Drowning In Blood.
Summary: An accidental killing by the hands of Legolas has the young elf drowning in guilt and grief. Can his friends help him before it's too late? Or will someone else have blood on their hands, the blood of Legolas.
Characters: Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn. Maybe some other characters if I feel the need to have them.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Lord of the Rings. They were created by the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolken. Any other characters in this story that you don't recognize are mine.
Setting: Two years after the war of the Ring. Aragorn is the King of Gondor.
Chapter One: An Innocent Life Is Taken.
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In the woods of Mirkwood a steady cold rain was falling. The rain buffeted the very few leaves on some of the trees making them look like they were shivering against the very cold. It was the kind of weather that was not fit for any man, beast, or elf for that matter. And yet out in that miserable cold weather there was one elf. His name was Legolas, prince of Mirkwood.
Sitting among the protecting branches on one of the trees his sharp elven eyes scanned the forest for any sing of a friend or foe. Frustrated he pushed his wet hair back from his eyes and sighed. He wished he was inside the warm halls of the castle but alas it was not to be. His father got word that fellow elves had been attacked and killed by what he did not know, so his father had decided that until whoever and whatever it was got caught, someone had to guard the borders of Mirkwood, and Legolas got the first night watch.
Legolas yawned and rubbed his eyes a bit. He had been on guard duty almost all night and it was starting to get a bit tiresome. Stretching his aching legs out he closed his eyes for a bit of a rest, his ears ever alert to the slightest noise or a word of warning from the trees that were his constant companion and guardian.
It wasn't long after he closed his eyes that he heard a twig snap. Quickly waking up he picked up his bow and silently and deftly notched an arrow on it. Listening intently he didn't hear anything at all until he heard lumbering footsteps coming close to where his hideout was.
Panicking he heard what sound like the breathing of an orc. What is an orc doing around here, he thought, and so close to Mirkwood? Well whatever it was the young elf wasn't bound to let it get close to his homeland. Without hesitation he let the arrow go, and he heard a cry, letting him know that the arrow had found its mark. The creature was no more.
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Dropping down from his perch, Legolas strode over in anger to where he heard the body fall. How dare that monster get close to my homeland and endanger my family and my people, he thought. But his anger quickly turned to guilt and panic when he looked into the face of the one who took his arrow. Instead of looking into the face of a deformed and heartless orc he looked into the face of a young boy, no more than 16 or 17 years old. Shaking all over he looked over more of the young boy and found that he had been wounded before, for blood was flowing freely from a terrible gash in his side. But it was my arrow that killed him, my arrow that pierced his heart and cut short his young life.
With great effort he pulled out the arrow, blood gushed out of the wound and onto Legolas's hands. The sight and the smell of the blood sickened him and he left the boy's side just long enough to quietly throw up what little he had in his stomach. Returning to the boy's lifeless body Legolas looked into the handsome face of the young victim. Somewhere, there is a family, a mother waiting for him at home. But he won't be coming home alive for I have killed him. Overcome with grief and remorse the young elf collapsed on the body of the young man and wept.
"Forgive me, please, please forgive me!" he cried out. But his pleas fell on death ears, even the trees seemed not to hear him, and Legolas never felt so alone and frightened in all his life. He had taken the life of a young man, something he had never thought he would never do. That young man's blood was on his hands, and that image of the handsome young face promised to haunt the young elf forever.
Desperate to get the blood of his hands, Legolas ran to a river and tried to wash it off. But the more he tried it seemed like it would never come off. After what seemed like an eternity the blood was finally off of his hands though not entirely from his mind. It was after he was done that a sudden thought hit him. What would his father say when he found out? O Valar, it would break his father's heart, or, he couldn't bear to think about it, his father would be furious and hateful of him and have him put into prison or maybe even exile.
He knew then what he had to do, he couldn't stay in Mirkwood now. If his fellow elves knew what he had done they would shun him, hate him, would never want them as the next lord of Mirkwood, his father would disown him. But where could he go? Could he go to Rivendell? No, if Elrond and his twin sons ever found out that he was a murder he knew that they would never look at him the same way either. So if not Rivendell, where? Suddenly one named entered his mind, Aragorn; he would ride to Minas Tirith. There he was certain that he could go there without anyone asking too many questions on what happened or what he did. And if push comes to shove he could leave Middle Earth all together and sail into the West.
No, I can't think of that, I can't bear to think of that. He thought. But what else could I do if even Aragorn found out and he hated me for what I did? Could he accept the fact that his dearest friend, the one he had known since he was a little boy had killed someone in cold blood? But I have no where else to go, no one that I know that I can turn too. I must go to Minas Tirith. I cannot linger here any longer. Without any hesitation Legolas decided what he must do, quickly mounting his horse he sped off toward Minas Tirith, never looking back at the boy that was lying there or his beloved homeland that he was leaving behind. Little did he know that going to Minas Tirith was a costly mistake, and a mistake that might cost him his life.
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