A/n: whoa. Firstly, this chapter is so short I can't believe I'm
posting it, but it neatly wraps up Lirabeth. Secondly, I am SOOOOOOOOOO
happy!!!!!!! My review count is over 100!!!!!! As an award, I dedicate
this chapter to anthem, who, being a darling, accidentally reviewed twice,
but got the 100. When I looked at my stats... Ahh!!!! I cried!!!!!
Regretfully, this story is drawing to a close. I think it's gotten a bit wretched, myself. Not good at all, not at all. I'm going for a Haldir/Legolas next. NOTICE: THIS IS THE SECOND-TO-LAST CHAPTER.
:) Well!!!!! Onwards!!! Oh, and keeper of dreams? Tell your friend she's forgiven, and, no, I'm not... that which she asked. No offense taken. :)
Chapter 12: A Pink Rose
Lirabeth's PoV:
I can't believe her.
She taught me all my life to hate myself. The villagers' opinions never hurt me too badly, not like she had the power to. It was her, in the beginning.
She told me I was filthy, told me I was disgusting, told me I was wrong. All I ever wanted was for her to call me 'sister'. Only that.
I guess to some people that's not a lot, and to some people it's too much to ask for. Everyone's different. Legolas has been teaching me about that, and I think I understand now.
But Elisabet doesn't care. She doesn't care so hard, she tries so hard not to feel. I can't recognize her anymore.
I look at her, and instead of seeing her own, deep, beautiful self in her eyes-
All I can see is myself reflected back.
Legolas is shaking, and before I can grab his arm and stop him, he stumbles out of the Islet and begins to run. I spare a second to glance angrily at Elisabet, and then I am running after him.
The rosebush that Elisabet and I planted by the barn is blackish- brown and cracked in half.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas keeps running, his daggers in his arms, carried loosely. Elves aren't supposed to cry, but this one does.
I grow weary and the pain in my side has become almost unbearable. We have been running for hours past sundown, and I can barely see Legolas's hair shining in front of me. His hair is so pale, it's almost white. But a little bit of gold makes it appear to be spun of precious metal.
I think we are in the forest. The evil forest of Mirkwood. Oh, deliver me...
Legolas stops, and leans against a tree. He, too, is exhausted. I can see him breathing hard. I blink. I have never really touched a tree before, living my whole life in town. I reach out, and tenderly stroke a leaf, waiting for something to happen. It does. Like when I touch flowers, I can hear singing. But with the trees, it is much, much stronger... It was one of the proofs that I was a demonchild, or at least mad. I thought I could hear things. I still think I can.
But I have learned to block the singing out. Why won't it stop? Why does the curse come back to me? Perhaps I am indeed insane... It's what they've said all along, behind my back. Slowly, I manage to block the music out again. It is a bit sad when I do.
But sad is better that raving mad. Much better.
Suddenly, Legolas turns to me.
"You should not have been able to follow me. I am too fast for you."
"I have always been fast, for a clumsy human."
"Your ears. Let me see them."
I blink. //What?//
I let him see them, and he runs slender fingers over the scars that run over the tip of my ears.
Suddenly something makes sense.
//Doesn't the Writ of Hagurl say that elves are demonspawn?//
__________________________________________________________
I know who my father is. Or, rather, what he was.
At least, now I do.
Legolas has told me to go down into Mirkwood, and tell them my story. And I am not allowed to tell them about him.
I understand. There are some wounds that can never heal, some wrongs that can never be righted. Legolas will never be able to go back into Mirkwood until he has forgotten the pain.
Or until Aragorn finds some way to heal him. The King is soemone I dread meeting, after what Legolas has told me. We talked for simply ages. I think I will visit him sometimes, for I am the only elf he can bear to have near him. I hope Aragorn comes after him. I would have stayed longer, but Legolas wanted me to leave and find love among my own people.
I will miss him.
Maybe someday, I'll miss Elisabet.
*****tbc*****
A/n: Quite sorry, this is an obscenely short chapter. I would post more, but what comes next really deserves a chapter of its own. Wah! Next is the last chapter!!!!!!!! I'll miss ya all, look for my next fic after this!!!!!!!
In response to reviews:
Silvawen: Hmmm... dunno... What the hell AM I doing? Lol, hope you can stand to wait for the next chapter. And I hope this was enough for now...
Bye!!!!! Oh, and, why am I not responding to everyone? Why am I being a biased snob? Why am I being so damned selective?
Because... I CAN!!!!!
^^;;;; responses to reviews will be next chapter, I didn't forget y'all, you wonderful people.
Bye for real this time!!!!!
~Nightbird*Songbird
Regretfully, this story is drawing to a close. I think it's gotten a bit wretched, myself. Not good at all, not at all. I'm going for a Haldir/Legolas next. NOTICE: THIS IS THE SECOND-TO-LAST CHAPTER.
:) Well!!!!! Onwards!!! Oh, and keeper of dreams? Tell your friend she's forgiven, and, no, I'm not... that which she asked. No offense taken. :)
Chapter 12: A Pink Rose
Lirabeth's PoV:
I can't believe her.
She taught me all my life to hate myself. The villagers' opinions never hurt me too badly, not like she had the power to. It was her, in the beginning.
She told me I was filthy, told me I was disgusting, told me I was wrong. All I ever wanted was for her to call me 'sister'. Only that.
I guess to some people that's not a lot, and to some people it's too much to ask for. Everyone's different. Legolas has been teaching me about that, and I think I understand now.
But Elisabet doesn't care. She doesn't care so hard, she tries so hard not to feel. I can't recognize her anymore.
I look at her, and instead of seeing her own, deep, beautiful self in her eyes-
All I can see is myself reflected back.
Legolas is shaking, and before I can grab his arm and stop him, he stumbles out of the Islet and begins to run. I spare a second to glance angrily at Elisabet, and then I am running after him.
The rosebush that Elisabet and I planted by the barn is blackish- brown and cracked in half.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas keeps running, his daggers in his arms, carried loosely. Elves aren't supposed to cry, but this one does.
I grow weary and the pain in my side has become almost unbearable. We have been running for hours past sundown, and I can barely see Legolas's hair shining in front of me. His hair is so pale, it's almost white. But a little bit of gold makes it appear to be spun of precious metal.
I think we are in the forest. The evil forest of Mirkwood. Oh, deliver me...
Legolas stops, and leans against a tree. He, too, is exhausted. I can see him breathing hard. I blink. I have never really touched a tree before, living my whole life in town. I reach out, and tenderly stroke a leaf, waiting for something to happen. It does. Like when I touch flowers, I can hear singing. But with the trees, it is much, much stronger... It was one of the proofs that I was a demonchild, or at least mad. I thought I could hear things. I still think I can.
But I have learned to block the singing out. Why won't it stop? Why does the curse come back to me? Perhaps I am indeed insane... It's what they've said all along, behind my back. Slowly, I manage to block the music out again. It is a bit sad when I do.
But sad is better that raving mad. Much better.
Suddenly, Legolas turns to me.
"You should not have been able to follow me. I am too fast for you."
"I have always been fast, for a clumsy human."
"Your ears. Let me see them."
I blink. //What?//
I let him see them, and he runs slender fingers over the scars that run over the tip of my ears.
Suddenly something makes sense.
//Doesn't the Writ of Hagurl say that elves are demonspawn?//
__________________________________________________________
I know who my father is. Or, rather, what he was.
At least, now I do.
Legolas has told me to go down into Mirkwood, and tell them my story. And I am not allowed to tell them about him.
I understand. There are some wounds that can never heal, some wrongs that can never be righted. Legolas will never be able to go back into Mirkwood until he has forgotten the pain.
Or until Aragorn finds some way to heal him. The King is soemone I dread meeting, after what Legolas has told me. We talked for simply ages. I think I will visit him sometimes, for I am the only elf he can bear to have near him. I hope Aragorn comes after him. I would have stayed longer, but Legolas wanted me to leave and find love among my own people.
I will miss him.
Maybe someday, I'll miss Elisabet.
*****tbc*****
A/n: Quite sorry, this is an obscenely short chapter. I would post more, but what comes next really deserves a chapter of its own. Wah! Next is the last chapter!!!!!!!! I'll miss ya all, look for my next fic after this!!!!!!!
In response to reviews:
Silvawen: Hmmm... dunno... What the hell AM I doing? Lol, hope you can stand to wait for the next chapter. And I hope this was enough for now...
Bye!!!!! Oh, and, why am I not responding to everyone? Why am I being a biased snob? Why am I being so damned selective?
Because... I CAN!!!!!
^^;;;; responses to reviews will be next chapter, I didn't forget y'all, you wonderful people.
Bye for real this time!!!!!
~Nightbird*Songbird