A/N: This took extremely long to post, and I really do apologize. And everyone was so sweet, thank you for all of the feedback last time, glad you're enjoying it. This starts off lighter and gets dark and just plain bizarre/depressing at the end. It's like me! I seriously need therapy, I got hysterical crying twice today for two different reasons! I hate highschool. Ah, fun ^_^
Okay...anyway...I don't know what to say... make me happy by reviewing!
"Men have some foolish ideas," Legolas said, walking slowly beside Aragorn. Somehow, Lothlorien's normal celestial fantasia had been drowned out. It was quiet and bare, and held none of its usual comfort. The steady, rhythmic monotone of their footsteps filled the air. It hurt, to even tread here. But he could not leave until he had answers. "Did you ever notice? Sometime, if you're distraught, they try to comfort you by telling you of their misfortune in the past. It's as if you're saying: I was miserable as well. Doesn't that overjoy you? Aren't you absolutely thrilled that I too have suffered?"
Aragorn sighed, "I wasn't going to do that, Legolas."
"Then don't bring up these infelicitous recollections of your youth. I don't want to hear them."
"I was thinking," he bit out, his nerves frayed. It was debatable as to whether Legolas' immortality had suppressed his emotions and this was his veritable nature, or if he was simply touchy because of his ill-fortune. Either way, Aragorn was quickly joining him in his irritation. He would have quite preferred it if Legolas would have cried or whispered or poured his soul into the man's palm, pleading for comfort. Then he could have held him and soothed him and pitied him. But this, //this// was just aggravating.
"I'm tired."
"Legolas, this is the third time this hour you've been tired."
The elf flinched openly, lowering his voice, "I can't help it."
"Mortality doesn't make you that weak."
There was a substantial pause before Legolas said, "I think I'm catching a fever. I'm burning up. And I'm starving."
"You wouldn't be hungry if you were getting ill, Legolas."
Another pause. He gave a dramatized shiver, "I'm cold."
"You just said you had a fever," Aragorn strained to keep his voice level. "You have a really low opinion of men, don't you?"
"No. I just have a high opinion of elves," Legolas snapped. He bit his lip, then gave a hollow laugh; acute and harsh. "I never realized what a child I am. I throw myself into the fray, claiming strength and victory. But the moment I taste blood on my tongue..." he trailed off. "The moment I...taste..." A shudder trilled through his body. He cleared his throat, the haziness gone from his eyes. "I realize now, why the glass wouldn't break. Nothing living can break it. When the orc was stabbed, the glass shattered. It contained his life, so when his life broke so did it. Ingenious, isn't it?"
"Quite," Aragorn said wryly.
"Why? Why did she do it?"
Aragorn sighed, "Somehow, I do not think Lady Galadriel would fall of her own will."
"You weren't there. It was her choice. Only hers." He clenched his hands into fists. "I'll avenge this...I'll....if I could..."
Aragorn winced as he saw a thin line of blood coming from Legolas' hands, his nails puncturing the skin. "Legolas, don't do that."
"Leave me alone! You don't care, do you? That I'm mortal! That I'm about to die! That I have mere seconds left until I--!"
Aragorn grabbed Legolas' wrist, forcing him to turn around, "You're right," he whispered. "I don't care. I don't care if you die along side of me, Legolas. It is not so fearsome a prospect. But I cannot stand to see you like this. There are things..." he loosened his grip on the elf's wrist, "I have faced worse than death. There is worse."
Legolas drew in a low, shuddering breath. "I will confront her. She can take nothing more from me. I have nothing to fear." He sat down, as did Aragorn. "At times, I feel nostalgic."
"Before the ring times?"
Legolas nodded, "And not only that. Before you times. Before any of this." He hummed under his breath, barely audible. With an abashed laugh he murmured, "It calms me." There was a brief pause, and then, "Aragorn. Sing for me."
The man feigned interest in the ground, "I don't think so. I don't sing."
"Don't you want to soothe me?" Legolas asked. There was another pause. "That didn't come out quite right."
"Indeed," Aragorn said, keeping his voice as stolid as possible. He cleared his throat. "You sing, then. You're always doing it on your watch."
"I only sing when no one's listening."
"Then what's the point?"
"I always sing my best when there's no one there to hear it. Did you ever hear me, Aragorn? Hear me crying?"
"I only heard you singing."
"Then you've not listened."
There was an easy silence as Legolas began to hum again under his breath, very soft. "And yet I don't feel any better," he whispered, almost self-pityingly.
"I know, but go on," Aragorn said. Legolas shrugged, continuing his serenade. Aragorn stood up and reached out his hand, giving a rakish smirk and arching one eyebrow. "May I?"
The song died on his lips, "May you what?"
"Dance. Come on, you'll feel better."
Legolas slowly burned, "I-I don't...That's not...No, Aragorn..." Futile protestations gave way to logic. "We don't have any music."
"Then you're not listening."
Legolas craned his neck. He heard nothing but silence, the rustling of leaves intermingling with the rushing of water and the hush of the wind. The man scarcely touched him as Legolas entwined his fingers together behind Aragorn's neck. "Somehow, no matter how harmonious the air is, it's still no song. And without a song, I cannot..." He trailed off as Aragorn wrapped his arms around his waist.
"Then sing."
Legolas flushed. "Can we just...stand still? I'm...I'm..." With a rush of bitterness Legolas slumped against Aragorn, his eyes stinging as he struggled to keep himself from crying.
"Scared?" Aragorn breathed.
And it was silent.
A pain shot through her back, like a whip was breaking the skin and fragmenting her rationale. It hurt and stung and cried and flinched. But it didn't bleed. Therefore, what proof was there? There is no redemption with an excuse. Without blood and tears there was no memory.
She screamed, but only a whisper came out. Don't. No. Don't Forget. No forgetting. And she yelled, quiet and calm.
She'd do it again until she had no memories left.
Only dismissal. Only hope. Only nothingness.
A warning...
What had she been saying again?
Legolas ran a finger along the curvature of his jaw, feeling the flutter of his pulse where throat meets chin. He blinked back dust, unaccustomed to the bleary, immature feeling of mortal awakening, as opposed to the glassy dryness he knew well. He shifted.
Another name...
He ignored it. After so many nights, it was simple to deafen himself to the words. They were beyond reach now. He was, after all, a mere mortal.
He blinked his eyes, ready to fall back asleep. But this voice...this tone...he'd never bothered to really listen. He heard the names, discerned each word. But that voice; he'd never really heard it. So soft and rich and desperate and calm and soulful and surely his head was going to burst if it...it...it...
"Legolas?" Aragorn murmured.
"Don't touch me." Legolas got up, a smirk playing at his mouth. He touched a hand to his lips and said vaguely, "Why am I smiling?"
Aragorn bit back a sardonic reply as the elf whispered, " I don't know. You know, in the absence of anything else it seems that it's as good a thing to do as any. It's like talking to yourself, only no one bothers to look at you. No one points." He clenched his hand, "Don't come after me. I'll be right back."
He sprinted off before Aragorn had time to process the inane words into palpable sentences.
And Legolas could swear that he'd never run quite this hard in his entire life. It had never been so painful, the sharp tightness of his muscles and the hotness of his skin. But he'd never felt this burst adrenaline spurring him on. It was invigorating and refreshing like ice cold water pouring over his body. He didn't know how long he ran. Only that it was the fastest he'd ever run, and he'd never felt so tired in his life. Vanity. Everything boiled down to vanity. Everything he ever did, every act of charity, every step, every word...
It was vain. It was to supplement a meaning, to show himself that he was as stereo-typically fair as his immortal life sought him to be.
"Galadriel," he said, trying to steady his voice.
She looked up, standing in her clearing, barely having the grace to look surprised by his presence. "You are tired. I apologize."
"Why did you call for me?"
She smiled, her fingers lacing a chord around her neck. "I did no such thing."
"I heard you. You pleaded...begged...you..." he struggled for words, "You warned me."
"Of what?" she echoed lightly.
Trembling, he pointed to the vial strung about her neck, "Of that. I don't know who it was, Galadriel. Only a name. Were you trying to save them? In some part of you, do you realize this?"
She bit her lip, composure slipping, "Quiet. I told you already. Stop this."
"No! Stop it! I'm sick of crying! I'm sick of this weakness! This horrible weakness where I can't sleep with open eyes and know the future before it happens and hear the trees as I walk among them...this horrible weakness where...I can...can..."
"Fall in love?" she asked shortly.
He flinched. "Nothing of the sort. I will never sink to that level. It ends where...hate and love are one. It is only in indifference that anyone can be free."
"Why do you deny yourself?"
"I'm not..." Legolas began, aware that she was provoking him.
"I thought perfection was beyond such things as lies. But then, you are not so perfect now, are you?"
It was over before he'd the time to rationalize his actions. Wroth and brittle, Legolas snapped the chord from Galadriel's neck and threw it. With a soft clink it bounced off of the stone wall of the fountain and into the water. There was a hiss as it sank beneath the surface. Shards flew into the air, erupting in a jet of glass and wood. There was a short scream, maybe only in his mind; then choked, ragged breaths. He tasted blood and bile, rising in his throat. Barely audible, he gasped out, "It...wasn't supposed to break..."
"When you return anything to its source, it will break. Call it nostalgia. Call it memories." She placed a delicate hand on her collarbone. "Wrath."
Legolas staggered, "Are they...?"
She nodded curtly, "Your emotions do not bode well. Tell me, was it worth an innocent life to vent your anger, Legolas? Do you feel better?"
He clenched and unclenched his hand, feeling the bone pressing on his skin; wishing it would break and bleed and relieve him...
"I..." he croaked out disbelievingly.
With another smile Galadriel said, "You might be rewarded after all. Unless you truly are above such concepts as love."
"As love?" he echoed.
"I issue no warnings. And yet you claim to hear them. Tell me, what does it say?"
He looked at her pleadingly, lost and alienated. "I've told you...names..."
"You lie. Or you would not be so speechless at the moment."
"I did not hear the words tonight," he said in lieu of an explanation.
Her smile faded, "Oh? But that ampule you broke...I almost thought it purposeful. You seem to be brewing a potion. First such conceit, then sloth, then wrath...I merely took it for envy."
"I do not know what you speak of!" Legolas insisted.
"That vial. It belonged to someone you know. A princess, in fact." She shifted tones, more ariose and quiet, "They call her Arwen, daughter of Elrond."
