A/N- You guys wanted to see Lego-boy, how can I deny my wonderful readers
what they so desperately desire?
FYI- In May ROTK is coming to DVD and video, buy a copy and drool over it, then re-read my ficcy (
WE BROKE A THOUSAND REVIEWS! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
Chapter 52- Hope's Folly
Elaren was uncharacteristically silent. The ship left Valinor at speed indeed the Elvish shores shooed the boat away like a scolded child and the wind gently urged the Mirkwood Prince closer to his forsaken princess each moment. The winds were fair and brought him fast but it never seemed fast enough. He wanted to be by her that very moment, the thought of her alone, hurt, unaided; left vulnerable and unprotected chilled his very blood and near stilled his heart. Galadriel had not assured him anything, refusing to share with him either Leyadriel's potential future or his own.
That had not heartened him.
He leaned his forehead against his hand and let loose a deep breath, he was tired of worrying, tired of hoping, tired of guessing and praying.....he wanted, no *needed* answers.
The empty stars and skies were all he had for assurance, he thought glumly as he gazed at them. Everyday the light in his eyes died a little more, deadened a little more. His hope was fading, he had gone too long supporting himself solely on hope.
The fellowship had had enough of hope's use as a lifeline.
He could recall it now, if he wished, the endless days and nights, innumerable hours spent counting the dead and dying, asking more people to fight and counting them among the corpses later. Faces standing armies numbering in the ten thousand, one hundred thousand, and having scarce three thousand troops to defend yourself with. Feeling the stink of blood mixed with sweat and tears and grim, dirt infecting open wounds, tears falling over old and new scars.
Children dying or watching their own parents fall to the enemies blade.
How many families had perished in their entirety? How many had left just widows and orphans behind?
Those battles, those torments, had plagued him and all that kept him from submitting to the madness that wooed him was the faint and distant hope of a hobbit's will.
Yes indeed, Legolas son of Thranduil had had enough of trusting his sanity, soul and life to mere hope.
He wished he were not so utterly alone, mayhap then he could trust to hope.
The breeze came off of the water, cooling his face and spraying it lightly with the salty film only sea water could produce. The waves and wind seemed to be singing, he thought he picked up a voice......vague and distant......but yes it was there.
It sounded like Arwen, strangely like the Evenstar:
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home
Mornië ut¨²lië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun
Mornië ut¨²lië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
A promise lives within you now
A promise.....yes a promise. He remembered now that Arwen had trusted her second born to his keeping. He remembered promising the corpse of his beloved mortal friend, his Estel, that he would care for his little girl.
And circumstances beyond his control had prevented that.
But not anymore. Not anymore indeed. It would be as he had told his father it would be: they would be together in life or death, live side by side or be buried side by side.
The breeze had comforted him immensely, Arwen's soothing words carried by the wind and water, they had given him the energy to go on. They'd been meant for hope, he knew, but he'd had enough of hope.
He didn't want to hope to hold Leyadriel, he wanted to actually feel her in his arms, wanted to breath in the smell of her hair and taste her lips and hear her voice.
Hope was lost on him, he was beyond hope, beyond desperate. He was a dying man on life's last quest. If he found her grave he'd lie down and die, if he found her again..... he'd be reborn into a new and better mate for her then he had been before.
Hope? Hope couldn't give him nor take from him anything more then what life had already.
He sat at the front of the ship as it cut through the water majestically, still on course and never ceasing, never sleeping, never straying .....just like him.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Elaren had indeed been uncharacteristically silent. She was beyond her grief and only beginning to cope with her pain. The elves had healed her body but had left her mind for her own tending. All she could hear echoing in the chambers of her thoughts was the same revelation, over and over, that everything she'd always believed was false. That it was her imagination that over and over again her sister sought to best her for the spite of it, that Legolas had fawned over her and Leyadriel had cruelly stolen him away.
Galadriel had told her this much and not lightly: that she was a young girl, little more then a child, playing on dangerous ground with dangerous people and that if she believed herself beyond their justice, she was gravely mistaken.
Her great-grandmother had told her, as well, that she had a gift for looking beyond the façade of things, and right now she turned that keen eye on herself and saw, but refused to believe, every word the Lady of the Light had spoken.
She looked out of her window and saw that the ship was still on the straightest, quickest course home and she realized her fate.
She had committed treason. Elven law held bindings and love above all else and she had purposely torn apart and stained a loving near-marriage because she held a petty, childish jealousy. She realized how she made herself look, how her actions had looked, how horribly selfish and blind all her motives were.
She had been a fool but she didn't trust to hope that pleading for her sister's mercy would get her anywhere. She had stolen Leyadriel's betrothed from their bed after raping him, he nearly faded and she had caused archers to nearly kill her.
She was guilty of high treason: the attempted murder of a scion of Telcontar.
The penalty was death.
Once they reached Gondor she would be imprisoned, perhaps tried for the sake of publicly humiliating her, but most assuredly she'd be executed.
The last thing Elaren wanted was to die in a wretched prison cell awaiting her sister's mercy for an easy death. Despite her revelations, she and her sister had formed a bitter rivalry, one that would not be patched up for Elaren had crossed the point of no return.
She could still fight Leyadriel. All of Aragorn and Arwen's children had been trained to at least hold their defense with a blade, she could use her skill against her sister's.
Elaren held no illusions, her sister was a minor soldier, she had fought in Ithilien and had the experience of her dreams to enhance her battle prowess, Elaren merely had dusty lessons from when she was eleven years old but hand to hand combat with Leyadriel had one gleaming prospect over allowing herself to be put into prison: the chance for escape. She'd have to run long and far but if she fought there was still the chance to be free.
She'd have to bide her time well, and she'd no way of knowing until she arrived there what if any changes had been made.
With luck her sister was dead and her old ally would assist her.
Without luck she was in a prison cell, locked up awaiting a swift blade.
She didn't dare to hope, hope was a deadly thing in such a deadly game as she played for she was now committed to not die without putting up a fight.
A/N- yes I know it's been terribly long since I last updated. Its not that long but how was it?
FYI- In May ROTK is coming to DVD and video, buy a copy and drool over it, then re-read my ficcy (
WE BROKE A THOUSAND REVIEWS! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
Chapter 52- Hope's Folly
Elaren was uncharacteristically silent. The ship left Valinor at speed indeed the Elvish shores shooed the boat away like a scolded child and the wind gently urged the Mirkwood Prince closer to his forsaken princess each moment. The winds were fair and brought him fast but it never seemed fast enough. He wanted to be by her that very moment, the thought of her alone, hurt, unaided; left vulnerable and unprotected chilled his very blood and near stilled his heart. Galadriel had not assured him anything, refusing to share with him either Leyadriel's potential future or his own.
That had not heartened him.
He leaned his forehead against his hand and let loose a deep breath, he was tired of worrying, tired of hoping, tired of guessing and praying.....he wanted, no *needed* answers.
The empty stars and skies were all he had for assurance, he thought glumly as he gazed at them. Everyday the light in his eyes died a little more, deadened a little more. His hope was fading, he had gone too long supporting himself solely on hope.
The fellowship had had enough of hope's use as a lifeline.
He could recall it now, if he wished, the endless days and nights, innumerable hours spent counting the dead and dying, asking more people to fight and counting them among the corpses later. Faces standing armies numbering in the ten thousand, one hundred thousand, and having scarce three thousand troops to defend yourself with. Feeling the stink of blood mixed with sweat and tears and grim, dirt infecting open wounds, tears falling over old and new scars.
Children dying or watching their own parents fall to the enemies blade.
How many families had perished in their entirety? How many had left just widows and orphans behind?
Those battles, those torments, had plagued him and all that kept him from submitting to the madness that wooed him was the faint and distant hope of a hobbit's will.
Yes indeed, Legolas son of Thranduil had had enough of trusting his sanity, soul and life to mere hope.
He wished he were not so utterly alone, mayhap then he could trust to hope.
The breeze came off of the water, cooling his face and spraying it lightly with the salty film only sea water could produce. The waves and wind seemed to be singing, he thought he picked up a voice......vague and distant......but yes it was there.
It sounded like Arwen, strangely like the Evenstar:
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home
Mornië ut¨²lië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun
Mornië ut¨²lië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
A promise lives within you now
A promise.....yes a promise. He remembered now that Arwen had trusted her second born to his keeping. He remembered promising the corpse of his beloved mortal friend, his Estel, that he would care for his little girl.
And circumstances beyond his control had prevented that.
But not anymore. Not anymore indeed. It would be as he had told his father it would be: they would be together in life or death, live side by side or be buried side by side.
The breeze had comforted him immensely, Arwen's soothing words carried by the wind and water, they had given him the energy to go on. They'd been meant for hope, he knew, but he'd had enough of hope.
He didn't want to hope to hold Leyadriel, he wanted to actually feel her in his arms, wanted to breath in the smell of her hair and taste her lips and hear her voice.
Hope was lost on him, he was beyond hope, beyond desperate. He was a dying man on life's last quest. If he found her grave he'd lie down and die, if he found her again..... he'd be reborn into a new and better mate for her then he had been before.
Hope? Hope couldn't give him nor take from him anything more then what life had already.
He sat at the front of the ship as it cut through the water majestically, still on course and never ceasing, never sleeping, never straying .....just like him.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Elaren had indeed been uncharacteristically silent. She was beyond her grief and only beginning to cope with her pain. The elves had healed her body but had left her mind for her own tending. All she could hear echoing in the chambers of her thoughts was the same revelation, over and over, that everything she'd always believed was false. That it was her imagination that over and over again her sister sought to best her for the spite of it, that Legolas had fawned over her and Leyadriel had cruelly stolen him away.
Galadriel had told her this much and not lightly: that she was a young girl, little more then a child, playing on dangerous ground with dangerous people and that if she believed herself beyond their justice, she was gravely mistaken.
Her great-grandmother had told her, as well, that she had a gift for looking beyond the façade of things, and right now she turned that keen eye on herself and saw, but refused to believe, every word the Lady of the Light had spoken.
She looked out of her window and saw that the ship was still on the straightest, quickest course home and she realized her fate.
She had committed treason. Elven law held bindings and love above all else and she had purposely torn apart and stained a loving near-marriage because she held a petty, childish jealousy. She realized how she made herself look, how her actions had looked, how horribly selfish and blind all her motives were.
She had been a fool but she didn't trust to hope that pleading for her sister's mercy would get her anywhere. She had stolen Leyadriel's betrothed from their bed after raping him, he nearly faded and she had caused archers to nearly kill her.
She was guilty of high treason: the attempted murder of a scion of Telcontar.
The penalty was death.
Once they reached Gondor she would be imprisoned, perhaps tried for the sake of publicly humiliating her, but most assuredly she'd be executed.
The last thing Elaren wanted was to die in a wretched prison cell awaiting her sister's mercy for an easy death. Despite her revelations, she and her sister had formed a bitter rivalry, one that would not be patched up for Elaren had crossed the point of no return.
She could still fight Leyadriel. All of Aragorn and Arwen's children had been trained to at least hold their defense with a blade, she could use her skill against her sister's.
Elaren held no illusions, her sister was a minor soldier, she had fought in Ithilien and had the experience of her dreams to enhance her battle prowess, Elaren merely had dusty lessons from when she was eleven years old but hand to hand combat with Leyadriel had one gleaming prospect over allowing herself to be put into prison: the chance for escape. She'd have to run long and far but if she fought there was still the chance to be free.
She'd have to bide her time well, and she'd no way of knowing until she arrived there what if any changes had been made.
With luck her sister was dead and her old ally would assist her.
Without luck she was in a prison cell, locked up awaiting a swift blade.
She didn't dare to hope, hope was a deadly thing in such a deadly game as she played for she was now committed to not die without putting up a fight.
A/N- yes I know it's been terribly long since I last updated. Its not that long but how was it?
