crying out. He absently watched the red water swirl away through the small hole in the basin as he tied his tangled hair back from his flushed face and carefully slipped into a clean linen shirt, wincing as the rough spun wool chafed against his tender back. He paused as he glanced down at the ruined tunic at his feet and shook his head. He paced with difficulty to his bedroom door, relieved to find it unlocked.

The young prince buttoned his tunic hastily and padded out into the silent hallway. Servants passed him on their way to the dining hall for supper as he paced past the kitchens. He paused at a great oaken door beside the library; the door was ajar.

He edged around the doorway and peered into his fatherÂ’s study, feeling somewhat like an intruder. This was one of the few rooms he was not allowed to enter without special permission for Thranduil kept it meticulously neat.

The woodland King was hunched busily over a pile of papers, his hands ink stained with many hours of long and tedious work. He looked tired, Legolas noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil caught a glimpse of gold and, glancing sideways, saw his son standing hesitantly in the doorway. Welcoming the distraction, Thranduil set down his quill and motioned his son into the room.

“Come in, ion-nín! I was just thinking of taking a break for supper.” Legolas slid into the room and seated himself beside his father in a cushioned armchair. He looked around at the study in fascination- his father was a collector of many things, much to his mother’s annoyance.

The study was opulent but not superciliously so. Though the walls were stone, they had been intricately carved with gold-gilded embellishments like to the entwining of great tree vines. A living vine crawled up the west wall and beautiful purple flowers bloomed within, lighting the air with a heady, fragrant aroma. On a cold, autumn night such as tonight, a flickering fire blazed where a soot-stained rug draped the hearth.

A large shelf stood against another wall, jumbled high with books, manuscripts, histories of forgotten civilizationsÂ… and all manner of interesting and potentially dangerous artifacts cluttered together in no particular order. A magnificent sword hung over the mantle, the very same one that Thranduil had borne to war in the days of the Last Alliance, long since collecting dust.

It was a room fit for a king, Legolas supposed. And only Thranduil knew exactly where everything was in his study; the servants had long ago given up trying to clean in there because of the temper tantrum he would throw if even the slightest thing were misplaced.

“What is on your mind, ion-nín?” his father asked, catching his son’s faraway gaze. Legolas merely shook his head and looked down at his hands.

“Nothing, Ada. I was just wondering what you were doing…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t come here for a reason, exactly. His father was always preoccupied with some thing or another… but he, Legolas, needed a comforting presence at the moment.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair and stretched his aching arms behind his back with an audible popping of joints. He sighed deeply and shook his right hand irritably which had cramped up with the long hours of writing. Once again, he cursed his brother-in-lawÂ’s lack of cooperation with the paperwork. But, as had become irritatingly regular over the past few weeks, Ainan was nowhere to be seen- always claiming he had some important affair to keep an eye on. Whatever that was, Thranduil had not had the time to find out.

“Well, I was thinking that after a long day of work, I’d be able to sit down for a well-deserved dinner with my wife and son. How does that sound?” Legolas smiled slightly as his own stomach rumbled with hunger.

“Will you tell stories, Ada?” he asked eagerly. The King delighted in an audience and would usually, if the weather permitted, sit in the warm music hall and any who cared to listen would sit before the fire as their lord sovereign spun tales of the glory days long into the night. Those times were some of Legolas’ fondest memories: lightly dozing in his mother’s arms as he listened to the sounds of his father’s deep tenor voice.

Thranduil smiled, delighted with his sonÂ’s enthusiasm.

“If my time allows it, I certainly will.” He stood and stretched again. “But what say you to dinner first?” To this, Legolas readily agreed and the two set off for the dining hall where Anariel met her husband and son with a kiss on their cheeks. Legolas walked between his father and mother as Ainan fell into step beside them, appearing silently and unexpectedly from out of the shadows. He greeted both monarchs graciously and with a slight smile to Legolas that sent an uncomfortable shiver down the boy’s spine. But when questioned on where he had been, Ainan merely shrugged it away with a vague reply.

Any guests or those attending to the castle were invited to sit at the table- family, friends, guardsmen- all sat upon the long table extending through most of the dining hall. Legolas waved to his friends Lóthmir and Rinniad who sat beside their respective fathers in the guard and absently glanced at the green tapestries of old battles and feasts that draped the walls before his gaze returned to the head of the table.

Telas sat beside his son, Serkë, and they both inclined their heads to him as he took a seat beside his mother. The atmosphere was pleasantly relaxed and calm and Legolas breathed deeply for the first time in what felt like a long while. The painful anxiety in his stomach had evaporated as hunger took its place.

The servants soon set the board before them and Legolas hastily dug into the smoked venison and steaming vegetables placed before him. His gaze wandered down the length of the table as he ate to where four elves sat, chatting amiably amongst themselves. Haldir caught his eye and waved. The young prince smiled slightly and returned it.

A bejeweled hand dropped on his shoulder and Legolas shuddered inwardly as Ainan bent close so that his lips nearly brushed the young one’s ear.

“I would speak with you after dinner, nephew.” A warning squeeze, pressing on bruised flesh, and then he was gone.

His appetite thoroughly dissolved, Legolas pushed his plate away from him and slumped in his seat but he did not rise. Here, in the presence of his family at least, he was safe. He could sense Telas’ eyes on him from across the hall, watching him like a hawk, but Legolas did not raise his gaze from the white tablecloth. Ainan’s remonstrance from the day before stung still for the councilor’s treachery had gotten him into terrible trouble after he had sworn he would not tell his uncle or father about his fight with Nárvenien some weeks before.

Inevitably, the servants swept the remains of the meal away and Thranduil rose, inviting all who wished to adjourn to the music hall for tales and songs. Many readily agreed and processed off towards the hall, following after the King arm in arm with his Queen. Legolas rose quickly to follow but a vise like hand descended on his shoulder and he froze.

“You are too old to listen to such stories, Legolas,” Ainan chided lightly, his grip on the boy’s shoulder tightening. He moved to steer the young prince away from the rapidly filling hall when a voice cut through the general confusion.

“Legolas! I would speak with you a moment!” Telas rose, calling after him. Ainan abruptly released him as the councilor accosted them. The young prince did not turn.

“I cannot stay, Telas.” The councilor frowned.

“It should not take but a moment, my prince. I-”

“Why did you speak when you told me you would not?” Legolas asked softly, his gaze searching the other’s. Telas frowned in confusion.

“I do not understand.” Legolas sighed irritably.

“You said to me that you would not speak to my father of- of my fight with Nárvenien.” Telas shook his head vehemently.

“I never said a word, Legolas.” But the young prince would not hear it, his mind unwilling to absorb anything as he knew his uncle would be watching him from the shadows. Fear propelled him into haste and he darted down the hall before the councilor could question him further. A dark room at the end of the hall yawned on his left. He darted through the doorway, shrouded in darkness away from where the light sliced through a crack in the door.

He waited but he knew not for what. The corridor was silent around him and he backed slowly away from the door, exploring the room that he did not recognize in the dark. The tiny sliver of light illuminated the space directly in front of him. He pulled back with a strangled cry as familiar silver-blue eyes stared down at him. He threw the door open wide and stumbled out of it, striking against the far wall.

When Ainan did not appear from the doorway though; he paused. Slowly with shaking legs, he stepped forward and eased through the door again, his heart thumping in his chest. It was too dark to see

Legolas looked up and took a torch from the light limned corridor. Mustering his courage, he stepped into the room again, the torch raised before him.

It was a long, low-ceilinged room that Legolas had not known had been here which was odd because he thought he knew every part of the castle after having lived in it all of his life. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows dancing across the walls as Legolas looked around. Portraits adorned the walls; ones he had never seen before.

The room was ill-used and looked as though it had not been set foot in for ages. Dust lay thick upon the books nearly falling apart on their shelves. But the room was unfurnished save for the bookcase and a table upon which an old candelabrum rested draped with cobwebs and the candles long since dripped away. It was odd.

And yet the door had not been locked for Legolas had found easy passage through. He lifted his light a little, his gaze falling first on the leather bound book lying upon the worn wooden table that commanded the spot in the middle of the room. Puzzled and curious, Legolas lifted the cover and bent over the text, narrowing his eyes against the dim light in order to discern the slanted, spidery handwriting.

The page he had opened it to was dated two thousand years ago.

Father has agreed to send troops to strengthen ThranduilÂ’s army traveling to aid King Gil-galad. I fear they will not return- such a cause is doomed. How can they hope to fight the Dark Lord with Men- those craven who would run at the sight of any orc? Their kings are barbarians and will soon be swept away like so much dust on the wind. There is no hope for them. I myself have elected to remain behind to watch over my fatherÂ’s kingdom until he should return.

And if he should notÂ…

However, I will not speak of such things until they are proven true. My sister is anxious for her wedding. Father certainly agrees that such an alliance will strengthen our kingdom. Ours, he says. I donÂ’t believe Oropher or Thranduil will easily release their holdings. Unless the war should prove ill.

The darkness is deepening in the mountainsÂ…

Legolas flipped ahead, skimming through the pages. He caught only snatches and glimpses of words.

Father deadÂ… warÂ…

Â…refugeesÂ…

Thranduil has claimed himself King of MirkwoodÂ…

The next entry he found was dated almost four hundred years ago.

Tonight, the words read in the ancient Tengwar writing, I will not forget this- this insult! My hand is shaking almost too much to write. How dare he offer me such! Thranduil has overstepped his bounds for the last time. I will not be shunted aside so easily. Mirkwood belonged to my father! Not Thranduil! I was fortunate enough that at least Oropher perished in the Last Alliance. I was not so fortunate with his son.

I will leave tonight. I cannot stand staying here. My sister will remain- for one reason or another, she will not tell me why. But I will not forget this. Never.

Soon. I will get my revenge.

Soon.

Legolas flipped through the journal, a slow feeling of horror edging through his heart. This was his uncleÂ’s journal. But, what was it all about? He squinted against the dim light, narrowing his eyes at the last, blotted line on the last page.

Finally, I will get my revenge.

The journal ended there with nothing but blank pages to follow. Legolas pulled away, shaking his head slowly in confusion. Nothing made sense. Stretched out next to the journal beside an unlit lamp, was a map. Legolas leaned over it and realized with a slight shock that it was a map of the castle.

The barracks of the guardÂ… the archery groundsÂ… the practice fields and gardens and, of course, the grand palace itself- all in wondrous and perfect detail. There were also some hallways and passages that Legolas did not recognize- ones that led beneath even the lowest dungeons and wine cellars. He bent closer to it, curiosity and wonderment bubbling through him. He looked away from the map and raised the torch higher to peer at the portraits and gasped aloud in amazement, nearly dropping his light.

There were several portraits lining the wall across from the bookcase. The one before him was a thick, oil painting in exquisite artistry. This picture leaned against the far wall, nearly out of sight. The faces in this picture were unmistakable for they mirrored his own.

The portrait of a smiling Thranduil with Anariel wrapped in his arms, their golden hair entwining and the deep green and white betrothal robes contrasting one another was beautiful. He had never seen his mother so happy with a blue rose jewel resting against her heart and her eyes full of love and adoration.

However, Legolas squinted closer. His father lookedÂ… disfigured somehow- incomplete. Then he realized that a strip of dusty canvas had been torn from the picture and lay in a corner. Legolas bent and carefully picked it up, catching a glimpse of it before it crumbled in his hands.

His fatherÂ’s face.

Legolas felt a slight twinge of a feeling he could not recognize in his gut as he looked up at the other portrait hanging upon the wall.

Two figures stood in this one, captured in a perfect moment of time long ago. A rain-washed green garden, it looked like, though it was difficult to tell through the ravages time had wrought. But the facesÂ…

Anariel smiled down at him, her blue eyes bright and shining- the artist had even captured the flowing gold of her hair lifting in an autumn breeze. She sat with her delicate white hands wrapped around a swing of laurel as she sat upon a small white wood seat. The young prince almost didn’t recognize his mother- she looked so young and contented and happy. A blue rose jewel hung at her throat- the same in the betrothal picture Behind her, stood Ainan.

Laughing silver-blue eyes sparkled with what Legolas supposed would have been joy had it been on any other face but his uncleÂ’s. Legolas looked up in shock at his uncle’s smiling and handsome features. He looked… happy with his hand resting gently on his younger sister’s shoulder.

It was nearly impossible to reconcile the happy, contented image of Ainan in the portrait with the embittered, violent one now. Legolas couldnÂ’t fathom it and didnÂ’t try to but he did wonder what had happened to turn his uncle from the smiling form in the picture into the monster now.

Speaking of which, he would be missed and sorely punished if he hid any longer. Legolas hurriedly turned and replaced his torch but the soft, subtle sound of elven footsteps reached his ears. Startled and frightened, Legolas retreated into the room, looking around for a place to hide. But there was none.

The footsteps sounded closer and closer and now, he could hear soft voices speaking in hushed whispers as though they did not want to be overheard. In desperation, Legolas jammed himself between the door and the wall as two figures swept into the room. The young prince bit his lip to keep a gasp of surprise from breaking past as he recognized his uncleÂ’s back.

Ainan paused in the doorway, his eyes sweeping the darkened room.

“I do not recall leaving the door open,” he said quietly to his companion who wordlessly shook his head. He plucked the same torch that Legolas had taken and followed Ainan into the room. Legolas squeezed himself tighter into the shadows as they passed so closely by him, he could have reached out and touched them.

They stopped by the table upon which the map rested. If one of them so much as chanced to look up, they would see him. And one of them did. But not in his direction.

The dark-haired elf that had followed his uncle raised his head, his near black eyes wide in the flickering shadows of the torch that cast gaunt shadows across his face.

“The air reeks of fear,” he said softly. Ainan smiled thinly at the other.

“Concern yourself with this now. Later… is the time for vengeance.” Legolas could not understand these esoteric words but he knew that they portended something awful. He knew where the fear came from. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears, he was sure one of them would hear it. But the rapid beating of his heart was overridden by their words which, despite himself, Legolas leaned forward to catch.

“There is no time to explain in further detail now, but summon my captains this night. Here,” Ainan indicated a point on the map. He chanced a glance towards the open door and Legolas tried to recede further into the shadows without moving. But the other elf had eyes only for intruders passing in the halls as he walked forward to shut the door.

The young prince scrunched himself into a small niche beside the bookcase, curling up in a corner where the dust was thick where he hoped his uncle would not see him. He closed his eyes to keep them from reflecting the light of the torch as the dark-haired elf swept past him too, his wide eyes still peering around at the dark corners. Legolas held his breath, knowing that at any moment one of them would spot him.

“I have an appointment to keep,” Ainan said, almost lazily to the other elf. “You know what to do.”

The dark elf bowed with his hand over his heart and took the torch from AinanÂ’s hand. Legolas watched in amazement as he strode to the back of the room and slid the painting of Thranduil and Anariel aside to reveal a small finger-sized chink in the wall. With a sharp tug and a rumbling grating of stone on stone, a hidden panel slid open and the elf slipped through. Ainan closed it behind him and groped blindly in the pitch blackness that had fallen with the disappearance of the other elf.

Legolas could hear his uncle moving and leaned as far back into his dusty corner as he could as he felt an air current brush past his face and a sweep of velvet robes.

A mere splinter of light appeared and a sharp silhouette as Ainan slipped through the door and closed it behind him. The young prince stumbled up, knowing that if he was going to get out of here, he would have to time it precisely. Cautiously, he poked his head out of the door; his uncle was nowhere in sight.

Legolas darted around the door and bolted down the hall as fast as he dared, his heart hammering in his chest as he ran.

~*~

“Where have you been, tôrion?” Legolas tried to meet his uncle’s eyes but could not. His gaze fell to the carpet beneath his boots as Ainan prowled around him like a hungry cat circling a bird it had cornered. The elf had appeared not a moment after Legolas entered his room and the young prince knew how disheveled he must look from having run all the way- his hair mussed and sweaty, breathing hard.

Legolas kept his gaze carefully straight ahead as his uncle passed his back he shivered, fighting the urge to turn and keep his eyes on the danger. Ahead of him, the slightest façade of study lay upon the table- an open book of languages that had not been read from in weeks. Ainan’s ‘training sessions’ had long since turned to brutal punishment without cessation.

“You hid from me today, Legolas,” Ainan said softly and the young prince cringed. But the older elf ignored him, a slight smile twisting his lips. “If you like to play hide and seek so much, I have a little game for you that we can play.” Legolas felt icy-fingered hands of fear grope up his spine and he shivered.

“Nin aphado, (Follow me).”

With leaden steps, Legolas followed dutifully after his uncle down the corridor. He tried to keep pace with the light, quick steps of the older elf but he soon found himself dropping back only to be wrenched forward again if he grew too far behind. He stared around at the halls in amazement. He had never even seen some of the corridors they passed through. This was truly an older part of the palace and not oft-used for the torches were unlit and darkened. Legolas shivered as he felt the dampness against his skin.

“Where are we going, Vedhir?” he ventured to ask when it seemed that they had walked for an interminable time. Predictably though, he received no answer- but also no curbing cuff so the prince followed, slight curious but far more fearful.

Finally, they stopped in a hallway, darker than any Legolas had yet seen though lit torches sputtered several yards away down a converging corridor leading to the more habitable parts of the palace. They must be in the very bowels of the palace underneath the stream for the low roof, nearly lost in the clinging shadows above was wet and damp with moisture.

A soft grating of stone on stone distracted the prince from his examination and he looked sharply at his uncle.

Ainan had somehow found a chink in the stone and forced it open at least a foot wide revealing a yawning blackness that seemed to be a small room of some sort. Once a storage room during more dangerous times, it made an effective prison now.

“You wished to play hide-and-seek, Legolas,” Ainan said quietly, a terrible gleam in his eyes that seemed to absorb the scant torchlight rather than reflect it. “I guarantee you: no one will ever find you here.” Legolas quailed in fear, unwilling to enter and unable to move.

“You wanted to hide, Legolas,” Ainan said softly, dangerously. His eyes seemed to laugh as though daring the prince to disobey him.

Slowly, with terror singing through his every nerve, Legolas took a painstaking step forward and then another. He squeezed through the tiny opening, feeling a wave of claustrophobia hit him in the sudden utter blackness that pressed upon his eyes. He felt the back wall under his searching hands fairly soon and turned to his see his uncle as a dim silhouette in the small hole in the wall.

“If you so much as sniffle, I will hear.” Legolas merely nodded dumbly, his eyes wide with fear as the passageway slid closed with a thud in front of him, leaving him entrenched in darkness.

~*~

Trammeled. A cage. The darkness pressed upon his eyes like a physical weight and no matter how much he opened or closed them it was always the same.

Darkness.

Legolas trembled from far more than the cold stone under his knees where he had not moved since his uncle had shut the panel. The moldy smell of old stone filled his nostrils and the dampness soaked through his trousers. He closed his eyes again, wishing himself away from this wretched darkness and silence that pressed upon his ears. He pictured his friends laughing and joking with him- as they had that very afternoon which already seemed a part of another life altogether.

But the cheerful image quickly faded as hunger seized his stomach and he opened his eyes again, rubbing the offending spot consolingly. He did not think he would eat tonight after his interrupted supper. But he was too afraid that his uncle waited on the other side of that door, waiting for him, to even think about trying to sneak out in search of food; he wasnÂ’t even sure if his uncle would return to free him. Maybe he was to stay down here until he died of starvation or the silence and eternal lightlessness drove him mad! He did not know how long he had been here but it seemed an inexorably long time and he felt certain that he would go mad if he was not freed soon.

Still, he jumped, startled when the panel suddenly slid open. Legolas fell from the alcove, trembling and blinded by the bright light of the flickering torches that pierced his eyes after so long a time in the dark. He looked slowly up at his uncleÂ’s face as Ainan glared down at him.

“Do you feel you have been sufficiently punished, Legolas?” The young prince, shaken with horror and fear, nodded, his nose nearly touching the flagstones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you hide from me again?” Legolas shook his head.

“No, Vedhir.” Ainan nodded in curt satisfaction as he motioned the trembling child to his feet. The older elf jerked his head towards the lit corridor. With a light cuff to the back of the prince’s head, Ainan smiled almost benignly.

“Go on now, little prince. Your father’s punishment is waiting.” Legolas, shuddering with pain and fear, forced his legs to hold him, his face screwed up against the misery fighting to free itself from his very soul.

“Oh, and Legolas-” Ainan could almost see the shudder that ran down the younger elf’s spine at the sound of his own name. “Don’t be late again.” Legolas bowed again and hastily retreated. Ainan grinned privately, releasing a soundless chuckle as his nephew disappeared down the corridor.

He slipped down the serpentine ways that only he knew and emerged in the princeÂ’s room, eyeing the mess on the floor of the bedroom. He quickly gathered up the bloodstained clothes- a white linen tunic this time. With a remorseless shrug, he tossed it into the fire, watching it being eaten by the flames. If the maids wondered what happened to some of LegolasÂ’ clothes, they said nothing. And the smell abated within a few hours if the windows were left open.

~*~

Why would his uncle treat him like this? How could he? Did his father and mother not notice? Did they not care? It was not enough that his uncle beat him, now his father was to punish him too? Legolas’ mind burned with these questions as he walked. But his angry thoughts faded as he looked out, catching a glimpse of the dark blue sky through the narrow arrow slit in the stone. He had been late to his lessons today… and he had fought with Nárvenien. There were many little things- innocent things- but large and grievous to the child’s mind. He had wronged them all.

Yes, he decided at last, my uncle wouldnÂ’t hurt me unless I did something to deserve it, Legolas thought glumly.

But he knew, buried deep within his heart where he could not see it, that it was a lie.