Eternity Alone
Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien, his cat, his dog, his
writings and certainly not his son.
Archives: Please, just ask.
Warnings: Dark, miserable…
Rating: PG13
Reviews: Constructive criticism? PLEASE.
A/N: Legolas thinks on eternity, and the life he chose… alone. His nature has been corrupted, his life mutilated beyond recognition… Will be expanded if people like… so review! Please!
Sometimes I consider myself a failure. When my father passes by and sighs as if he's disappointed that I've always been alone and always will be, when the silver moon smirks down on me when I wander alone in the gardens of Mirkwood and hear the songs of the lovers in the wood. When my brothers tell of their loves, and their hopes for the future, tell of the children they will have, the beauty of their wives to be, I sometimes regret I chose this path, loving life more than a companion, more than grief.
My mother's shadow is eternally behind my back, and my father's sorrow rankles within me still. I chose my path though and even if it be laced with thorns, I'll walk it blindfold and ignore the pain.
Gimli still comes to see me, and in his friendship I take some joy, though I yearn for the companionship of a wife. The wife I'll never have, the wife I dream about, but I don't really want, like a child who takes another slice of cake even though it knows it will be sick, and the sweetness will rush away to be placed by bitterness.
I wonder if Aragorn will ever weary of Arwen, but I doubt it. They are an exceptional case, lovers bound in the hands of the stars and lips that sing of the ocean waves in tremulous harmony; sing not as well as they do together.
Most elven couples are happy together, but I know, and I know this well that I could never keep a wife for eternity, never love her that long. I am faithless, cold, and hard to those I cease to take an interest in, as they I loved knew well. I'm a murderer and yet no one guesses this because I am an elf, a prince and feign kindness when all I feel is hate.
I am too sour to see Aragorn much, to see how happy he is. That is how selfish I am, that's how warped I have become. I lost someone I loved and I lost her well. I never go to greet her, and she often sings of me in the wind and the rain and her voice is out of tune and grates on my ears.
I am out of loving, and am a Man in spirit, though I am an Elf in face. Someone killed that love in my breast long before time had a meaning and a purpose.
She was so beautiful, but her beauty faded with hate, and I hated her after that battle, the Battle of the Five Armies. She hated me and I hated her… but it was at the same time some kind of love-hate and later I hid the knife, the heavy one she had given me as a present the very same morning in my room…
I wore it at the Council of Elrond, that long white knife and once Boromir remarked on it, and I said it had slain many… and had many names.
It started off as Iarlóm, the knife given in love.