Notes: Zzz…
Gollum: D is asleep . . . Smeagol writes! Smeagol writes! We loves to.
***
The Return to Moria
Chapter V: Lossst
By Us
***
Down.
Down.
Down.
It was a terrible fall. The drop was a long one and the sounds of the topside battle had fast faded, leaving Legolas only to listen to the air as it screeched through his ears. He stared up at the disappearing light of the surface, watching it shrink like a thin lightning bolt against an ever growing lonely black sky.
He had a lot of time to think about the possibilities that would happen when he reached the bottom.
Would there be a bed of rocks, sharp and jagged, for him sleep in? Would it be water, where at this speed would be as deadly as the stones? Or fire, red and hot? Maybe he would plummet to the center of the world and be trapped forever in a dire dark.
His heart fluttered as quickly as a sparrow that found itself with broken wings under a hawk's glare. Death would be sudden, it was sure, and he tried to prepare himself. By Iluvatar and the Secret Fire, he prayed, allow me passage to the hall of Mandos.
That did not comfort him. Everything was too chill and hallow and suffocating - blood in the veins nearly seizing in the turmoil. Only the flying Nazgul had caused his spirit to be at the mercy of such terror, back when he was in the company of Gimli, Pippin, Merry, Gandalf, and soon to be king Aragorn. Frodo and Sam were far gone to the borders of Mordor then.
Legolas missed the days of the Fellowship. If only he could see them all together one more time, including the departed Boromir, impossible as it may be. The Elf had worried sometimes that he would be the last of the nine to remain in life; now it looked like the opposite could come true.
This can't be happening.
This can't!
Yet, still he fell into that long dark, clutching to elusive wishes and denials.
Was this how Gandalf felt? Horrid, soul-draining fear as the world grew further and further away?
But Gandalf had lived, not died -
A gripping gust of wind roared, strong as a tempest. Like a feather he tumbled along with it and felt the fall begin to slow as the updraft grew in strength. A wind tunnel. It was a wind tunnel. Might he float to the ground?
Then the piercing air shoved him one last time, giving the body the lift it needed to just possibly survive. There was a final steep plunge, and the Elf felt himself striking feet first onto a fragile layer of ice which promptly broke, sending him deep into the water. It was
So.
Cold.
The shock of the impact had robbed him of breath, and the icy tomb nearly froze his heart to a stop. His limbs stiffen, and fingers cramped inwards into unbreakable fists. But with a sudden strength born of all warriors Legolas found himself kicking upwards. The wet clothing dragged at him like the many tentacles of the Watcher, slowing the fight for life.
There was that music in the water, the snatch of melody heard so faintly back at the Mirrormere, now clear as a soft bird . . .
Swim!
He wanted to breathe.
Swim!
He needed to breathe, to live and see the ocean again.
Swim!
Legolas shattered through the surface and gasped. With numbed fingers the archer clawed and broke a path in the thin ice. He headed any direction, wanting to find a shore that he could rest upon. The danger of the fall was over, but now the cold could claim him.
When all seemed lost his feet touched ground, and dry rock was under his palms. He lunged and came on land, and Legolas crawled far from the underground lake. Hastily the top layer of his clothes were pulled and tossed off to keep heat from escaping into the wetness. There in the silence did he curl up and shiver.
Hands trembled and could barely move. His whole body stiffened once more and refused to do more than shake.
He must find warmth soon, lest the alluring call of forever sleep take over.
But for now, just rest . . .
To Be Continued.
Notes: *jerks awake* Eh? What is this? Why are there gash marks on my keyboard? *frowns*
Gollum: D is asleep . . . Smeagol writes! Smeagol writes! We loves to.
***
The Return to Moria
Chapter V: Lossst
By Us
***
Down.
Down.
Down.
It was a terrible fall. The drop was a long one and the sounds of the topside battle had fast faded, leaving Legolas only to listen to the air as it screeched through his ears. He stared up at the disappearing light of the surface, watching it shrink like a thin lightning bolt against an ever growing lonely black sky.
He had a lot of time to think about the possibilities that would happen when he reached the bottom.
Would there be a bed of rocks, sharp and jagged, for him sleep in? Would it be water, where at this speed would be as deadly as the stones? Or fire, red and hot? Maybe he would plummet to the center of the world and be trapped forever in a dire dark.
His heart fluttered as quickly as a sparrow that found itself with broken wings under a hawk's glare. Death would be sudden, it was sure, and he tried to prepare himself. By Iluvatar and the Secret Fire, he prayed, allow me passage to the hall of Mandos.
That did not comfort him. Everything was too chill and hallow and suffocating - blood in the veins nearly seizing in the turmoil. Only the flying Nazgul had caused his spirit to be at the mercy of such terror, back when he was in the company of Gimli, Pippin, Merry, Gandalf, and soon to be king Aragorn. Frodo and Sam were far gone to the borders of Mordor then.
Legolas missed the days of the Fellowship. If only he could see them all together one more time, including the departed Boromir, impossible as it may be. The Elf had worried sometimes that he would be the last of the nine to remain in life; now it looked like the opposite could come true.
This can't be happening.
This can't!
Yet, still he fell into that long dark, clutching to elusive wishes and denials.
Was this how Gandalf felt? Horrid, soul-draining fear as the world grew further and further away?
But Gandalf had lived, not died -
A gripping gust of wind roared, strong as a tempest. Like a feather he tumbled along with it and felt the fall begin to slow as the updraft grew in strength. A wind tunnel. It was a wind tunnel. Might he float to the ground?
Then the piercing air shoved him one last time, giving the body the lift it needed to just possibly survive. There was a final steep plunge, and the Elf felt himself striking feet first onto a fragile layer of ice which promptly broke, sending him deep into the water. It was
So.
Cold.
The shock of the impact had robbed him of breath, and the icy tomb nearly froze his heart to a stop. His limbs stiffen, and fingers cramped inwards into unbreakable fists. But with a sudden strength born of all warriors Legolas found himself kicking upwards. The wet clothing dragged at him like the many tentacles of the Watcher, slowing the fight for life.
There was that music in the water, the snatch of melody heard so faintly back at the Mirrormere, now clear as a soft bird . . .
Swim!
He wanted to breathe.
Swim!
He needed to breathe, to live and see the ocean again.
Swim!
Legolas shattered through the surface and gasped. With numbed fingers the archer clawed and broke a path in the thin ice. He headed any direction, wanting to find a shore that he could rest upon. The danger of the fall was over, but now the cold could claim him.
When all seemed lost his feet touched ground, and dry rock was under his palms. He lunged and came on land, and Legolas crawled far from the underground lake. Hastily the top layer of his clothes were pulled and tossed off to keep heat from escaping into the wetness. There in the silence did he curl up and shiver.
Hands trembled and could barely move. His whole body stiffened once more and refused to do more than shake.
He must find warmth soon, lest the alluring call of forever sleep take over.
But for now, just rest . . .
To Be Continued.
Notes: *jerks awake* Eh? What is this? Why are there gash marks on my keyboard? *frowns*
