Draco and Legolas

Settling

Draco inhaled shakily as they began forwards, still startled. Legolas had not quite let go of his shoulder, preferring to keep a hand on his shoulder, whether in comfort or to guide him through the maze which was this palace of trees, Draco did not really know. He could not really say that he minded it. The contact, the physical contact which Legolas was initiating. At first, when Draco had first come here, to this world, he had hated all forms of contact. It frightened him too much, and though he tried desperately to hide such a fact he knew that the others would have seen through his attempt at a facade. At the very least Legolas would have noticed it fairly quickly, and likely Aragorn as well. Though the latter was of Men, Draco knew an observant person when he saw one (it was all in the eyes) and Aragorn was one of those who had that look about them. The look of knowing and seeing and realizing too much and wanting to forget but being unable to. Draco knew that feeling far too well not to recognize it on another. Draco had to admit to himself, he did not like physical contact. It was the bane of his existence, and he doubted that he would ever truly come to like the contact of another person on his skin. Such a luxury was not something which he was allowed. He was a Malfoy, he was the Heir to the Highest Noble house, barring that of the Gaunt (which had swiftly fallen into ruin so it was not really surprising that the Malfoy was held in such high regard as it was, what with the way that the Gaunt house line had ended it was embarrassing really), the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. There was in no way whatsoever any hint that he would have had a happy future of a normal child.

 Not with who his parents were, not with who he was himself. Physical contact, a comfort which many children recieved from a young age from parents who cared for them, was not commonly given to him in anything other than a negative fashion when he was younger in reprimand for doing something which his father disliked or displeasing the elder, so how could he possibly be comfortable receiving such a thing? It was understandable that he disliked any and all forms of physical contact. It was only to be expected, if one looked at his history. He could easily explain it away as well, if it was needed. Typically Draco never really needed to worry much about that part, because his cold aura which he projected a majority of the time kept people from attempting to become clingy, or anything of the sort with him, which he had to admit he was perfectly fine with. He did not particularly like it when people tried to come close to him, or crowd him...or talk to him...or have anything to do with him in general. He really just did not like people. Not that he was allowed to have such thoughts, and if his father were to hear him even speak of such things he would be in so much trouble he would not be able to walk for the proceeding week. Luckily his father never really learned that about him. He always managed to keep his facade in place perfectly in that regard. It would seem, however, that he did not mind too much when it came to Legolas touching him. Not at this moment at least. 

Perhaps there was something beyond the simplistic which Draco was ignoring, perhaps there was not. Draco, however, much preferred to chalked it up to the fact that he was already so nervous at having to be in the very presence of someone who resembled his father so much that it was nearly frightening, sending chills to his core, and forcing his old teachings to want to rise to the surface (which was a lot harder than it looked to attempt to prevent, yet Draco had to in order to win this little...whatever game it was that they were playing, though he was not entirely certain that he wanted to know what game it was that was taking place at the moment) which left him helplessly off balance as the reason why he was not so twitchy at the fact that Legolas was initiating contact with his person. There was nothing he could do about his forced old teachings coming to the fore after having met the King of Mirkwood, and unless he wanted to magic a good decade of teaching away, and he simply could not do that, though he wished that it were possible. 

Magic may do many things, but heal past trauma was not one of those things. He could not simply obliviate himself either. Not for a lack of trying, it simply did not work. Another thing that he was not entirely sure of. It should, but it did not, so it would seem that he was forced and cursed to remember every detail of the torment and sadistic pleasure which his father took to harming him. He was just so, so, so very tired of his father seeming to creep up everywhere, especially since he was no longer in his father's presence. He should be safe from that fear. The terror which settled onto his bones and caused his nerves to shake whenever his father called for his presence and requested him. Yet, it would seem as though that feeling just would not go away. It made everything incredibly unnerving and he did not like it.