Hey everyone sorry I took so long for this part. I don't mean to make up
excuses only this delay was really not my fault!! My laptop decided to take
a vacation from me and my next two chapters were saved in its blessed hard
drive!! Well, here it is, seriously I think this one is also a tad boring
but I promise things will happen in the next part (please let me know if
it's excessively boring and repetitive). I would love to hear what you
think about my writing and whether you think I should carry on posting.
REALLY reviews are always appreciated even the negative ones IF they are
constructive.
Hoping to read from you.
Chapter 3
Why could he not feel the tranquil peace that only the sun could normally procure him. The shadows that had haunted his heart from within the depth of the Mines of Moria had yet to abandon him, yet to succumb to their natural enemy:
Sunlight.
This had never happened before, never for so long a period of time... Never had the blackness been so endless. Never had it been so blinding.
Almost a day had passed since Gandalfs fall and yet, his condition had remained the same. The same deaf voices. The same colourless images. The same empty thoughts. He no longer could register those. He could sense when being spoken to and also could formulate senseful sentences that could hint nothing of his present absence. But that was it.
Absence of thoughts. Absence of emotions. Absence of spirit.
The only thing he could really feel tying him down to Middle Earth was the sharp pain that cursed through his veins provening from the deep wound in his side. The effect that the anguish was having on him seemed to be growing more and more with each passing minute.
It wasn't healing.
The skin was still ruptured; the blood still flowed freely when the bandage was removed.
It wasn't normal.
They were walking again, trying, to Aragorn command, to speed up their pace in order to escape the orcs that were doubtlessly on their tails.
It was a nightmare. So as not to rouse any suspicions in the others he forced himself to scout ahead as he usually would have done. But with each light elven footstep he could feel the skin in his side tear mercilessly as the pressure built in his torso. He wouldn't have been able to last for much longer.
Yet he had to.
He had promised to see their task completed and that is what he was going to accomplish. He couldn't pull back now. He couldn't betray their trust, couldn't let down another group.
Not again.
Even In this direction. Even if it leaded him THERE.
Again.
He recognized the trees they were walking past; he had seen them many times before. Yet, as much as his elven being loved nature, he hated them. He hated the sight of the familiar leaves, of the known patterns on the bark, of the learnt protruding of the long roots.
He hated them.
He felt his blood freeze in his veins with every step taken into that direction, his mind numbing further, the darkness growing... He could feel it so tangibly it scared him. He knew what rested in the direction they were headed towards.
Lothlórien.
The very name sent uncontrollable, cutting shivers cursing up his spine; shivers that remained; shivers that burned; shivers that forced him to remember...
He didn't know for how long they had been walking that day, the sun still shone down brightly hinting that the afternoon might have just begun and yet, his bones and muscles told him otherwise. He was tired, for the first time in years he was completely and utterly exhausted. Maybe it had been the blood-loss, maybe the endless march but, more commonly, it had been the dark abyss that seemed to be engulfing his full spirit. He didn't know for how long he could master this facade before he completely gave in to the torture... Days? Months? At that moment he doubted he could last the night.
He glanced around at his companions. They were tired, doubtlessly so, but still they endured. And in this silent assembly, one stood out amongst the many: It was the ring bearer that seemed to be the one suffering from the tremendous, aching torture the most out of the whole group of them. His head remained bowed as he took step after step on the green vibrant grass that reached up to about his waist and that doubtlessly was proving much harder to wade through than it had been for the elf. In his face, dark shadows seemed to be taking over, but sadly, they didn't rest solely there.
His eyes... They were the ones that really reflected his physical and mental conditions.
They were dark, dormant it seemed, and yet they were battling with a deep force that was trying to overtake their purity
A dark, impenetrable blue that faded to green around the edges. Eyes that had witnessed many nightmares and were bound to see many more. Eyes that were not prepared for the horrors their owner knew they were destined to encounter. Eyes that were soon to loose the innocence that they had been blessed with since his fading youth. Eyes that saw and wished they hadn't and eyes that cried and begged for it to stop.
Legolas knew what he was seeking refuge in at that very moment... He could see it in the little, slight spark of hope that illuminated his candid face and by the small shadow of a smile trying to tug at the corner of his mouth.
The Shire.
His home.
Where every hobbit-hole perspired with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Where he could comfortably be seated by the fire, a good book to hand, while fantasizing about adventures far away; able to ignore the physical and emotional trauma that came with them. It was amazing how even such a small memory could be vivid enough to give him the energy to carry forth on his journey the way he was now.
Legolas couldn't help but envy him. He once too held such a place. He knew what it felt like to be flooded with a sense of homecoming with just a mere glance in his mind; Remembered the feeling of having close friends and relatives blessing his thoughts with their very presence; knew of the comfort the mere knowledge of this place still standing brought to him.
And now, heading closer and closer to Lothlórien only seemed to be chasing away every happy memory he could conjure up. Seemed to be darkening the faces of his kin into forms he could no longer recognize and that only hurt him to think back on.
It only tortured him.
Then it was sudden: A movement.
It was only just a small rustle of leaves but the part of his brain still functioning managed to recognize it: Dissect it apart from the other, more natural ones they had grown used to. His bow was armed before he even had the chance to think about what his arm and hand were doing. He heard the mumblings of the dwarf ahead of him stop as an Elven arrow was pointed his way almost in the blink of an eye. The hobbits, astounded, stared straight at the weapons pointed in their faces in shock and confusion. The only one that seemed the slightest disturbed in the whole ambush appeared to be Aragorn who held his arms up in defeat and with a peaceful smile turned to the obvious leader of his attackers to try a negotiation.
Legolas' breath caught up in his throat as he recognized whom exactly the mortal was addressing.
Haldir.
With hair similar to his own but with blazing eyes that stared down at the group with a malignant look of Elven superiority. They rested on him for a second before hardening in acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of his name but with a flaming hatred that he felt reflected within his own being in the form of stagnant fear.
He remembered. Of course he remembered. How could he have forgotten?
His doubts upon wanting to reach this forest had been founded on pure and savage knowledge of this moment. Here it was in its full, immense, deafening power. He would find no friends here. He knew that for a fact now upon feeling the last shimmer of hope congeal within himself and die slowly.
Numb.
Again...
The small amount of feeling that he had recuperated since the mines of Moria had disappeared with the last amber of that fading hope. The other elf stared down at him patronizingly as he continued discussing with their leader. A conversation that he couldn't help but ignore. A conversation that he couldn't help but hide away form. He wanted to be led the opposite way, wanted for Haldir to refuse them access to the Lady of the forest, wanted to turn back and find another route.
His prayers were in vain though.
The group started moving as one following the Elven blonde figures leading the way. Not a word of greeting from any of them, not even a glance recognizing his presence, not even a nod to honor his position as prince of Mirkwood.
There was complete silence, shattered only by the dry leaves crumbling beneath the feet of the dwarf who carried on walking with his usual potent, graceless stride. A complete opposite to all the others: Elves, Humans and Hobbits alike.
They ventured forth for a while and, finally, he saw it. Bathed in moonlight and reflecting a pale, blue halo amongst the trees where it was built lay Lothlórien radiant in its magical, surreal beauty. He thought he felt his heart slow its pace and the blood that it had been pumping through his veins grow glacially cold. Glacially foreboding.
He saw many other elves sitting about, parting to make way for the prestigious group that had entered these premises. A couple of glances cast his way. Whispers covered by soft, artful hands while eyes rested on him in surprise.
Studying. Remembering. Judging.
No one had forgotten. No one had forgiven.
The wound in his side began pounding, throbbing, harder and harder as they neared the large staircase where Galadriel and Celeborn were slowly descending. A tremor again took over him as the gentle Lady of the Woods drew nearer. She was the one he feared the most, and yet she walked forth emanating the same pale, reassuring light that he remembered from all those years ago. It had grown stronger since their last encounter, just as his had slowly faded.
Hers was a Light that he envied. A Light that he had lost. A Light that he could never regain again.
A light that he needed.
He heard the Lady address the group, he could see her delicate lips parting to release the melodious voice that could, and did, enchant anyone. Watched as the radiant blue eyes moved slowly, hypnotizing, over each one of them. He dreaded when they would fall on him, dreaded when she would speak her mind into his own as she was known to do, as he had heard her before. Next to himself Legolas felt Boromir stiffen slightly, his muscular corporature trembling slightly as his breath sharply hitched in his throat.
She had spoken to him.
She had spoken and he hadn't liked what had been revealed to him.
Soon it would be his own turn; he could see her pupils slowly, torturously slowly, shifting slightly to focus on his own sapphire eyes in recognition.
//Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, long it has been since you looked upon Lothlórien, though, very few foresaw your arrival...//
Till next time kind reader.. Please let me know.
Chapter 3
Why could he not feel the tranquil peace that only the sun could normally procure him. The shadows that had haunted his heart from within the depth of the Mines of Moria had yet to abandon him, yet to succumb to their natural enemy:
Sunlight.
This had never happened before, never for so long a period of time... Never had the blackness been so endless. Never had it been so blinding.
Almost a day had passed since Gandalfs fall and yet, his condition had remained the same. The same deaf voices. The same colourless images. The same empty thoughts. He no longer could register those. He could sense when being spoken to and also could formulate senseful sentences that could hint nothing of his present absence. But that was it.
Absence of thoughts. Absence of emotions. Absence of spirit.
The only thing he could really feel tying him down to Middle Earth was the sharp pain that cursed through his veins provening from the deep wound in his side. The effect that the anguish was having on him seemed to be growing more and more with each passing minute.
It wasn't healing.
The skin was still ruptured; the blood still flowed freely when the bandage was removed.
It wasn't normal.
They were walking again, trying, to Aragorn command, to speed up their pace in order to escape the orcs that were doubtlessly on their tails.
It was a nightmare. So as not to rouse any suspicions in the others he forced himself to scout ahead as he usually would have done. But with each light elven footstep he could feel the skin in his side tear mercilessly as the pressure built in his torso. He wouldn't have been able to last for much longer.
Yet he had to.
He had promised to see their task completed and that is what he was going to accomplish. He couldn't pull back now. He couldn't betray their trust, couldn't let down another group.
Not again.
Even In this direction. Even if it leaded him THERE.
Again.
He recognized the trees they were walking past; he had seen them many times before. Yet, as much as his elven being loved nature, he hated them. He hated the sight of the familiar leaves, of the known patterns on the bark, of the learnt protruding of the long roots.
He hated them.
He felt his blood freeze in his veins with every step taken into that direction, his mind numbing further, the darkness growing... He could feel it so tangibly it scared him. He knew what rested in the direction they were headed towards.
Lothlórien.
The very name sent uncontrollable, cutting shivers cursing up his spine; shivers that remained; shivers that burned; shivers that forced him to remember...
He didn't know for how long they had been walking that day, the sun still shone down brightly hinting that the afternoon might have just begun and yet, his bones and muscles told him otherwise. He was tired, for the first time in years he was completely and utterly exhausted. Maybe it had been the blood-loss, maybe the endless march but, more commonly, it had been the dark abyss that seemed to be engulfing his full spirit. He didn't know for how long he could master this facade before he completely gave in to the torture... Days? Months? At that moment he doubted he could last the night.
He glanced around at his companions. They were tired, doubtlessly so, but still they endured. And in this silent assembly, one stood out amongst the many: It was the ring bearer that seemed to be the one suffering from the tremendous, aching torture the most out of the whole group of them. His head remained bowed as he took step after step on the green vibrant grass that reached up to about his waist and that doubtlessly was proving much harder to wade through than it had been for the elf. In his face, dark shadows seemed to be taking over, but sadly, they didn't rest solely there.
His eyes... They were the ones that really reflected his physical and mental conditions.
They were dark, dormant it seemed, and yet they were battling with a deep force that was trying to overtake their purity
A dark, impenetrable blue that faded to green around the edges. Eyes that had witnessed many nightmares and were bound to see many more. Eyes that were not prepared for the horrors their owner knew they were destined to encounter. Eyes that were soon to loose the innocence that they had been blessed with since his fading youth. Eyes that saw and wished they hadn't and eyes that cried and begged for it to stop.
Legolas knew what he was seeking refuge in at that very moment... He could see it in the little, slight spark of hope that illuminated his candid face and by the small shadow of a smile trying to tug at the corner of his mouth.
The Shire.
His home.
Where every hobbit-hole perspired with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Where he could comfortably be seated by the fire, a good book to hand, while fantasizing about adventures far away; able to ignore the physical and emotional trauma that came with them. It was amazing how even such a small memory could be vivid enough to give him the energy to carry forth on his journey the way he was now.
Legolas couldn't help but envy him. He once too held such a place. He knew what it felt like to be flooded with a sense of homecoming with just a mere glance in his mind; Remembered the feeling of having close friends and relatives blessing his thoughts with their very presence; knew of the comfort the mere knowledge of this place still standing brought to him.
And now, heading closer and closer to Lothlórien only seemed to be chasing away every happy memory he could conjure up. Seemed to be darkening the faces of his kin into forms he could no longer recognize and that only hurt him to think back on.
It only tortured him.
Then it was sudden: A movement.
It was only just a small rustle of leaves but the part of his brain still functioning managed to recognize it: Dissect it apart from the other, more natural ones they had grown used to. His bow was armed before he even had the chance to think about what his arm and hand were doing. He heard the mumblings of the dwarf ahead of him stop as an Elven arrow was pointed his way almost in the blink of an eye. The hobbits, astounded, stared straight at the weapons pointed in their faces in shock and confusion. The only one that seemed the slightest disturbed in the whole ambush appeared to be Aragorn who held his arms up in defeat and with a peaceful smile turned to the obvious leader of his attackers to try a negotiation.
Legolas' breath caught up in his throat as he recognized whom exactly the mortal was addressing.
Haldir.
With hair similar to his own but with blazing eyes that stared down at the group with a malignant look of Elven superiority. They rested on him for a second before hardening in acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of his name but with a flaming hatred that he felt reflected within his own being in the form of stagnant fear.
He remembered. Of course he remembered. How could he have forgotten?
His doubts upon wanting to reach this forest had been founded on pure and savage knowledge of this moment. Here it was in its full, immense, deafening power. He would find no friends here. He knew that for a fact now upon feeling the last shimmer of hope congeal within himself and die slowly.
Numb.
Again...
The small amount of feeling that he had recuperated since the mines of Moria had disappeared with the last amber of that fading hope. The other elf stared down at him patronizingly as he continued discussing with their leader. A conversation that he couldn't help but ignore. A conversation that he couldn't help but hide away form. He wanted to be led the opposite way, wanted for Haldir to refuse them access to the Lady of the forest, wanted to turn back and find another route.
His prayers were in vain though.
The group started moving as one following the Elven blonde figures leading the way. Not a word of greeting from any of them, not even a glance recognizing his presence, not even a nod to honor his position as prince of Mirkwood.
There was complete silence, shattered only by the dry leaves crumbling beneath the feet of the dwarf who carried on walking with his usual potent, graceless stride. A complete opposite to all the others: Elves, Humans and Hobbits alike.
They ventured forth for a while and, finally, he saw it. Bathed in moonlight and reflecting a pale, blue halo amongst the trees where it was built lay Lothlórien radiant in its magical, surreal beauty. He thought he felt his heart slow its pace and the blood that it had been pumping through his veins grow glacially cold. Glacially foreboding.
He saw many other elves sitting about, parting to make way for the prestigious group that had entered these premises. A couple of glances cast his way. Whispers covered by soft, artful hands while eyes rested on him in surprise.
Studying. Remembering. Judging.
No one had forgotten. No one had forgiven.
The wound in his side began pounding, throbbing, harder and harder as they neared the large staircase where Galadriel and Celeborn were slowly descending. A tremor again took over him as the gentle Lady of the Woods drew nearer. She was the one he feared the most, and yet she walked forth emanating the same pale, reassuring light that he remembered from all those years ago. It had grown stronger since their last encounter, just as his had slowly faded.
Hers was a Light that he envied. A Light that he had lost. A Light that he could never regain again.
A light that he needed.
He heard the Lady address the group, he could see her delicate lips parting to release the melodious voice that could, and did, enchant anyone. Watched as the radiant blue eyes moved slowly, hypnotizing, over each one of them. He dreaded when they would fall on him, dreaded when she would speak her mind into his own as she was known to do, as he had heard her before. Next to himself Legolas felt Boromir stiffen slightly, his muscular corporature trembling slightly as his breath sharply hitched in his throat.
She had spoken to him.
She had spoken and he hadn't liked what had been revealed to him.
Soon it would be his own turn; he could see her pupils slowly, torturously slowly, shifting slightly to focus on his own sapphire eyes in recognition.
//Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, long it has been since you looked upon Lothlórien, though, very few foresaw your arrival...//
Till next time kind reader.. Please let me know.