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Web Of Sorrow
by TigerBabe
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Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am but a poor student, who lives off beans on toast. Suing me would be pointless... unless you want to deprive me of my beans on toast.
Authors Notes & Warnings: Very angst driven fic, deals with depression and suicidal thoughts. 'Tis difficult for me to write, as it's semi-autobiographical, so please dont flame me to complain that I dont know what I'm talking about or whatever, because I do know what I'm talking about. If you really do feel the need to flame me, have a look at my other fics, and flame one of them. It's set somewhere between Rivendell and Moria.
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Legolas sat at the edge of the campsite, out of sight of the rest of the fellowship, but where he could still see them with the aid of his Elven eyesight. He sighed, and took another swig from the bottle of wine he had brought with him. A tear fell from his eye, as he glanced away from the scene of the young Hobbits playing cheerfully by the fire, while Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli looked on in amusement.
He hadnt always been like this; there was once a time, many years ago now, when he was happy. Happy in his ignorance of the world, in his ignorance of the cruelty and suffering that was endured by innocent people on a daily basis. But not any longer - not since he found out first hand what becomes of true innocence.
He settled his bottle on the floor next to him, and slowly drew his dagger. He lifted the weapon until it was at eye level with him, and tilted it until he could see his reflection. His eyes red and swollen, his lip quivering in self loathing. He sighed and brought the dagger back down to his side. He glanced up to the moon, and silently asked what he had done to deserve this.
He got no reply. He slowly unlaced his wrist guards, and rolled up the sleeve from his chemise [1], and began to examine his arm and wrist. Scars lay there, like a spiders web of sorrow, some pale and faded, some red and just days old. He sighed and tilted his head back against the old tree he sat against.
His hand reached forward and picked up the bottle again. He brought it to his lips, and took a long steady drink. He settled the bottle down again, and brought his dagger to his arm. One slash, two slashes, three slashes, four. The blood poured from his arm, but he felt no pain. His face was blank, no emotions were betrayed. His eyes however, were like a storm of emotions; anguish, pain, fear, betrayal, hate. He glanced down at his arm and realised with a frown that the bleeding had already stopped due to his Elven healing abilities, and due to the fact the cuts were shallow.
He averted his eyes back to the rest of the Fellowship. 'They have no idea,' he thought to himself, as he picked up the bottle of wine, and finished it off. His tears were falling freely now, the realisation of the fact that none of the Fellowship cared enough to notice the fact that he was miserable, sad, depressed, whatever you want to call it. Truthfully, he didnt want anyone to know, for they would pity him, feel sorry for him. And they would ask why. The one question he couldnt answer, or rather, feared to.
He had told someone once... someone he thought he trusted, someone he thought he loved. And although that person had asked for the truth, they soon found that they couldnt handle it. Legolas hadnt spoken to that person in years now, for that person seemed disgusted and wished nothing more to do with Legolas. Fresh tears fell from his eyes, clouding his vision once more.
He sighed, and leaned back again.
"Legolas?" he heard Aragorn's voice calling his name, "Legolas?" he called again, his voice coming closer.
Legolas sat up, and looked around, hastily wiping his tears from his eyes, and hoping that when Aragorn finally got there, he wouldnt notice, or perhaps couldnt see the state which Legolas was in. He quickly pulled the sleeve of his chemise down, but in his haste smeered blood down the pale blue cloth. He muttered a curse in Elvish, as he pushed the empty bottle behind the tree, and picked up his wrist guard and began to lace it up.
"Legolas? Where are you?" Aragorn asked again, sounding impatient, but also a slight hint of worry in his voice. 'Worry?' Legolas thought to himself, 'No, they dont care, cant be worry... must be annoyance for the fact I have not answered him.'
"Over here Aragorn," Legolas called out, his voice sounding weak and tearsome. He cursed again for how weak his voice sounded.
Aragorn walked up to where Legolas was sitting, and found his friend sitting on the ground, an empty wine bottle clumsily thrown behind the tree, although he could still see it clearly. The young Elf was tying up his wrist guard as Aragorn approached.
Aragorn raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but he was also filled with concern. He could see, thanks to the pale moonlight, that his friend had been crying, for his eyes were red, and even still, some tears slowly fell.
"Are you alright?" He asked, as he approached, and knelt down infront of the blonde Elf.
"I'm fine," Legolas replied, moving away slightly, trying to hide the crimson smeer on his sleeve, and the dagger which lay next to him, stained with his own blood. But it was too late, Aragorn's eyes went wide as he noticed the blood.
"You are not alright, Legolas!" he shouted, fury and concern mixed into one, "Tell me what has happened?"
Legolas gazed at him, fear evident in his eyes. 'What do I do now?' he thought to himself, as the tears began to fall once more, in a steady heavy stream down his cheeks.
******
TBC... review, and lemme know what you think!
[1] A chemise is basically a shirt - worn by both sexes, under dresses & bodices in women's cases, or under tunic's in men' or just alone in men's cases. It's usually white, but if my eyes are working as I examine my photos of Legolas (purely for the purposes of this Fic), his are a light shade of blue.
Web Of Sorrow
by TigerBabe
******
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am but a poor student, who lives off beans on toast. Suing me would be pointless... unless you want to deprive me of my beans on toast.
Authors Notes & Warnings: Very angst driven fic, deals with depression and suicidal thoughts. 'Tis difficult for me to write, as it's semi-autobiographical, so please dont flame me to complain that I dont know what I'm talking about or whatever, because I do know what I'm talking about. If you really do feel the need to flame me, have a look at my other fics, and flame one of them. It's set somewhere between Rivendell and Moria.
******
Legolas sat at the edge of the campsite, out of sight of the rest of the fellowship, but where he could still see them with the aid of his Elven eyesight. He sighed, and took another swig from the bottle of wine he had brought with him. A tear fell from his eye, as he glanced away from the scene of the young Hobbits playing cheerfully by the fire, while Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli looked on in amusement.
He hadnt always been like this; there was once a time, many years ago now, when he was happy. Happy in his ignorance of the world, in his ignorance of the cruelty and suffering that was endured by innocent people on a daily basis. But not any longer - not since he found out first hand what becomes of true innocence.
He settled his bottle on the floor next to him, and slowly drew his dagger. He lifted the weapon until it was at eye level with him, and tilted it until he could see his reflection. His eyes red and swollen, his lip quivering in self loathing. He sighed and brought the dagger back down to his side. He glanced up to the moon, and silently asked what he had done to deserve this.
He got no reply. He slowly unlaced his wrist guards, and rolled up the sleeve from his chemise [1], and began to examine his arm and wrist. Scars lay there, like a spiders web of sorrow, some pale and faded, some red and just days old. He sighed and tilted his head back against the old tree he sat against.
His hand reached forward and picked up the bottle again. He brought it to his lips, and took a long steady drink. He settled the bottle down again, and brought his dagger to his arm. One slash, two slashes, three slashes, four. The blood poured from his arm, but he felt no pain. His face was blank, no emotions were betrayed. His eyes however, were like a storm of emotions; anguish, pain, fear, betrayal, hate. He glanced down at his arm and realised with a frown that the bleeding had already stopped due to his Elven healing abilities, and due to the fact the cuts were shallow.
He averted his eyes back to the rest of the Fellowship. 'They have no idea,' he thought to himself, as he picked up the bottle of wine, and finished it off. His tears were falling freely now, the realisation of the fact that none of the Fellowship cared enough to notice the fact that he was miserable, sad, depressed, whatever you want to call it. Truthfully, he didnt want anyone to know, for they would pity him, feel sorry for him. And they would ask why. The one question he couldnt answer, or rather, feared to.
He had told someone once... someone he thought he trusted, someone he thought he loved. And although that person had asked for the truth, they soon found that they couldnt handle it. Legolas hadnt spoken to that person in years now, for that person seemed disgusted and wished nothing more to do with Legolas. Fresh tears fell from his eyes, clouding his vision once more.
He sighed, and leaned back again.
"Legolas?" he heard Aragorn's voice calling his name, "Legolas?" he called again, his voice coming closer.
Legolas sat up, and looked around, hastily wiping his tears from his eyes, and hoping that when Aragorn finally got there, he wouldnt notice, or perhaps couldnt see the state which Legolas was in. He quickly pulled the sleeve of his chemise down, but in his haste smeered blood down the pale blue cloth. He muttered a curse in Elvish, as he pushed the empty bottle behind the tree, and picked up his wrist guard and began to lace it up.
"Legolas? Where are you?" Aragorn asked again, sounding impatient, but also a slight hint of worry in his voice. 'Worry?' Legolas thought to himself, 'No, they dont care, cant be worry... must be annoyance for the fact I have not answered him.'
"Over here Aragorn," Legolas called out, his voice sounding weak and tearsome. He cursed again for how weak his voice sounded.
Aragorn walked up to where Legolas was sitting, and found his friend sitting on the ground, an empty wine bottle clumsily thrown behind the tree, although he could still see it clearly. The young Elf was tying up his wrist guard as Aragorn approached.
Aragorn raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but he was also filled with concern. He could see, thanks to the pale moonlight, that his friend had been crying, for his eyes were red, and even still, some tears slowly fell.
"Are you alright?" He asked, as he approached, and knelt down infront of the blonde Elf.
"I'm fine," Legolas replied, moving away slightly, trying to hide the crimson smeer on his sleeve, and the dagger which lay next to him, stained with his own blood. But it was too late, Aragorn's eyes went wide as he noticed the blood.
"You are not alright, Legolas!" he shouted, fury and concern mixed into one, "Tell me what has happened?"
Legolas gazed at him, fear evident in his eyes. 'What do I do now?' he thought to himself, as the tears began to fall once more, in a steady heavy stream down his cheeks.
******
TBC... review, and lemme know what you think!
[1] A chemise is basically a shirt - worn by both sexes, under dresses & bodices in women's cases, or under tunic's in men' or just alone in men's cases. It's usually white, but if my eyes are working as I examine my photos of Legolas (purely for the purposes of this Fic), his are a light shade of blue.