This fic is RAPE FREE and SLASH FREE. It contains abuse. You have been warned.
Slave PrinceSummary: Legolas is treated like a slave by his abusive father. The Prince of Mirkwood must learn to deal with problems that he faces.
Legolas was tired. His wrist ached and his head throbbed. Elves don't get sick he thought. I must be getting weaker like my father always tells me. Silently he replayed last night's scene in his head.
**Flashback**
Legolas was sitting at the dinner table. He looked down at his plate, he could feel his father's eyes boring into his skull. The intensity of the gaze made him so uncomfortable he looked away.
"Is the food not good enough for you?" His father drawled with sarcasm, sipping at his goblet of wine.
"It is fine, my lord," Legolas answered quietly, hoping to mollify his father's anger. No such luck.
"Stand up," His father ordered. Then he swiftly backhanded Legolas hard across the face. Legolas stumbled from the harsh blow and fell hard onto the marble floor of the dining hall. He bit back a cry of pain and he heard a crack from his wrist as it jarred painfully in contact with the floor.
"You pathetic weakling. You are not fit to be a prince. You will eat as a slave, sleep as a slave and work as a slave until you are strong enough to be worthy to be called my son. Leave my presence, slave, " Thranduil declared.
Legolas stood up shakily, pale and unwilling to defy his father. "Yes, my lord," he mumbled. He could taste the coppery blood in his mouth. He bowed unsteadily and left before he could incur his father's wrath again.
**End Flashback**
He winced at the memory. The pain was not only physical but also emotional. He could feel his heart ache as he longed for his father's love. He was only the human equivalent of a ten year old. He didn't understand why his father hated him. He supposed that Thranduil probably blamed him for his mother's death. Maybe he blamed himself too.
Legolas was in a slave's room. He'd never been here before. He was barefooted wearing a simple white tunic without leggings. He felt like a slave, a lowly beast.
He sat in the cold room where the guard had dragged him. He cradled his swollen wrist gently against his chest, but he refused to cry. Legolas wanted his father to think he was brave. He hugged his knees and tried to go to sleep. He had never felt so lonely and pitiful.