Disclaimer: I own nothing. Bite me. sigh
I am only writing this story for my personal enjoyment. I don not own any of the recognisable characters or places in this story, and I am not making any financial profit from it.
Dedication: This story is written for all of my wonderful friends, my inspiration in this world. Especially to Llyneth and Eleni who checked this out first, Kementari who continues to help through all odds and to Raven for her imaginative help with my title. Thanks guys, you're stars!
Just a word of warning – initial chapters will be rather short as I'm still getting into my stride. Hopefully this wont be the case for long…roll on the story.
Chapter One - Unloved"It wasn't my fault!"
"You were in charge of the unit. They were your responsibility. That makes everything your fault. You had strict orders which you disobeyed!"
Celussë heard the Elven King slam his palm down into the table and winced. Legolas was having a rough time again. The moment they had returned from the latest foray against the spiders with three wounded Elves, Celussë knew the King would blame his son. In actuality, only the young prince's timely order to retreat had prevented lives from being lost. When Legolas had entered the throne room to make his report, Celussë, had waited outside. The following argument had been going for half an hour. That was fairly average.
"I thought it necessary in the circumstances. There were just too many! I did the best I could. "
"Three of my Elves were injured while you were 'doing your best'. Maybe your 'best' isn't good enough."
"If I hadn't have ordered the retreat at that moment, they would have died!" The Prince retorted angrily.Then he spoke in a voice so soft Celussë could barely hear it.
"What is it that you want from me? Why can I never do anything right?"
There was a momentary silence. Celussë prayed that the King had finally understood the reason for his son's questions. Valar knew he had a good enough reason to ask them. But no.
"How dare you take that tone with me! Your failings have led to this. Your constant disregard of orders and your arrogant belief that you know better than everyone else! I am ashamed to call you my son!
Angry footsteps marched across the hall and Celussë leapt back out of the way as the door burst open, and the Elven King stormed out of the room. He marched past the golden-haired warrior without a word and disappeared down the corridor.
Celussë slowly slipped round the door, and into the audience room. The floor was covered with a large green rug that stretched from panelled wall to panelled wall but the room was dominated by an enormous oaken table that stood in its centre. Legolas sat at the table, hunched in a chair, his face in his hands. Ever since the King's beautiful wife Nolwe had been killed by orcs, Thranduil had vented his grief and anger on his son, by criticizing his every move. Celussë knew the whole palace sighed with pity for the prince, but none dared to reproach their lord. As well as carrying his own grief for his mother, the young Elf was forced to bear the burden of his father's antagonism as well. It was amazing how one so admired and respected by his people could be made to feel so…unloved. Celussë often wondered how long it would be before Legolas cracked under the pressure.
The warrior padded across the room to the prince and gently reached out a hand to touch the Elf's shoulder. Celussë felt Legolas tense under his hand, before the prince quickly stood up. He had expected to see tears on the Elf's face, but the stony expression that met his was somehow much worse. Only in the very depths of his crystal blue eyes could be seen the pain.
"Thank you Celussë, but I shall be fine. Should the King request my presence, please inform him that I have gone riding for a few hours."
The warrior's heart wrung with pity for the young Elf, but he merely said, "Certainly, Hir nin, I shall send word for your horse to be made ready at once."
"The younger Elf nodded at him before disappearing from the room.
Oh Thranduil, Celussë wondered, remembering the bright, happy child he once used to know. What have you done to your son?
translations: Hir nin My Lord
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(Take pity on me, this is my first fic )
l namárië ar sérë, híninya
l nienna xx
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