Chapter Text
The minute Legolas returned to Mirkwood from Erebor, guards were ready to escort him to the throne room. His father had been very clear after the battle that he had much to discuss. He had threatened Legolas with the entirety of the royal guard should he dare not return home. So here Legolas was, surrounded by guards anyway, in his own house. After bringing him to the throne room, the guards excused themselves quickly, no desire to spend time in the kings presence. Their hasty retreat left Legolas alone with his father. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the shouting to begin. Thranduil just stared down at him. No pacing, no wild gestures or sharp movements, he was completely still. That was much more terrifying.
“My son,” Thranduil began, voice sharp, “you have defied me in every possible way. You sneak off, following my captain- who was herself out of order, aid dwarves that should have been my prisoners, and on top of it all it seems you believe yourself in love. It is clear I cannot trust you to have free rein of the forest anymore. You’ve taken for granted the leniency I give to you, and it shall be given no more. You have tonight to pack your things. Tomorrow morning you will be escorted to the far tower. It was built as a safe house, and safe you certainly will be, but you are forbidden to leave it until I see you’ve learned respect. At least three hundred years. Do you understand me?” He stood at the top of the stairs by the throne, peering down at Legolas with an almost pitying expression. He made no effort to cross the distance, but bent slightly to better tower over his son, back curving and shoulders twisting in an off putting show of power.
Legolas just gaped at his father. Of all he’d expected, all he’d prepared himself for, this was worse. Practically exiled from his home, cut off from nature and family, centuries of solitary confinement. He felt his chest jump as emotions wound tight like a spring. He turned before the spring could snap, he wouldn’t allow his father the satisfaction of seeing him break. He hurried to his room, each step felt heavier than the one before. He flung himself onto his bed, he knew he was acting like a child, he didn’t care. He screamed into the closest pillow, the coil in his chest finally snapping. It seemed but a moment before the sun had risen again, and someone knocked on his door. He was given but a minute to gather his possession in a sack before he was ushered out the front gates. Off on the journey of a lifetime.
-
The tower lay in Fangorn forest, many days travel from Mirkwood. Legolas was given a guarded escort to ensure his safety (more likely to ensure he didn’t run away) and the trip was a silent one. The trees stretched higher than any Legolas had ever seen before, and yet he could not bring himself to appreciate the sight. All he could think of was his impending imprisonment. It was said that long ago Thranduil made a deal with the trees for safe refuge in time of need. What had been exchanged was lost to time, if such an exchange were ever made. As they came to a clearing, the entire group came to a halt. A stone tower loomed above, a single window breaking the grey facade. Nothing but grass dared grow within 100 feet of the base, and no beast walked the grounds. Legolas was certain there was magic in the air, nothing natural created this tightness in his lungs. It was like the earth itself was shouting ‘turn back!’ but none of the company heeded its words. One guard strode forward, and swung a grappling hook to the tall window. On the third attempt, it latched. This was Legolas last taste of earth for the next three centuries. As he scaled the rope, he investigated the stone siding for a future escape route. The stone was rough, but uneven and thin. Few handholds, and even fewer footholds. Certainly his arms would give out before he made it down the side. Unless there was a secret door beyond the window, he was truly trapped.
Upon reaching the window, the guard shouted for him to send down the grappling hook. For a moment Legolas considered ignoring his shouts, but he didn’t particularly want to give his father any reason to extend his stay in this dungeon, so he let his last tie to the outside world fall to the ground. The guards turned, and walked back the way they came, now one member fewer. Legolas watched until they were completely out of sight. They didn’t look back.
Now he was truly alone.
After a few minutes (or hours) of sulking against the windowsill, Legolas turned to investigate the room. The main room was sparse. Circular walls housed a bed, kitchen, and small library. All made out of worn wood with even more worn cushions and rugs. Turning, his eye caught on a ladder leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling, and a set of stairs leading downward. The stairs were more likely to lead to a viable exit, so he headed down them. He found himself in a storeroom. Crates piled to the low ceiling lined the walls, all diligently labeled in the same looping scrawl- seeds, lembas bread, oil, wine. But what really drew his attention was the pit in the center of the floor. Stepping nearer, he realized it was a well, with an old bucket hanging just above his eye level. So he wouldn’t die of dehydration, what a pity. He lowered the bucket till he heard a soft splash, and drew it back up. The water was clear, and fresh, perhaps it ran off from a nearby river. When he drank it, it was unlike any water he’d ever tasted, clear as day and bright as the sun. He could practically feel himself growing taller, all the weight from his journey lifting off his shoulders. And, was his hair longer than before? He was almost certain it met his mid-back before, and now it was brushing his waist. Quickly, he put the bucket back on the hook. Curious. Very curious. He journeyed back upstairs.
After verifying there were no secret doors hidden behind the shelves, he headed up to explore the trapdoor. He opened it to find himself on the roof, in the middle of a garden. That explained the seeds then. It seemed his father had the place well stocked, there would be no reason for anyone to come by till his sentence was up. It hit him, all at once, how truly alone he would be. No one lived nearby, nor any main paths. Not even the hope of a passing traveler. No elf would dare come check on him. No others knew him gone. He would have 300 years to reflect on his defiance. 300 years for his spirit to break. He dropped to the damp earth. “Well played, Ada, well played.”