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.
These little, flashbacks of memories, the flashes that would randomly occur when nobody was paying attention, when Draco was left alone to ponder his thoughts...It was terrifying. He hated it, and yet at the very same time he was subjected to them over and over and over again and there was nothing that he could do to stop it from occurring. He was not even spared in his sleep, instead forced to relive tormented memories which he had tried for so long to hide. In that regard, he was nothing but a hapless child subjected to the torrents of wind and rain, washed off along with the very hurt and pain he was forced to keep inside for so long. Such a thing which he knew was unhealthy, and yet which he also was fully aware of the fact that he would not stop from happening.Draco knew, he knew full well that he was not ready to meet the King. It was...It was already too much and they were not even anywhere close to where they were to be dining for the evening. It was obvious that he was not capable of this, capable of withstanding this. He simply was not prepared for it. His emotions were already unstable and rushing about him like a flame of chaos, something he was not able to control and would never truly understand, but could not help but to feel and was therefore forced into the fear of not being able to control something, and worry that it would cause his ruin. This was just a horrible idea.
He wanted to tell Legolas that. He wanted to speak up, plead for Legolas to allow him to sleep, and just rest, to not deal with the torment that he knew was going to come of having to dine with the King. Draco also was fully aware of the fact that Legolas could only do so much, and that asking the elder to go against his father, and his king for that matter, in order to appease himself was simply selfish, and Draco would never allow himself to ask such a thing of a person who had only shown kindness and understanding to him for as long as he had been on this confusing, and insane world. Draco could not bring himself to ask Legolas to do something that would likely put him in a bad place with his father. Draco also realized that it was unlikely that Legolas would even agree to attempt to ask such questions in the first place. The fact remained that the King had desired his presence, and whether Draco was able to handle the presence of the King or not had nothing to do with anything.
He was requested, and he knew full well that nothing would stop the King from getting what he desired. It was stupid to even think that such things could or would happen. Besides, Legolas was the King's son, there was no way that the Prince was going to, or would even be willing to in the first place, attempt to disobey his father. It was stupid to even entertain the thought. Draco knew this, of course he did, but he was just so muddled up in fears and worries and memories that he was not really thinking straight in the first place.
Worries and past memories kept flying to the fore of his mind, and he was so scared of what may happen if he messed up, or did something wrong. He knew that it was not a good idea to go to a supper in the state that he was in now, but he had no choice in the matter.Sighing heavily, and shrugging the Prince's hand off of his shoulder gently, bowing slightly, he resigned himself to his fate. He had to go through with the dinner. The King had requested his presence. As terrifying as this was, Draco knew that he had to keep this from showing, which would be extra complicated, but he would do his best.
He walked slightly behind Legolas, allowing the other to speak about the home which Draco knew that he had missed. The other put on a determined demeanor, and was incredibly complicated to read, especially when it came to anything about emotions, but it was clear that he had missed his home. Draco knew that the other had been worried about returning home, but he was also under the distinct impression that the other had also wanted to return with a strong core part. If only Draco had a place that he wanted to return to, then perhaps he could understand what Legolas was feeling at the moment. As it were, there was no such place for Draco. All Draco knew is fear and torment. He never wanted to return home, because his father was there and it was a sure way that he was going to be in trouble and be punished. Harsh punishments which would leave him in agony for days and weeks on end. Neither had he wanted to return to Hogwarts. Though it may seem as though Hogwarts was a refuge from his father, that was not the case. His father could easily enter the grounds whenever he so chose because of the fact that he was on the Council which dealt with many things regarding Hogwarts and teachers, and the student safety and the like. Board of the Council. His father was always so proud to be able to say such things, and took great pleasure in reminding Draco yearly that he was capable of 'dropping by' should he feel the need to. No, Hogwarts was not the safe refuge for Draco that it was for so many others. Hogwarts held its own special sort of torment for Draco. The torment of uncertainty.
He had no knowledge of when or if his father would show up, or for what reasons he may end up visiting the castle. It was terrifying. Not to mention his classes were almost pathetically easy, and boring, they held no real use half of the time, and most of the teachers were totally incompetent in the first place. It was aggravating. Not just terrifying because his father could randomly drop by whenever he felt the inkling to do so, but because the lessons were totally pointless, yet Draco was forced to be drug to each one every day as though he were some muggleborn who knew nothing but what was being taught in the classes. So no, Draco could not relate to Legolas' joy of returning to a place which he had long longed for in his heart, because Draco had never had such a place for himself before. His only refuge and desire was to be away from his father, and whenever he was he was at least in some minimal way safe from his wrath. Not entirely of course because, as stated, his father could show up at any point in time in mere moments, but the fact was that he was not there in that moment.
Was that the same feeling? Draco doubted it. Though, seeing the adoration which the Prince held for the palace which he was raised and grew up in, it...It gave Draco a bit of appreciation for the place. He was not entirely certain that he was happy about being basically held prisoner in a place which he did not know, on a world he had no recollection of, and forced to visit an Elf which he was scared out of his wits of, but seeing the joy on Legolas' face almost (key word almost) made up for all of that. He could not help but smile, just a bit, as he detected the sincere joy at being back home. He knew full well that he would be unable to understand the sheer amount of joy which Legolas held for being home, but he could see it, and appreciate Legolas' joy.
"Draco," The Prince said, turning to him, serious.
"Yes, My Prince?" Draco asked, mind ripped to the present so suddenly it left him slightly disoriented. He had not been expecting the other to speak TO him, merely at him, so hearing the Prince call his name jerked him to the present, and he was having trouble reassimilating to the world around him, ripped from his thoughts and memories as suddenly as he had been. Still, he managed a somewhat coherent response, which was really all that mattered in the grand scheme of things.
"My father...He has taken a liking to you, as I have said before." Legolas seemed a little bit hesitant to continue. Still, the Elf inhaled softly and continued forwards with what he wanted to speak. "His Majesty can be..." Legolas began, breath catching on the next word, unsure really how to describe his father without being out of line. "A bit harsh, sometimes. He is curious about you, so I do not believe that you will have much to worry over." Legolas exhaled shakily. "Just, take care during supper. Father can notice even the smallest bit of weakness and will pounce the moment that he sees it. I know that you are good with defending yourself, and you are amazing at talking worlds around others, but I fear my father may prove...too much." Legolas composed himself. He did not want to worry Draco and make the other more nervous than he was already. "Just take heed. Father can be incredibly unsettling to many."
Draco wanted to interrupt. He wanted to speak up and assure Legolas that he would be fine. That he could handle whatever it was that the young Elf's father wished to do to him, but he knew that was not the case. He was scared. He was scared of Thranduil and it was unnerving because his father was the only one before this King which managed to instill such tormented fear within his heart and to fester there and grow with time. He did not dare to do so. He could not bear it if he were to be scolded or reprimanded by Prince Legolas. Thranduil, yes of course Draco could handle the King's reprimand. He had sat through so many scoldings and faced such horrid punishments for his failures at the hand of his father he was shocked that it was not engraved upon his being and clearly seen through his skin.
Lucius, his father, had always been incredibly strict, and any deviance from what he expected and desired was swiftly met with a merciless punishment. Draco sometimes thought his father enjoyed seeing him in pain. Whether by his own hand, or by whatever curse or magical spell which was meant to torment him his father had cast upon his being. His father could be incredibly sadistic at times. Though, Draco was not sure why he ever suspected anything less, or how his father managed to so effortlessly convince everyone that he was harmless. Okay, that was not true. Draco was not a Gryffindor. he was a Slytherin. He knew full well how his father was capable of fooling the others around him because Draco himself had done it so many times it would hurt to even think about, it was simply too many times to count. Though everyone made it so easy to fool them. Draco could not really bear to feel regretful for deceiving them, considering everyone around him tended to be so blinded that he was able to do it without even really thinking about it.
Legolas, though? Draco was not entirely certain that he could really handle a reprimand from the elder. Legolas had been so sweet, kind, compassionate, and caring to Draco. Draco did not understand why, at first, and to be honest he still did not quite understand why the elder was so caring to him, especially not when Draco remembered the scars which he carried on his skin which none could erase, but Legolas had been. From the very beginning, Legolas had shown nothing but understanding and patience towards Draco, even when he purposefully tested his patience or disrespected him (which was not very often, but Draco was a Slytherin there was only so much crap that he could handle from other people, though it was mostly Boromir, Gimli, and Gandalf getting the sass from him because, lets face it, those two were so stupidly Gryffindorian that it hurt Draco to even think about) the other had not risen a hand against him. It was for this reason that Draco knew, he just knew that it would hurt too much to even dare to dare to lie to the other at the moment.Because Draco would not be fine. He wanted to believe that he would be. He wanted to pretend that he could handle whatever it was that the Elvin King desired to throw at him, whatever insults, whatever sharply barbed words, designed strictly for diving deep into his flesh and carving out his heart. He knew that this would not be the case. He was not delusional, and he knew that Legolas would be able to see through his shaky attempts at comfort in a second. Draco could not disrespect Legolas in such a fashion. They both were fully aware of the fact that he was not ready to meet the Elvin king. They were also both fully aware of the fact that neither had a choice in the matter. The King had made his command quite clear and nothing would change it.