Hey people! A day late I know but nonetheless I am back!!
Ok this chapter is a bit slow and not much happens, it is rather like the boring wait before the tornado hits ( yeah, as though it's going to be THAT exciting. My writing is not made for that) so please bear with me. Things will eventually happen and old wounds will be re-opened (excuse the pun).
Disclaimer: Don't own them and don't claim to. If I wanted them, I'd have them. (Trust me I have my ways. ()
Chapter2
The shadows of thousands of orcs reflecting in the stone doorway grew larger and larger as their possessors dangerously made their way closer. Legolas could hardly see them though; could hardly hear their echoing violent footsteps. Could hardly make out their horrific cries in their hungry search for murder.
It was as though his senses, usually frighteningly acute, had begun to mould one into the other giving birth to a nauseatingly loud mix of noise and colour. He had a vague knowledge of what was happening around him: He could see the fellowship desperately trying to outrun an enemy the elf knew they could never escape.
Not with the elderly wizard whose fragile body was trying his best to keep up with the rest of the group; not with the four halflings whose short legs equaled their most powerful sprint to a mere human jog; and, not in HIS own condition.
He could feel the material of his hastily applied bandage scrape against his raw skin. Could feel the vibration of each usually light footstep press heavily into the gash. Could feel the blood flow at a faster, more alarming rate as the two sides of the wound frictioned against each other. And yet... he felt none of this.
He felt nothing.
The only thing he was aware of was the sound of his own voice resounding deep and silent within his own mind. A voice that urged him to search beyond the darkness of the shadows. A voice that yelled at him to listen to the rustles surrounding him.
A voice that he couldn't help but ignore.
His legs mechanically pushed him forth in a learnt motion that he wasn't even aware of anymore. His eyes, focused in one direction, sent his brain only the essential facts necessary to keep him going at the acquired pace. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that they had pulled to a stop. He could feel his own muscles adhere together to halt his own legs and his arm reach back to grasp an arrow.
With his usual grace he armed his bow trying to ignore the whispering, dull ache of his chest as he tried to hold up the weapon. As he released his grasp he noted that, even when he fired subconsciously, his aim was still as deadly as ever. He repeated the motion again but, this time, he listened in fascination as he once again heard his own voice within his mind. Yet, it wasn't talking about the battle. It didn't NEED to advise him about the battle.
His body had fought so many times that it had by now, undertaken the basic pattern necessary for him to survive:
Aim. Shoot. Kill.
No, he knew how to do this well enough.
Instead, it was a warning that was replaying in his brain. A warning against what he knew would soon happen.
This piercing pain would soon cease. This melancholic state that tormented him would soon be swept away into what he knew could be a catastrophic follow up of emotions resurfaced from the passed millennia. It wouldn't take long now, the time would soon arise and until then, he would just have to live with the single sparks of remaining emotions his subconscious still privileged him with. In comparison with what was to come he knew that the anguish he was undertaking now would seem like a comforting peace before the storm.
A sudden noise turned him to look down a long, dark corridor built to an astounding height: A bright reflection of fiery light was transpiring through with a menacing, eerie gleam and a loud, guttural growl was soon to follow from the same source. It was then that he realized that the many orcs that had previously been on their pursuits had managed to surround them.
Within the circle, his companions stood as though petrified, their features betraying their growing panic: Gandalfs' knowing, despairing look almost hopeless in his gazing face; Boromir, Gimli, Pippin, Merry and Sam, astounded and terrified as they focused into the distance desperately clutching their weapons. And finally Frodos fear-filled blue eyes frantically staring ahead never shifting from the creature headed their way.
It didn't last long though. Gandalf spoke and as soon as the words unheard by the elf, left is lips they were running in the opposite direction, Legolas finding himself following obediently, repetitively casting arrows at figures he couldn't properly make out in the dark.
Later, he would think back to the next moments and realize that he didn't have much memory of them. Arrows cast his way. Orcs shot down. A bridge. Jumping. The Balrog. And finally the only thing that he knew he would never be able to forget for as long as he lived.
For eternity.
Gandalf turning before the beast, his staff clutched before him, proclaiming with what energy he still possessed:
"You shall not Pass!"
Dread fulfilled the elf as he watched the tremendous demon erupt forth towards the gray wizard intimidatingly. There was a startling clarity to his vision that forced him to confront a scene that he would rather have avoided. His hearing became less obfuscated as he heard the cracking of the flaming whip that the beast was fiercely wielding. It was an horrific spectacle and, still, all he could truly register was utter and complete fear.
It was seldom that this emotion could take over him but, when it did in all its terrifying power he was completely enslaved to it. Like every other emotion captured by his usual elven senses it was amplified to the full of its potential and almost impossible to bear. He wasn't able to look away as Gandalfs body was pulled down into the abyss, wasn't able to ignore the sharp waking ache in his side as he was jerked momentarily back to reality.
Then it all went crashing down again into a silent, numb darkness.
Running.
His legs once again were carrying him forth. He didn't have a sense of direction anymore, could just slightly make out the rest of the fellowship all rushing in the same direction to escape the countless of remaining orcs. Arrows, more arrows fleeting past him, leaving with him only soft, assassin whispers to soon be forgotten.
A light.
In the distance, the only thing that reached him in the dark cage that had imprisoned his mind. He could feel a slight piece of his being reacting to the warmth he could feel minimized as his eyes recognized the pale kissing of the sun. He had to reach it... Had to escape this gnawing darkness that had him transfixed, had to forget the engulfing terror that had grown within him.
He had to forget.
And yet, even when he could see the pale sunlight bathing his desperate hands, he failed to feel its effect within him. His body, usually charged by the brightness, seemed to have suddenly become immune to its charm. He no longer felt the joy penetrating his skin to reach the deeper, emotional wounds that only it's heat could cure. He had become impermeable to it's magic. The black pain that would have had him gasping for breath had he been alone, had affected him more than it ever had before.
What had happened in the Mines of Moria had inflicted a deeper wound on him than he had previously been conscious of. The anguish, fear and incomparable sadness had finally hit him as they never should have an elf.
They were the perfect beings, the chosen, blessed ones.
Not made for such raw human emotions.
His body wasn't accepting them; he couldn't cope with the mortal torture that was being pushed upon it. He had previously always managed to dominate these unnatural emotions. They had ever only affected him one other time... A long time ago... A time that he always avoided thinking about but, nonetheless, a time that always managed to catch up with him. Just as he knew it was about to do now. An event that he didn't want to recreate, actions that he didn't want to repeat, feelings that he never wanted to recall...
He had no thoughts left over now, no conscious sight, nor did he have a hearing capable of listening.
All he had was emotions.
I know I know, I kinda stretched a bit away from the physical wound but that side of the story will be discussed in the next chapter. Still have to decide what part of the story to put up (if you have no idea what I am talking about read the previous chapter).
Any suggestions would be appreciated and feasted upon.
BTW still desperately seeking a BETA.
Ok this chapter is a bit slow and not much happens, it is rather like the boring wait before the tornado hits ( yeah, as though it's going to be THAT exciting. My writing is not made for that) so please bear with me. Things will eventually happen and old wounds will be re-opened (excuse the pun).
Disclaimer: Don't own them and don't claim to. If I wanted them, I'd have them. (Trust me I have my ways. ()
Chapter2
The shadows of thousands of orcs reflecting in the stone doorway grew larger and larger as their possessors dangerously made their way closer. Legolas could hardly see them though; could hardly hear their echoing violent footsteps. Could hardly make out their horrific cries in their hungry search for murder.
It was as though his senses, usually frighteningly acute, had begun to mould one into the other giving birth to a nauseatingly loud mix of noise and colour. He had a vague knowledge of what was happening around him: He could see the fellowship desperately trying to outrun an enemy the elf knew they could never escape.
Not with the elderly wizard whose fragile body was trying his best to keep up with the rest of the group; not with the four halflings whose short legs equaled their most powerful sprint to a mere human jog; and, not in HIS own condition.
He could feel the material of his hastily applied bandage scrape against his raw skin. Could feel the vibration of each usually light footstep press heavily into the gash. Could feel the blood flow at a faster, more alarming rate as the two sides of the wound frictioned against each other. And yet... he felt none of this.
He felt nothing.
The only thing he was aware of was the sound of his own voice resounding deep and silent within his own mind. A voice that urged him to search beyond the darkness of the shadows. A voice that yelled at him to listen to the rustles surrounding him.
A voice that he couldn't help but ignore.
His legs mechanically pushed him forth in a learnt motion that he wasn't even aware of anymore. His eyes, focused in one direction, sent his brain only the essential facts necessary to keep him going at the acquired pace. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that they had pulled to a stop. He could feel his own muscles adhere together to halt his own legs and his arm reach back to grasp an arrow.
With his usual grace he armed his bow trying to ignore the whispering, dull ache of his chest as he tried to hold up the weapon. As he released his grasp he noted that, even when he fired subconsciously, his aim was still as deadly as ever. He repeated the motion again but, this time, he listened in fascination as he once again heard his own voice within his mind. Yet, it wasn't talking about the battle. It didn't NEED to advise him about the battle.
His body had fought so many times that it had by now, undertaken the basic pattern necessary for him to survive:
Aim. Shoot. Kill.
No, he knew how to do this well enough.
Instead, it was a warning that was replaying in his brain. A warning against what he knew would soon happen.
This piercing pain would soon cease. This melancholic state that tormented him would soon be swept away into what he knew could be a catastrophic follow up of emotions resurfaced from the passed millennia. It wouldn't take long now, the time would soon arise and until then, he would just have to live with the single sparks of remaining emotions his subconscious still privileged him with. In comparison with what was to come he knew that the anguish he was undertaking now would seem like a comforting peace before the storm.
A sudden noise turned him to look down a long, dark corridor built to an astounding height: A bright reflection of fiery light was transpiring through with a menacing, eerie gleam and a loud, guttural growl was soon to follow from the same source. It was then that he realized that the many orcs that had previously been on their pursuits had managed to surround them.
Within the circle, his companions stood as though petrified, their features betraying their growing panic: Gandalfs' knowing, despairing look almost hopeless in his gazing face; Boromir, Gimli, Pippin, Merry and Sam, astounded and terrified as they focused into the distance desperately clutching their weapons. And finally Frodos fear-filled blue eyes frantically staring ahead never shifting from the creature headed their way.
It didn't last long though. Gandalf spoke and as soon as the words unheard by the elf, left is lips they were running in the opposite direction, Legolas finding himself following obediently, repetitively casting arrows at figures he couldn't properly make out in the dark.
Later, he would think back to the next moments and realize that he didn't have much memory of them. Arrows cast his way. Orcs shot down. A bridge. Jumping. The Balrog. And finally the only thing that he knew he would never be able to forget for as long as he lived.
For eternity.
Gandalf turning before the beast, his staff clutched before him, proclaiming with what energy he still possessed:
"You shall not Pass!"
Dread fulfilled the elf as he watched the tremendous demon erupt forth towards the gray wizard intimidatingly. There was a startling clarity to his vision that forced him to confront a scene that he would rather have avoided. His hearing became less obfuscated as he heard the cracking of the flaming whip that the beast was fiercely wielding. It was an horrific spectacle and, still, all he could truly register was utter and complete fear.
It was seldom that this emotion could take over him but, when it did in all its terrifying power he was completely enslaved to it. Like every other emotion captured by his usual elven senses it was amplified to the full of its potential and almost impossible to bear. He wasn't able to look away as Gandalfs body was pulled down into the abyss, wasn't able to ignore the sharp waking ache in his side as he was jerked momentarily back to reality.
Then it all went crashing down again into a silent, numb darkness.
Running.
His legs once again were carrying him forth. He didn't have a sense of direction anymore, could just slightly make out the rest of the fellowship all rushing in the same direction to escape the countless of remaining orcs. Arrows, more arrows fleeting past him, leaving with him only soft, assassin whispers to soon be forgotten.
A light.
In the distance, the only thing that reached him in the dark cage that had imprisoned his mind. He could feel a slight piece of his being reacting to the warmth he could feel minimized as his eyes recognized the pale kissing of the sun. He had to reach it... Had to escape this gnawing darkness that had him transfixed, had to forget the engulfing terror that had grown within him.
He had to forget.
And yet, even when he could see the pale sunlight bathing his desperate hands, he failed to feel its effect within him. His body, usually charged by the brightness, seemed to have suddenly become immune to its charm. He no longer felt the joy penetrating his skin to reach the deeper, emotional wounds that only it's heat could cure. He had become impermeable to it's magic. The black pain that would have had him gasping for breath had he been alone, had affected him more than it ever had before.
What had happened in the Mines of Moria had inflicted a deeper wound on him than he had previously been conscious of. The anguish, fear and incomparable sadness had finally hit him as they never should have an elf.
They were the perfect beings, the chosen, blessed ones.
Not made for such raw human emotions.
His body wasn't accepting them; he couldn't cope with the mortal torture that was being pushed upon it. He had previously always managed to dominate these unnatural emotions. They had ever only affected him one other time... A long time ago... A time that he always avoided thinking about but, nonetheless, a time that always managed to catch up with him. Just as he knew it was about to do now. An event that he didn't want to recreate, actions that he didn't want to repeat, feelings that he never wanted to recall...
He had no thoughts left over now, no conscious sight, nor did he have a hearing capable of listening.
All he had was emotions.
I know I know, I kinda stretched a bit away from the physical wound but that side of the story will be discussed in the next chapter. Still have to decide what part of the story to put up (if you have no idea what I am talking about read the previous chapter).
Any suggestions would be appreciated and feasted upon.
BTW still desperately seeking a BETA.