Hello everybody,
This is a repost of the same story I was working on before. Unfortunately as I was trying to fix it thanks to the blessed editing skills of my beta, Lailonniel, I messed up the entire story and reposting it was a must. But the upside is that the story is new and improved in the sense of formatting and grammer, with a few bonus tweaks as well! To all those who have been loyal up to ch. 20, please be patient, the end is far closer than you think. For those who are new and reading this for the first time, I can only hope that you enjoy this as much asI have enjoyed writing it.
Aearon
Disclaimer: I do not own anything save for the characters of my own making. Legolas, his adar and friends,and the whole of Middle-Earth,belong to one of the greatest authors of all time and I am merely borrowing them.
He had tried everything, from holding his hands tightly over his ears to squeezing his eyes shut. He had even tried holding his breath, but that had only resulted in a slight case of dizziness and had left him gasping for the needed air. He had counted backwards from one hundred and even contemplated doing it from one thousand, but decided that it was ultimately a waste of time.
Sleep was useless because it led to dreams that only made it worse. She called to him like a lover, yet she hurt him more deeply than any arrow could. His body ached, his heart ached, and even his soul ached. Throwing the covers off, the youngest prince of Mirkwood sighed in frustration as he prepared himself for yet another sleepless night. He rose to his feet and began to pace the length of the room
Running his fingers through his hair, he frowned as he found himself standing before the window of his room. He sighed and leaned back against the wall. How many countless nights had he found himself at this window, his eyes forever searching the star filled sky for a solution to the endless plaguing of the call of the sea? Deep down he knew the only rest he would find lay beyond that which tormented him...Valinor. An uncharacteristic growl formed in his throat as he let his head fall a little too harshly against the wall. He closed his eyes.
He was tired. He hadn't expected the longing to creep up on him so swiftly. He had been a fool to assume he would be able to resist. He was not sure how much more he could take, and he almost found himself regretting his promise to remain until his mortal friends had breathed their last. Opening his eyes, he ran a hand across his brow and decided that maybe a walk in the cool night air would do him good.
As he dressed himself and braided his hair in warrior plaits, he let his mind wander and began to assess his current situation.Many months had passed since the fall of Sauron, and the world of men had begun the slow process of rebuilding what had been damaged. At long last, Gondor had her rightful king. The heir of Isildur had reclaimed that which was his and had brought peace to the land. What was left of the army of Mordor had scattered and was leaderless. The orcs had taken to hiding in the ruins of shadowed lands and the defeated men had returned to their native lands.
Aragorn would soon be married to Arwen, the Evenstar of his people and now the future queen of men. He briefly wondered if she regretted her choice, but quickly dismissed the notion. She had made her choice with no remorse and had that which her heart desired.
Frodo and the other Hobbits would soon return to the shire. A small smile graced his features as he thought of the dear little ones being surrounded by the throng of men and Elves that bowed down to them. They were heroes, and although not warriors to begin with, they had proven themselves worthy of the title if not more. Gimli had made it known that he too would return to his home, only to return with help to rebuild the city properly as only a dwarf could. Gandalf was, as always, cryptic about his whereabouts and plans for the future, but he had a feeling that the Istar would soon depart these lands as well. Every day more left for the undying lands. Sighing heavily, he quickly decided that was a path of thought best left alone.
As his mind wandered away from thoughts of future, he suddenly found that his feet had carried him to stand beside the white tree of Gondor. A symbol of hope. Looking over the tree, the wood-elf sighed. He placed his hand against the trunk and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and let his heart take his mind to home. Home. How he missed the forest of his birth, his friends, and his older brothers as well. But mostly, he longed for his father.
He shook his head and blinked back the single tear that threatened to fall in fear that once he started he may not stop. He needed his adar more than ever as the sea longing had begun to threaten his waking moments because of his refusal to sleep. Questions began to plague his thoughts. Would his adar be proud? Would the mighty king see his son's deeds as great? Would his father's guidance help him? But mostly, would his adar be able to stop the hurt that threatened to destroy his very soul?
And that in itself was the greatest threat that Legolas felt...the very destruction of his soul. Legolas settled himself on one of the benches and leaned back as the lack of sleep finally claimed him, and he fell into a restless sleep.
Across the land, over the raging rivers, beyond the vast plains of Rohan, and far from the beauty of Lorien, a lone elf stood at the end of what was once a forest plagued by shadows and darkened by an evil that was no more. He watched with the eyes of a leader, an ageless king who had too long fought the battle between darkness and light to be at ease so quickly. In his heart he knew the south of his forest had been purged of the evil of Dol Guldur, but still an air of cautiousness and distrust surrounded him.
His people, although grieved by their losses, still rejoiced at reclaiming the woods, and rumors of the destruction of the One Ring began to fill the ears and hearts of all. Even the trees themselves seemed cautious, yet at the same time at ease. The Forest would repair itself in time, and, with the help of the elves, would return to its splendor.
Mirkwood was no more in the wake of battle before it was born Eryn Lasgalen. King Thranduil opened his eyes to the new day, but his heart was weary and heavy with grief and an unknown ache that nearly brought tears to his eyes. Yes, his two eldest sons were alive and for the most part unscathed; it was the fear of what had befallen his youngest son that had plagued his nights with questions and worry. Did Legolas still live? Was he still the vibrant young Elf who, even into adulthood, had carried the spark of youth? Would his son return unscathed, or would he return a warrior hardened by unspeakable battles?
The king let out a breath that he was unaware he was holding. In his father's heart, he knew that his youngest son still lived, but until the king held him in his arms, he would be unable to release his concerns.