Disclaimer: He's not mine and he will never be mine (you all know who I'm
talking about!) I do own Legolas' mother but that's about it.
Author's Notes: Okay, this might be my last update for awhile because I'm going on vacation to South Korea for like two and a half weeks. I know they have internet cafes there but I'm not sure if they have Word or Word Processor or Notebook or anything on the computer because it's Korea and if they do have it, I'm not sure if they'll have it in English. So, just saying that this might be my last update for awhile, I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Hugs @~}~~
The next day, Legolas was a wreck. He was also angry. Why wouldn't his mother let him die? He wished he was dead, he felt he didn't have much of a purpose to live. Deep down, though, Legolas knew that he would not have been ready to die but that still did not make him feel any better. He looked at his arms, scars getting angry and red. They seemed to be taunting him, teasing him. There, but not quite, as if they were trying to escape Legolas' gaze. Angry, Legolas raked his fingernails across them and some of them opened up again and silver red blood coursed out. He wiped it the best he could on the grass but his hands were still bloody. Legolas could smell the metallic tang of his blood and wished it would go away. He had to get rid of his sorrows somehow but he couldn't seem to find a way.
Full of desperation, Legolas, later, even took the offered hobbit weed. The rest of the Fellowship stared in amazement. Elves were very clean and they usually disapproved of things that were toxic to the body. But no matter how much he smoked, Legolas could not seem to get rid of the demons and sorrows.
"Oy, 'tis enough for one day Master Legolas," said Merry, trying to wrestle the pipe out of Legolas' hands. They were trembling and Legolas' mind felt foggy and befuddled. He would have also tried to take the brandy but Aragorn stopped him.
"What has gotten into you?" he asked. "You would have never tried to do things like this before. I told you, I'm here to help." Legolas didn't seem to hear him. And he didn't. All he heard were screams and cries and taunts. Everything started to blur together. Aragorn thought that it was because of the drugs but it wasn't. Somehow, Legolas got through the day and at night, he collapsed into bed. He was drowning in his sorrow. He did not know how to escape it. Every time he'd close his eyes, his father's taunting face would loom over him and every time he'd open his eyes, the scars on his arms were just as terrifying. They were all haunting him, making him wild out of his mind. He fell deeper and deeper into a dark haze of putrid, awful things and soon, he did not care if he'd ever come back out of that tunnel.
It was morning and Legolas was still sleeping. By the time the Fellowship was ready to go, Legolas still had not stirred.
"Legolas," whispered Aragorn softly, slightly shaking him. Legolas did not move.
"Legolas," said Aragorn louder. Legolas was as still as a statue.
"Legolas!" cried Aragorn. "Gandalf! Please! Come quick! Legolas is not waking!" It was true. Legolas was unmoving. He lay there, looking almost peaceful. Save his pointed ears, he looked like an angel from an old Italian painting, sculpted, perfect. But Aragorn looked more carefully and saw dark shadows making halos underneath Legolas' eyes and how tightly his lips were shut together.
"Please, Gandalf. Don't let him die," begged Aragorn. Gandalf was carefully examining Legolas, and concluded that he was still alive, but barely. Aragorn took Legolas' thin hand. He jumped at the sight of his hand. When was the last time he had eaten? Had his sorrow eaten away at him like an animal eating its prey?
"What's wrong with him, Gandalf?" asked Aragorn, his eyes searching Legolas' face.
"Grief. Grief and sorrow, I'm sorry Aragorn, there's nothing we can do but wait now." Aragorn clutched Legolas' cold, marble like hand. Please don't die, prayed Aragorn, silently. Please, please come back. Please don't die.
Author's Notes: Okay, this might be my last update for awhile because I'm going on vacation to South Korea for like two and a half weeks. I know they have internet cafes there but I'm not sure if they have Word or Word Processor or Notebook or anything on the computer because it's Korea and if they do have it, I'm not sure if they'll have it in English. So, just saying that this might be my last update for awhile, I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Hugs @~}~~
The next day, Legolas was a wreck. He was also angry. Why wouldn't his mother let him die? He wished he was dead, he felt he didn't have much of a purpose to live. Deep down, though, Legolas knew that he would not have been ready to die but that still did not make him feel any better. He looked at his arms, scars getting angry and red. They seemed to be taunting him, teasing him. There, but not quite, as if they were trying to escape Legolas' gaze. Angry, Legolas raked his fingernails across them and some of them opened up again and silver red blood coursed out. He wiped it the best he could on the grass but his hands were still bloody. Legolas could smell the metallic tang of his blood and wished it would go away. He had to get rid of his sorrows somehow but he couldn't seem to find a way.
Full of desperation, Legolas, later, even took the offered hobbit weed. The rest of the Fellowship stared in amazement. Elves were very clean and they usually disapproved of things that were toxic to the body. But no matter how much he smoked, Legolas could not seem to get rid of the demons and sorrows.
"Oy, 'tis enough for one day Master Legolas," said Merry, trying to wrestle the pipe out of Legolas' hands. They were trembling and Legolas' mind felt foggy and befuddled. He would have also tried to take the brandy but Aragorn stopped him.
"What has gotten into you?" he asked. "You would have never tried to do things like this before. I told you, I'm here to help." Legolas didn't seem to hear him. And he didn't. All he heard were screams and cries and taunts. Everything started to blur together. Aragorn thought that it was because of the drugs but it wasn't. Somehow, Legolas got through the day and at night, he collapsed into bed. He was drowning in his sorrow. He did not know how to escape it. Every time he'd close his eyes, his father's taunting face would loom over him and every time he'd open his eyes, the scars on his arms were just as terrifying. They were all haunting him, making him wild out of his mind. He fell deeper and deeper into a dark haze of putrid, awful things and soon, he did not care if he'd ever come back out of that tunnel.
It was morning and Legolas was still sleeping. By the time the Fellowship was ready to go, Legolas still had not stirred.
"Legolas," whispered Aragorn softly, slightly shaking him. Legolas did not move.
"Legolas," said Aragorn louder. Legolas was as still as a statue.
"Legolas!" cried Aragorn. "Gandalf! Please! Come quick! Legolas is not waking!" It was true. Legolas was unmoving. He lay there, looking almost peaceful. Save his pointed ears, he looked like an angel from an old Italian painting, sculpted, perfect. But Aragorn looked more carefully and saw dark shadows making halos underneath Legolas' eyes and how tightly his lips were shut together.
"Please, Gandalf. Don't let him die," begged Aragorn. Gandalf was carefully examining Legolas, and concluded that he was still alive, but barely. Aragorn took Legolas' thin hand. He jumped at the sight of his hand. When was the last time he had eaten? Had his sorrow eaten away at him like an animal eating its prey?
"What's wrong with him, Gandalf?" asked Aragorn, his eyes searching Legolas' face.
"Grief. Grief and sorrow, I'm sorry Aragorn, there's nothing we can do but wait now." Aragorn clutched Legolas' cold, marble like hand. Please don't die, prayed Aragorn, silently. Please, please come back. Please don't die.