A/N: Nothing related to Lord of the Rings is mine and I am nigh making a penny from this work. Any original characters are mine. Thanks once again to those reviewing the story. Your comments are the lifeblood of any author. I am trying to write/update when possible, but that silly old thing called work seems to be interferring.

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Time and Space

Chapter 6



Having someone watch you eat is a little unnerving. Having Legolas watch you eat was downright uncomfortable. "Will you please eat something?" I pleaded.

"Your food is not good."

"You need to eat, to keep up your strength."

He chuckled softly. "I can endure much." As much as he made light of it, I knew he meant more than just food. The four days since he'd been here had been a true test of strength and will. He seemed to be doing well. But each time I saw him, I could see a little bit of him dying. His light was faltering.

I put down my spoon and took my tea, swirling it around in the styrofoam.

"You are distracted," he said softly.

I nodded. "Mm. Yes." I downed the rest of my drink.

"Do you wish to tell me?"

I laughed. "When did you become the doctor and me the patient?" Still, he had a point. This situation with Legolas was occupying all of my time. My other patients were suffering and the more I got to know him, the more I was drawn to him. My curiosity of him was beginning to overrule the rational part of me that said to keep your distance.

I guess I was at a loss for what to do.

"You have doubts," he began, "about me. You wonder if I speak the truth. You feel that you must help me in some way to see that I am hiding something. Something very dark and horrible."

I could only look at him. Four days ago, this man barely said anything and could only stare out a window. Now, he was like a confident, dispensing his own advice.

"I am Legolas. I am an elf. And I am withholding information from you." He raised a hand to quiet me. "I am still attempting to sort through it myself, but please trust me. When I understand what has happened, I will inform you. Until then, please be patient."

As much as I wanted to wait around, news of his uniqueness couldn't be kept quiet for long. "I'll wait as long as I can, but others may not see it that way."

"Mike," he growled out.

"Even if you don't like him, he's still the one who decides who can leave or stay. I want you well, so my opinion will matter a great deal on whether or not you get out of here." There didn't seem much point telling him about the transfer until it actually occurred, hopefully not. "If I can't convince him that you are on your way to recovery, then you may not get the freedom you want."

His eyes narrowed. "You say that I am unwell, but here I am before you. I am neither sick nor injured. And yet you lock me away in a stagnant, hideous room, away from the light and clean air. What have I done to so grievously injure this world?"

Be careful in how you answer this one, Lin. "You are correct," I began slowly, "you are not physically injured. But even you would agree that emotionally, you're a little different than the norm."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I am no different than any other forest elf who has been taken away from the trees and sky that he loves so."

He truly believed that he was this Legolas person from the books, a fictional creation of some English professor's mind. Yet, the evidence was clear that he was not human. His blood and brain scans clearly indicated something unworldly about him.

Was he really an elf?

My head began to hurt.

"My experiences with healers has taught me many things, but above all else, they taught me to believe in my heart." He brought his hands forward to mine on the table, not touching. "What is your heart telling you?"

I looked into those blue eyes, finding comfort and ancient wisdom in them. He may have appeared to be in his early twenties, but his soul was old. And it was dying.

"You're dying," I quietly said.

"Yes," he replied just as quietly.

I blinked hurriedly. "But you said that you were uninjured?"

He gazed down at the table, not really looking at it. "This place, it is killing me." He looked up at me. "And you."

I knew that. In fact, I had known for a long time that being in the city was not where I belonged. I, too, longed for the fresh air and blue skies of the mountains, or plains, or anywhere but a city. Part of the reason I took up archery was to allow me that freedom, if only for a short while.

How did he know that? "How could you tell that?"

He lightly smiled. "Because we are not that different. We share a bond. That is why we were brought together. That is why you believe me and I in you."

"How can I help you? What can be done?"

Those two questions verbally confirmed what my heart had told me since I'd met this strange man: I believed him. He was Legolas. He was from some far off place in some far off time.

"I must leave here and then..." He looked away, longing for something he may never find. "I need to find my friends."

A plan began to formulate in my mind. And maybe it might work.





It seemed to me that there were two things that needed to be done immediately: get Legolas out of the hospital and to find his friends. The first bit sounded easier than the second, but paperwork and bureaucracy would make it darn near impossible. At least on a permanent level. In the short run, however, I could issue him a day pass.

"So I will be able to leave," he said.

"Yes. First thing tomorrow, we'll get you out."

He saddened. "I cannot leave tonight?"

I shook my head. "Sorry. That is impossible. Can you make it through?"

He nodded. "Yes." He paused. "I hope the stars will come out tonight." I didn't have the heart to tell him that the light pollution virtually blocked out any starlight.

We parted company. I had never felt so guilty about leaving a patient before. True, I didn't have decades of experience, but I'd been around a few years and experienced a few things. But seeing him watch me leave was wrenching. I felt as though I was disappointing him somehow.

Arriving home, I began my research. I didn't think that there would be any chance of finding his friends. Realistically, they couldn't exist here and now. So I focused my search to things about Lord of the Rings, Tolkien and elves. I was ready to trash my computer when over a hundred thousand hits came up. "Refine," I thought, "narrow it down."

For the rest of the evening and into the morning hours, I sifted through a veritable treasure chest of Tolkien lore. What I discovered was not only the societies devoted to his writings, but an entire culture built around him. He was a professor, true, but what struck me was the level of detail he brought to his work. The level of research and background mythology he created was utterly incredible and some of it appeared to be based in reality. His early Elvish language was a derivative of a nearly extinct Scandinavian language. If that was true, then what else was?

Bookmarking a few potential sites, I flipped the switch and headed for bed. Exhaustion was not going to help me or Legolas for the coming day.



And what a day it was!

Watching Legolas leave the hospital was a thrill in itself. He marvelled at everything he saw: concrete, buildings, cars, traffic lights, everything. He was very much like a child discovering the world for the first time. He took it all in, asking questions about everything.

"How does this work?" "Where does that come from?" "Why is it so tall?"

I smiled for much of it.

Driving in the car was quite a thrill, albeit a nervous one for him. He distrusted the machine, claiming its mechanisation was too far removed from nature, but when we went onto the freeway, he could only grin. He rolled down the window and let the wind rush past him. His hair flew all around, but he kept smiling. Guess he liked speed.

He also liked the fact that he was able to wear his own clothes again. Doreen didn't ask, but gave me an inquisitive look as I hauled out his canvas bag. I left the weapons, taking only clothes he might need. And seeing him dressed, out of the horrible hospital attire, you could definitely see him as not of this realm. He did appear mystical.

I decided that perhaps the best place to take him was the local park.

His reaction had been similar to when he went into the courtyard. He marvelled at the trees and other flora. He spent a long while just standing, absorbing all around him. The sun had finally penetrated the greyness, casting its rays upon his features. I could only stare in amazement at him. Beyond the sun, his own light appeared to be returning, if only a little. I could sense a small bit of happiness returning to him. A light breeze caught his hair causing a gasp in me. He looked like a Greek god.

He smiled lightly and pulled the fly away strands from his face. "Do you have an 'elastic'?" he asked looking towards me.

I reached into my pocked. "Here. This should do the trick." When our hands touched, I felt a shock. Some of his light was passed to me.

But more than that. I caught glimpses, images, of things I'd never seen nor experienced. There were faces and landscapes and beauty and ugliness. There was also sadness. But how could a feather of a touch do such a thing? I was seeing things that only he had seen. How? I was about to ask him when he began braiding his hair. Even that simple act became more. It was mesmorising as he took each piece and wove it with another. The style was intricate, but he handled it with practiced ease.

"Teach me," I said when he finished.

He smiled at me then proceeded to show me.



I knew very well that I was becoming too wrapped up in this man. The distinction between doctor and patient no longer existed. And no matter how many times my professor's word replayed themselves over and over in my mind, I allowed that distinction to disappear. I also knew that I could never do this again. My career as a psychiatrist was finished.

"I will tell you now," he said quite suddenly. We were both sitting under a particularly large willow tree, not having said anything for quite some time.

"You understand what has happened to you?" We both whispered, not wanting to break the peacefulness of the scene.

"Yes." Melancholy crept into his voice. "But I fear the ending." He held my gaze. "It would seem to be unfinished."

And then he began his tale.



To be continued...