Sleeping
By Colorain
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Aragorn. I don't own Legolas. Damn, right? All I do is write short slashy fics about them and hope people review them. Okey-day, I've never read the book, so this is movie-verse. And I only saw the movie once, and it was the late show . . . . so just imagine this is a night scene somewhere from where the Fellowship starts till the end.
I hate watching you sleep, Legolas. It's utter torture. Whoever taught the Elves to sleep with their eyes open ought to be run through. It's damned creepy. Of course, the poor soul is probably long dead.
Like you look. It's more than slightly disconcerting, I must say, to see a creature with such a seeming dislike of eyelids.
It confuses me, Legolas. I often feel the urge to lay my head down upon your chest and make sure there's a heart beating inside of you. Because you sure as hell don't move when you breathe. I swear, if ever we had the need to set up a trap that included one of us playing dead, you'd be perfect. By gods, you'd probably even volunteer.
And on the other hand, even as my head grows heavy and longs to rest itself by your heart, my fingers twitch from a more macabre reaction.
I want to close your eyes, Legolas. The dead have no use of mere eyes where they are headed. It is a sign of respect—of closure, even—to push down the eyelids of the bodies. It means we know that you—you as a soul—are gone.
So stir, Legolas Greenleaf. Move, so that the life and the death in the world will stop fighting over you. Show them which decision you have made, which side you have taken.
