This is not my usual style. Let me know what you think.

I own nothing except my own imagination( its not worth much)

This would take place before 'What is not said' but can stand alone.

It is entirely in the first person, from Legolas' point of view.

Grey and red

Grey

everywhere I look, the world is grey, life is grey. The sky is covered by the cave, obscuring the stars. Oh to see the stars again! For a moment the thought eclipses all else and I am consumed by it. The stars are beloved of all my people of course but I never truly considered them closely before. If I ever leave this place again I swear I shall gaze at the stars all through the night unto the reawakening of the morn. I am jealous of any creatures that may live by the light of the stars and never have to feel the piercing heat of the sun.

Red

I loath fire now, in all its forms. It has power only to destroy. I laugh as a strange thought occurs to me then. Orcs live by the light of the stars! They cannot set foot in the sun! The irony makes my mouth quirk up into a grim smirk. Perhaps we are alike after all, my stomach feels hollow at that thought. I only hope it is not true, to stay alive for so very long only to lose the essence of who I am.

What cruelty would that be? How great a possibility of it being true. A shudder snakes its way up my spine, despite the heat of the place. Flames everywhere I turn now, the world is no longer grey. It glows an angry violent red and I feel only chilled. The shadows cast by the flames seem darker than black, they play tricks on the eyes until you cannot tell what is real and what is pure phantom.

I cannot focus my attention anymore. My mind lies scattered around me, sometimes I imagine I can see fragments of it peeking out at me from dark corners. They glint at me but when I reach out to them they skitter away. To a safer place no doubt.

My lack of response angers the orcs. I feel a grim satisfaction at that somehow. I garner far more of a response out of them than they ever get out of me. I feel proud of that, although the reason for that pride escapes me. Truly I had thought myself no longer capable of pride, it has no place here. A useless bauble from a former life when I was all that I am not now.

I was proud once, and brave and strong. I loved the world with an intensity that eclipsed the fires that now surround me. The trees used to reach out to me in welcome, they would recoil now. I used to sit in the trees bathed in moonlight, singing to the sky in joy of the beauty of the world. The forest would be alive at night, bright eyes peering out at me and delicate blooms looking like spun glass glinting and reflecting the glow of the stars.

I cannot remember the sound of my own voice anymore. After she was taken from me I refused to use it again. I do not truly miss it. It is one less noise to add to the chaos of this god forsaken place. I miss the quiet. The peace of the night, when all that would disturb it was the soft rustle of the leaves or the gentle hoot of an owl. Now I know only cruel harsh voices that cannot be still. The bang and crash of metal working and the echoes of the cave makes me feel that I am trapped deep underground. Perhaps I am.

I can no longer remember when I am awake and when I dream. I did not believe that elves could lose their ability to control their dreams. I cannot control my dreams, they bounce about my head randomly as my thoughts do. Sometimes I see a continuous sea of flames before me. Sometimes I feel the rough tear of nails biting into my flesh or the sear of a brand.

The worst dreams of all are when I find myself back in Imladris, my mother beside me. Perhaps telling stories in the hall of fire with the twins. Or on the practice field with Glorfindels' patient voice explaining a new move to finally beat him. They hurt the most, those dreams. I sometimes wonder if they ever happened at all, or if I have always lived in flames and the dreams are nothing more than my imagination.

When I am lucid enough to think about it my heart burns with its own fire. It is broken beyond repair, I fear. Losing my mother tore it asunder. And the longer I wait for a rescue that I fear may never come the more my heart crumbles away. Why has nobody come? Do they think me dead? Do they even know I am missing?

I don't know how long I have been here. Sometimes it seems that all my memories are full of pain and at others that I stumbled into the flames only yesterday.

Through it all one thing alone concerns me. Why am I still alive? By rights I should not be. There is no hope left for me surely? Yet the valar will not grant me peace. I do not wish to suffer so, let me find cleansing and join my naneth. I beg, again.

I am denied, again.

Somebody help me.

Please.

Please review! klc