Fandom: LOTR
Genre: Drama, vignette
Ratings: PG
Pairing: none
Warnings: my beta said entertaining. If you disagree, take it up to her. * DRTH, let me get my say…Ok, I like this—and if you don't like it, you're welcome to mail me at kirin787@hotmail.com. I'll be happy to argue our case, because I stand behind my 'client' all the way. *
If you agree with us, welcome to the club of people with a twisted opinion of entertaining… For the others, I believe from the few reviews I got that the correct warning would be tissue warning.
Author's note: The beginning of the end… Legolas' POV. Fourth age, just before Merry and Pippin's death.
Less than 500 words and written to the song below because it seems bitterness is contagious. For those who wonder whether I'm continuing my crossover, the answer is yes. This particular story was written before OoTP came out but since then, I've been on vacation and been very busy. Now, I just have to work OotP out of my system before writing again on There and Back Again.
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The door is closed.
It would be easy to open it. Just a few steps, a knock, a slight pressure on the handle and the door would be open.
But the door is closed.
To open the door, one must have a wish to do so. One must wish to enter and see what is behind the door.
This elf doesn't. He stands, frozen and terrified in front of the door. He already knows what he will find inside the room and has no wish to see it. But he has to. And he doesn't want to.
Meanwhile the door is closed.
He has received a message in his fair Ithilien, a summons from the High King bidding him to say farewell to the Periannath for the last time. He has ridden hard to arrive here, afraid to be too late. In the sixth circle, boys are taking care of his steed. The grey stallion has neighed when his rider left without a word, without a care, intent only on his final destination.
But the door is still closed.
He has ridden hard and they are not expecting him fore several hours yet. So he stares, transfixed, at the door. It is a door as one is wont to find inside the House of Healing. A simple wooden door, ornamented with patterns of vine. Nothing indicates the identity of those held behind the door. There is nothing special about the door.
Except that the door is closed.
He remembers the first time he saw them, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Laughing daredevils and joyful companions and steadfast friends. He remembers the play of the evening light on their youthful faces in Imladris. He remembers their courage and bravery against the shadows. Their greatness inspired him, encouraged him to do better, to be better, to push his limits.
But today, his strength fails him and the door is closed.
They drew him, a moth to their flames, ensnared a part of his heart with their mischievous eyes and in return, they left a part of theirs in his keeping. Long years have passed since this first meeting. The fire has not gone out yet. But soon, it will. Today, Merry and Pippin are old, fragile and their life flees them. Eomer was the first to go. His sister will follow him next and Faramir will not outlive his beloved long. Then, in a blink of a First Born's eye, Aragorn will fade at his turn. Arwen will become a shadow. Gimli… Gimli will leave too. And Legolas will remain the same. And alone.
A door is closed to him.
Legolas rails at the Fates that made him immortal and his friends mortal. Where they go beyond the circles of this world, he cannot follow. He can easily open the door in front of him. Another is forever closed to him. In a few moments, Gimli will come and goad him into action. But until then, he will stare at the door.
The door is closed.
Fin.
Aux
sombres héros de l'amer
Qui ont su traverser les océans du vide
À la mémoire de nos frères
Dont les sanglots si longs faisaient couler l'acide
Always lost in the sea
Always lost in the sea
Tout part toujours dans les flots
Au fond des nuits sereines
Ne vois-tu rien venir ?
Les naufragés et leurs peines qui jetaient l'encre ici
Et arrêtaient d'écrire...
Always lost in the sea
Always lost in the sea
Ami, qu'on crève d'une absence
Ou qu'on crève un abcès
C'est le poison qui coule
Certains nageaient sous les lignes de flottaison intimes
À l'intérieur des foules.
Aux sombres héros de l'amer
Qui ont su traverser les océans du vide
À la mémoire de nos frères
Dont les sanglots si longs faisaient couler l'acide...
Always lost in the sea
Always lost in the sea
"Aux sombres héros de l'amer", Noir Désir
