Well, this was a real spur-of-the-moment one for me. I was typing an essay, stopped, and wrote this in about fifteen minutes-all sixteen hundred words of it! It has no real plot, and mainly consists of thoughts from Tauriel after BoFA. This is rated T for some morbid thoughts and slightly graphic descriptions.
Reviews are appreciated! :)
I remember very little of my life before I came to the Elvenking's halls. There are just flashes, and small blurs. The one thing I can recall very clearly, though, is that there was always laughter. Loud, joyful laughter. And then it all disappeared.
Everything I have ever had has disappeared. The blood still pumps strong in my veins, yet my heart has no desire to continue its rhythm.
I don't want to die. I never have. It is, of course, inevitable. Eventually, I will meet my end, either by another's hand or through sickness. Perhaps I will fade slowly away, slipping out of this world piece by piece. But it sounds a truly pathetic way to meet my end.
When I was younger, I used to fear the dark. So great was my fear that I was incapable of staying in a darkened chamber, or walk through a shadowed hall. Once the Elvenking learned of it, he forced me into a small room and made me stay there for many hours. It was the first and last time I ever tried to run and defy his wishes, or at least until they came.
They brought me something to live for once more.
And once again, my heart leaped for freedom and for love. Did I love him? I do not know. He truly was one of the best friends I have ever had, and he sacrificed his life for me. I surely cared for him as friend.
Love.
Love must be - is - agonizing. I have seen many slip away from me because of the strange, deadly affliction. I have no desire to do the same. I do not want love, especially after I felt its pain for one of the first times in my relatively short life. I know many who have bloomed from its warm, comforting glow, though. They were born to love and be loved. I was not. I never have been.
Even from the beginning, I pushed away all those who strove to come closer to me. I broke many hearts as I got older, I am sure. Many thought me beautiful. But what is love compared to freedom? Wild, exhilarating freedom, with no walls or chains too keep you from running away.
There were only two who I have ever cared for in any way. They were as different as night and day, and yet they both drew me closer, pulled me into their world and made me feel their pain.
Did I love them? I do not know. Perhaps I never will. I am certain that I loved them both, in a way, but one brought me freedom. The other brought me only pain.
Even now, I can feel myself fading. So slowly. So very, very slowly.
My head pounds loudly. I can barely form words. I do not want to die. I do not want to die...
An arrow. Sharp. Razor-edged. It pierces my finger, and blood flow down the shaft.
The arrow would have flown true, if I had ever drawn it. I want to slip it into place, draw the bow back to my ear and let it hiss across the space between me and my target. I want to hear the thud as it hits its mark. I may never feel the exhilaration that fighting brings me again.
I raise my hand slightly, brushing away the coarse red hair that falls in waves to my knees. It is the only thing that makes up my body that I consider truly beautiful. There are some in the world of Men who despise the brilliant color, but I cannot agree with them. Red is the color of blood, the color of the trees in autumn. It is the color of wild, wild horses. It is me. When I came fully of age, my hair nearly brushed my heels in long, long red waves. I continued to let it grow until I joined the Guard, when I was forced to cut it. It truly devastated me. I sulked for weeks, before being threatened with demotion by the Elvenking.
My finger throbs. It is a welcome change to the emptiness I feel. Blearily, I remember stabbing it with one of my arrows. I wrench open my eyes, lifting my hand until I can see it. The calloused skin on my finger has been parted neatly, and blood flows from the hole. Smooth, warm, scarlet. Blood.
Do I care? I do not. This is the hand I would use to draw back my bowstring, but I no longer have the strength to do so. And it will heal, if I live long enough for the skin to scab over. I may even have a scar, to remind me that life comes with a price. I turn my head, wanting to close my eyes again.
My arrows. The thought comes randomly, and I force myself onto my elbows. My arrows are lying beside me, calling. Where is my bow? I strain to see through the blinding light I have not faced for many days.
There.
Reaching desperately, I manage to grab the bow I have carried with me for a good portion of my life. It is not the one the other Guards use. It is bigger, with slightly more force behind it. It is the one I carry when I need to be able to kill quickly and efficiently from a distance. Though I am likely unable to pull this one to a full draw, if I am to die, I want it by my side.
But where are my daggers? I must find them as well. They have been with me from the very start.
Struggling to my knees, I face the pain with gladness. It is wonderful to be feeling something. Squinting against the sun, I waver. Is it really worth this?
Yes, I decide. It is.
There! They are lying on the ground several paces away.
I moan. Forcing my legs to hold weight, I stagger towards the daggers.
Halfway there, I fall. My head spins horribly, but I push on.
I have never failed to complete a mission - at least not a feasible one - and this will not be the first time.
Will I die? As my head clears slightly, I become aware of the fact that I am horribly thirsty. And my stomach is aching. I do not want to die, I repeat. The words give me strength.
I reach for the daggers. They are tantalizingly close. And what is beside them? Bread?
Yes. It is bread, and while it is hard as a rock and flavorless, it is still food. Ravenous, I grab it and tear into the old bread.
I eat so fast that I start to gag. My mouth is dry. Water. I need water. There is none in sight, though. Weakly, I call out. I do not want to die. As I inhale deeply to yell again, I become aware of the fact that my ribs are extremely prominent, even through my leather clothing. I must be horrifying to look at. Isn't there a mirror somewhere in here? The room is small and well lighted, but I do not see anything that I could view myself in.
Desperate for knowledge, I draw the gleaming blades I tried so hard to retrieve. Half of my face stares back at me, and I draw in breath.
I truly do look horrible. There are deep hollows in my cheekbones, and my eyes appear far too large.
A memory surfaces, and I gasp again. When I first came to the Elvenking's halls, I looked quite similar to this, half-starved and emotionally scarred. Though my face was young and unblemished then, with fewer lines and scars, it is eerie. I wonder if they would recognize me now. I doubt Thranduil would. Legolas might.
Legolas. Where did he go? What happened to Kili's body? Does it even matter?
It does, I decide. They were the only two friends I ever had. At least that I can remember.
Kili is dead. The realization comes with a jolt of pain as I knock my head against the door. Where am I?
Another memory smashes into me. Laketown. Fire, and blood. And then a fight, a fight for both my life and his. The life leaving me as Bolg squeezed my breath away.
Kili, and the blade entering his chest. His face as he breathed his last. My tears, stinging my eyes and burning their way down my cheeks.
Legolas killed him, didn't he? He had to. Please, I begged silently, let the Orc be dead.
I stagger into the sun, calling out for someone - anyone.
There is no answer, but I do see a bird ruffling its feathers. My mouth waters, and my stomach growls. I realize that I am still holding the dagger, and that if my aim is good I can bring the bird down easily.
I throw it.
The blade does not hit, but the handle does. The bird flops downward. My aim has failed considerably, but it is not what I am worrying about at the moment.
I lurch forward and grasp it by the feet. I have to remove the feathers, and gut it before I can even think about filling my belly. The dagger slices easily through the tender skin, and warm blood streams over my hands. Entrails fall out of the abdominal cavity as I quickly clean the bird. A fire, I think. I need a fire. But how?
Almost an hour later, I am close to fainting from exhaustion and hunger. But there is a small flame flickering beneath the bird. Soon, I will have food. I managed to find water as well, quenching my horrible thirst.
I eat ravenously, and even when I know my stomach is full it is hard to stop. For several minutes, I fear that all I had just consumed would come right back up in rebellion, but it does not.
My eyelids flicker as I lay back, thinking. There are those who cling to life and hard as they can, scared of death and scared of facing themselves. And then there are those who yearn to die, to finally be free. I stand between them, for I do not wish to die but no longer have anything left to live for.
My finger begins to bleed again. I consider my options, wondering if I will ever regain the life I had before. I have been banished. I no longer have anyone to help me. I am truly on my own.
I am free. I cannot decide if it is a good or bad thing.
Perhaps I will leave, and let fate carry me along. Perhaps I will find Legolas, and search for a new life. Do I love him? I cannot even pretend to understand my feelings. I do not want love, if it will hold me down. I want to be who I really am, to soar above and beyond the walls that used to hold me.
In time, I might even learn to love, or be loved. I do not know.
I will find out, though. Eventually.