Draco and Legolas

Reminiscence

If you had told Draco before that he would volunteer to practically die just to help some weird dwarf that is not an actual dwarf he would have struck you dumb. Yet, now, that was precisely what was happening, and he could not help but admit that it was a bit...unnerving. Thought that would not stop him from doing what he desired to do. He wanted to help these people. Though if one was to ask him why he would refuse to answer, mostly because he would not have an answer in which to give. He did not know why he desired to help them, but his conscious would not allow him to rest if he allowed such darkness to prevail if he had the ability to stop it.

Draco had not gone to the feast commemorating those who had basically offered themselves as a lamb for the slaughter, to go on this seemingly insane journey, and hope that all was not folly. Draco cared little for festivities, he always had, preferring solitude to the loud banging and crashing that was bound to accompany a party. It was not something he enjoyed, and he doubted that he would ever enjoy such things. As such, he had separated himself from the others, and from all company, to really allow himself time to maul over everything that had happened to him.

Draco could not say that he was not excited to be freed from his father's hands. His father was not a kind person, never had been, and to think that he would care for any but himself was simply delusion. Draco was well aware of his father's disgust to his person. he was not the child that his father had raised-or rather, tried to raise. Draco was not able to be as heartless as his father. he had a heart. It was perhaps one of the downfalls of himself. His father was certainly able to isolate himself in such a way that morality was a thing of the past. Though perhaps there were times that his guilt rose to the fore, it was rarely seen, and never by Draco Lucius Malfoy. To be honest, Draco had never cared much for the man, but he was his family. And as such, the responsibility to be an heir that his father could be proud of was of paramount importance. Yet he never could seem to get here. For whatever reason one may think, Draco always failed somehow. It could be in the most simple and ridiculous ways, but his father would always find something to criticize.

Draco knew that he would be incapable of meeting all of his father's incredibly complex expectations, and he also suspected that the Lord Malfoy himself knew that he would be incapable of reaching such drastic standards, yet he did nothing to change them. To him, it did not matter if he was capable of doing it, the man still expected his son to met these things that he desired. It was ludicrous. Yet Draco never spoke such things. he did not wish to be beat senseless, not that it changed anything, but to openly defy his father like that? That was more than just plain idiocy, that was simply stupidity. And Draco, for one, was not an idiot. He was cunning, he was clever, he was careful. He was everything a Slytherin was supposed to be, and he would continue to be such a way. His father should be glad that he was even in Slytherin, but then again, Draco already knew that he would be. It was not exactly something to be surprised about. Not only were practically all the Malfoys and Blacks in Slytherin, but if they were not in Slytherin they were commonly in Ravenclaw. Never had a Malfoy been in Hufflepuff of Gryffindor, and the only black known to go to any house other than Slytherin or Ravenclaw was Sirius Black-and he had gone to Gryffindor.

It did not matter either way. With the events leading up to Draco's arrival to this...this...Middle-Earth? It was not necessarily the only time that he had seen his father furious, and Draco was certain that it was not even the worst time that he had seen his father's wrath, but it was bad. Very bad. This time. Draco was not even certain what he had done to incur his father's anger. Than again, when he thought about it, he never really needed a reason to be angry or disappointed with Draco either.

Draco could not believe that he had landed on Middle-Earth. At first he was thinking that this was simply a dream. After all, he had blacked out before his father had finished beating him. Yet, it was soon clear that this was no dream. No dream that Draco had ever had was so realistic, nor was it often that he had dreams in general, and when he did they were primarily nightmares. Draco had to admit, he was not exactly looking forwards to a war, especially now that he had brilliantly thrust himself right in the center of a potential four way battle with no end in sight and horridly outnumbering odds. But he would, if for the simple reason that he did not think it wise to allow a dark lord to reign on a land he was stuck on for the foreseeable future. He had had enough of dark lords. Plus it may just be thereputic for Draco to kill off a dark lord, you never know.

Sitting, waiting for the rest of the company to wake and ready themselves, Draco looked up towards the sky, and out to where they would be travelling. Draco was dressed in more simple clothes, emerald green tights, tan shoes (they kind of looked like moccossins that Draco had seen in magazines on one of the very few instances that his father had taken him to the muggle world) and a darker brown tunic, with green tassel about it. His hair was waving in the wind, a sword strapped to his waist (though he doubted that he would need to use it all that often) as well as a thin emerald cloak, tied at the center with a serpent clasp (He still carried some dignity of his house of course). He glanced sideways as the Prince stood at his side. They were almost the same height, though Draco was slightly smaller than he was, and certainly more thin.

"Are you ready for this?" Legolas asked him, blue eyes staring deeply at him. Draco met his gaze fearlessly.

"I doubt anyone can be ready for a journey such as this. The best that a person can do is prepare for the worse, and hope for the best. I have a feeling we shall be seeing more worse than best in this case, Your Highness." Legolas stared at Draco, eyes unreadable, gaze impenetrable, giving away nothing, it reminded Draco eerily of his father, yet there was a kind tone to it, unlike his father's gaze. Legolas' gaze did not give him chills down his spine, and fear in his chest.

"Yes, I suppose we shall.