DISCLAIMER: Legolas belongs to Tolkien and New Line. Dreams of immortaility to the human psyche
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I was thinking about mortality and celebrating each day and to be honest how it is a gift to be here. I am appallingly ignorant of Tolkien, and so I apologise. I know that Legolas sailed off to Valinor eventually with Gimli after Aragorn's death, I wondered what might have happened after Gimli died too (I read that mortals were not given immortality there) This isn't 'canon', god forbid, but I was thinking about the power of emotion that Legolas felt in Middle Earth and whether that would have pulled him back. Oh and the quote from Bush is a real one- but from a radio interview not on the telly, so that bit isn't real..heeh
Sympathy for the Elf
Long thin fingers stroked down the sheen of condensation on the outside of the tall glass. They had long since stopped tingling when he drank, no matter how empty the bottle. A single gulp swallowed three shots, watered down at least a little with tonic. Well it was early yet; the bar still only half full in that in between time after the offices emptied and the serious drinking began. The time when you got served easily, without waiting. Perhaps though he was always waiting for something.
"Same again is it Sir?"
"I will take the bottle"
The young man's faced screwed up a bit "We don't do take out" he leaned a little further forward conspiratorially "any how you might want to try the Offy down the road- cheaper than buyin' it here"
"I will take the bottle and drink it here" a crisp quiet voice answered him before a note of tenderness folded over the sentence; he had learned that they liked that, even from strangers "but thank you. Keep the change" and a confused but hopeful smile skittered over the bartenders face.
Folding the note quickly in two he raised his eyes to wonder if there was more "Anything you like mate, give me a nod. Bobby, that's my name" But the words bounced off the broad back that disappeared into the recess of the bar, the straightest blonde hair just catching the swirl of warmed smoke air.
By the Valar he hoped there would be no trouble tonight, it followed him it seemed, men who took exception to his face, his unspeakable unfathomable strangeness, the attraction he held for their women, or themselves. Men who found themselves wishing they had left well alone in the dark alleys behind the next pub or club or dive, within an inch of their lives and pleading for mercy against silver spun knives and cold hard eyes. He was good at being merciful, but he was tired.
Oh he had fought alongside men, filled with zeal to carry on the alliance forged in Middle Earth, finding the honour, comradeship and comfort that had caressed and warmed his return from the perfection of Valinor into the mud and blood and tumult of the world of men. Here also he could strive to remember the hero, friend and king that had commanded his allegiance. And so his bow and his sword fell behind those who spoke of freedom and justice, were called upon and paid for in the smarting hail of arrows and the ringing crash of metal. He could hardly recall now, as the liquid finally reached the cold of his blood, the names of those whose battles he had fought. Harold killed by an arrow in the eye, Cromwell and Robespierre over the water bringing down hallowed dynasties and building up their own, Bolsheviks and freedom fighters and desperation in the centuries when the bow and sword gave way to the cannon and the gun and atomic implosion, revolutionary wars to almost Armageddon. Sauron perhaps had the last word.
A heavier clunk sounded as the bottle touched the side of his glass. Empty. In the cool blue of his eyes the light of a screen flickered, a half heard voice mouthed words above the thud of the jukebox "And because we are committed to the God-given worth of every life, we strive to promote respect for human dignity. Today, all who live in tyranny and all who yearn for freedom can know that America stands with them." Photographer's flashes and a man speaking on the 4th of July. He looked up to the bar with a deep hard breath "I think that calls for another"
He had slipped into company sometimes when fashion and trend allowed, ha, at least the late 20th century had delivered him the Goths and the hippies and the androgynous rebels so that he could walk unnoticed in a crowd of displaced identities. If he took enough he could even forget, forget that he didn't belong even in a bunch of misfits. His silken slip of a body slid through gathering crowds to reach the dark wood bar, now wet with early evening pre dinner excess spills, and as he waited he could feel the gaze of many and the gasp of a few "Another bottle please. Bobby...was that it? Your name"
The young man behind the bar beamed back "Yeah. You sure? Well I suppose you are still standing" a chirpy grin preceded a more serious look "I am not being funny…but you might want to watch your back…there's some blokes over there… " Bobby didn't know quite how to turn his eyes away from the cloud of blue sad resignation "listen, my shift ends in an hour; I have been here all day. We could go somewhere more friendly…you know what I mean?"
Clear white lids covered his eyes "Bobby, how far is it to the sea?"
A small grin crossed the bartenders face and a spread of warmth that told him that he was right, perhaps "what Brighton you mean? Be there before 10 if we bomb it"
"An hour before you finish? Then give me another bottle"
Seagulls cawed from the roof of the bed and breakfast as the thick sea weed sea rattled over the pebbles. If the window hadn't been open to the salt he might have slept all day but cerulean blue eyes flickered and sighed. On the pillow next to his, dark curls and the contentment of sex made him smile despite himself, and he reached to touch the lips that had sustained and fortified him. The tangle of boil washed sheets and limbs held him briefly as he contemplated the last morning in the world of men but despite a small murmur of 'yes' twitching at the corner of that mouth, still entwined in sleep and passing back into dreams, he slid from the covers to walk to the window, deep and wide and open to the sea. Far from the open desolate shores of Middle Earth he took in the pier and the beach huts, the fun fair and the promenade. But in the roar of his ears the unending tide pulled at the stones and his heart. He would find a boat.
"Will you come back to bed?" a groggy voice filtered into his thoughts before he turned, "Jesus" silhouetted in the first light he was perfection and unattained "who are you?"
Stepping back to the bed he watched his own tender fingers follow mortal contours that would sink and fall, muscles that would wane and skin that would dry to the bone as he gathered the sound of sighs and moans to his soul. "It doesn't matter. Tell me Bobby, do you have hope?"
Lust laden eyes cleared for a second to catch deep blue "it is just a matter of time mate" A wry smile nodded back and Legolas opened his mouth to taste his last human kiss.