Benders: Web of Lies

Dark Solitude

Thranduil had noticed Legolas's dark clothes for a while now but never questioned it. Now, as Legolas sat down at the dinner table, Cinwe looked at her son with curiosity.

"Have you lost your taste for bright colors?" Cinwe asked Legolas, reaching to cover Legolas's hand with hers. "You have been wearing dark colors for ten days now."

Legolas pulled his hand away and stared down at his plate. "No . . . I-I feel like dressing in dark colors right now, naneth. It is not anything; a mere passing fantasy."

"It sets off the color of your hair," Cinwe said with a smile. "I like it."

As the plates went around and everyone began to eat, Thranduil said, "Eigil has told me you are studying hard and dutifully and learning well. I am pleased with your progress."

What else can I do besides study hard and learn well? Legolas thought, his heart heavy with grief. Eigil will punish me if I do otherwise.

"Hannon le, ada," he said aloud. "I find learning a conservative way to spend time."

"Well, idleness is not high on the list of good pastimes," Thranduil agreed with a smile. "I am happy you like learning, Legolas, very happy indeed."

Legolas moved his food around on his plate, unable to understand his father's attitude. It made Eigil's words sound like a lie. But elves never lied, did they? Or maybe ada cared so little for him, the whippings caused no stirrings of compassion in his disappointed heart . . .

"We have been learning many new things," Brenen spoke up. "We learned how to do a fire cone! It was so invigorating!"

"Yes, and you all did remarkably well," Thranduil agreed. "Although Realn is prone to explode."

"I am working on controlling myself," Realn said with a blush. "My anger escapes into the fire and makes it so wild."

"So long as you do not burn yourself," Cinwe said.

After dinner ended, Legolas dragged himself to his room and sat down at his desk, staring with dissatisfaction at the pile of homework before him. As he picked up his pen and prepared to dip it into his ink, he heard footsteps. Turning, his heart sank as his father walked in.

"I noticed you looked ill when you left the table," Thranduil said, "Is there something you need to tell me?"

"N-no, ada," Legolas stammered. "I-I have homework to do, that is all."

"Do you not wish to come join us in the family room?"

"Not until after I finish my lessons," Legolas answered, his eyes seeing a long life of darkness and solitude before him.

"As I said, I have been told you are doing well in your lessons but is the work to much for you?" Thranduil asked, running a gentle hand over his son's hair.

Legolas stammered, "N-no—I-I must finish my work, ada. P-please leave me alone?"

Thranduil hesitated, seeing the urgency in Legolas's eyes. After a moment he stepped away from his son and walked from the room, wishing not to disrespect Legolas's request. As he walked away, he had the distinct feeling he was doing the wrong thing.

Legolas's tense body relaxed as his father stepped from the room and he dropped his head onto the desk surface with a small sigh as tears welled up in his eyes. He heard footsteps and looked up, a small cry of fear escaping him. Eigil stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed, his whip tucked under one arm.

"I saw your father a few minutes ago," Eigil said, grasping the whip handle and allowing it to hang limp in his grasp. "He said you behaved with disrespect toward him, and he is displeased with you. Take off your shirt."

Legolas obeyed without question. After ten days of whippings, he had learned to do as Eigil said or suffer even more brutal consequences. He lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. He rose to his feet from the chair and faced his master.

"Turn around and kneel," Eigil said.

Legolas closed his eyes as he dropped to his knees. Something about this felt so wrong, and he hated being treated like an animal. But there was nothing he could do, no one he could turn to for help.

Eigil eyed Legolas's back. Bandages covered the weeping, oozing wounds, he knew, but the bandages would soon be gone. He brought the whip down. Legolas gasped, burying his face in his hands as the lash slashed across his skin. The burn of the whip and the whine of the wicked instrument were familiar sounds to him now.

"I am sorry I showed ada such disrespect," Legolas cried, twisting under the whipping. "I will be more careful. It will not happen again! I swear it!"

Eigil stepped back, panting. Blood dripped to the floor from the whip. "Good."

Legolas remained on the floor until Eigil had stridden from the room. He crawled to his feet, feeling sick and dizzy. He pulled out the top drawer of his bureau and removed a roll of bandages. He was all to well familiar with the task of cleaning and dressing his wounds. When the task was complete, he sank down at his desk and picked up his pen.

It was noticeable his hand shook and his fingers trembled as he worked his way through the sheets, his mind on his family sitting in the family room, laughing and joking, talking about fire-bending while he worked alone, in exile, unable to be a part of the life he so longed for. He wiped at his watering eyes and nose frequently as he scribbled answers, trying to stop the grief in his heart from materializing, but it was no use, for the pain in his back only reminded him of it with every dull ache.