Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! Only original characters.
A/N: OMG, I'm so sorry for the wait! But it took me a long time to think up the first part here. And I'm not particularly happy with the beginning of this chapter, but it was high time to update. Elvish translations are at the bottom author's note.
FOR ALL HARRY POTTER FANS! My good friend has just got an account on fanficion. Her penname is Katinka Inga Banenenenenea. Or something of the sort. You'll know it when you see it. She has one Harry Potter angst fic up, the main character Lucius Malfoy, and I think it's a pretty good story line. If you have time, read it! It's called The Waning of the Moon, I think. Go and read! She's pretty good!
ON WITH THE STORY!
* * *
Someone was reaching to him; he couldn't see whom, his vision was clouded with shrouds of darkness. He shrunk away from the touch. It was warm, not menacing and cruel, but still he cowered from it. He couldn't trust anything anymore.
Suddenly, he felt strong arms wrap around his body, and he heard himself cry out tiredly as the touch agitated his fresh wounds. Little by little, he could feel his spirit becoming more and more detached from his scarred body. He wanted to fight those arms, he wanted to make them let go; he didn't want to ever be hurt or touched again. But he couldn't move, he couldn't. His arms hung limp and useless at his sides, his neck lolling his head to the side. His eyes were closed, but he could see himself. In some unfamiliar, deranged sense of dreaming, he could see himself. But that was all. He who carried him remained anonymous, and he wouldn't remind himself of where he was; because he knew he was still there, though he couldn't see. He just . . .knew it.
Without warning, the arms failed beneath his body, and he tumbled from their hold.
He clamped shut his eyes, and braced himself for the landing. But none came. Air rushed past him, blowing his hair into his face, and still he waited, tense and anxious. But still he fell, tumbling in space without a purpose. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His body hit the ground with breaking force. He cried out brokenly in surprise, and remained curled into a defensive ball for a moment, tensely awaiting something else to happen.
Nothing did.
Legolas rose to his feet with surprising grace, grace that he knew he had long since lost. He moved tall and soundlessly. None of his wounds bothered him, though still they remained scattered over his body. The land surrounding him was wide and barren, with nothing but rotting corpses of trees and unproductive grey soil. The air smelled of death, and it wrapped around him like a blanket trying to suffocate him. He shivered as a ghost of a breeze played with his golden hair, which had regained its glow and shimmer.
A dim light appeared on the horizon. The sun, Legolas thought vaguely. He started to run towards it. Why, if indeed it were the sun, would he try to run to it? But this was a dream. This wasn't real. So perhaps he could reach the sun and bathe in its light and its haven from the darkness that had been devouring him for what seemed like an unbearably long time.
Light crept onto his feet, slinking up his legs, his torso, his chest, spreading over his shoulders, climbing his neck; and it blessed his face, shining over his fair, golden features. He laughed in true joy for the first time in far too long, and he smiled at the memory of happiness; and he didn't want it to leave him. Laughter rolled from his mouth, his eyes squinting shut in delight, and he kept running, venturing farther and farther into the light, escaping the menacing darkness behind him.
But all good things seem to never linger long, do they.
The ground before him opened, like a great, cavernous mouth, wanting to devour the fair creature above it. A slight cry escaped him in surprise. The giant fissure reached his feet, and he was thrown off balance. His arms waved wildly at his sides, trying desperately to regain his footing. But the gap widened, spreading beyond him, and the earth trembled viciously. One great jolt of the earth threw him from his feet, tossing him into the great fissure.
His mouth open in a silent scream, the ever-widening walls of the ground rushed past him.
Suddenly, his tunic snagged on something. His plummet came to an abrupt halt. Warily, he twisted his neck to see what had caught him. His mouth dropped open in wordless horror.
One long, spindly hand protruded from the side of the sheer cliff, clinging to his tunic, groping, fingering the material blindly. The skin on it was decaying, clinging to the thin muscle and raw bone; like that of something dead.
Without warning, the rotting hand released its hold, and he was falling again, his arms and legs flailing madly about him.
He saw the ground come into view, rushing far too quickly to meet him. He shut his eyes tight, waiting for the collision. His body crashed into the ground violently, shaking his senses, and he clearly heard a rib crack.
Softly he groaned, and lay motionless on the ground, groping desperately at the dirt, not wanting to fall again. He was suddenly aware of the injuries covering his frail body, and they flamed up in roaring pain that shook his fragile frame. Tears brimmed in his eyes. This was far, far too real for a dream.
A soft sound disturbed his silence. He lifted his head. The dark circles around his dim, despairing eyes were back, his golden hair dull and limp, matted with his own blood and now with dirt. He found his tunic gone and his leggings torn.
Dirt was quietly shifting in several spots around him. With his good hand he tried to push himself away, shrinking back towards the sheer cliff wall. He looked up towards where the sky had been blue before. It was so far away now . . . And it was black, shrouded with dark, threatening thunderclouds.
Unexpectedly, Legolas felt himself yanked down to the earth. Another rotting hand clung to his wrist with inhuman strength. Everywhere they were rising from the ground, groping blindly at him, pulling him like a game of tug-o-war. One thrust itself at his burned leg, and he yelped at the force with which it grasped the fresh wounds. Another squeezed his jaw. More and more unearthed themselves, each trying to take him as their own. But they were all pulling downwards, into the earth.
He struggled as much as the restraining holds could allow, but their strength was mysteriously strong and cruel, bruising his face, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His shoulder began to dig into the ground, pushing aside the dirt. He was sinking. Slowly, slowly, being pulled down, beneath the earth.
Suddenly he was pulled through, and he was caught in strong arms. He peered shyly up at the face of who had caught him; he gaped in astonishment. Half the face was real, untainted . . .normal to say the least. But the other half was dead, like its hand that had pulled him into his arms. Yet it was more than that that made him gawk in silent and terrifying awe. He who held him was not merely any old corpse.
It was Haldir.
But it couldn't have been. For he had not the kindness in his eyes, not the friendly touch or smile. But an angry scowl, a sly glint in dark, dark eyes. Yet it was, there was no denying it. And there were others . . .Elladen, Elrohir, Aragorn . . .they were all there, all rotting, all . . .dead . . .
"Dear, dear, little elf . . ." The corpse that was Haldir shook his head. The others were watching with cruel delight on their decaying faces. His voice rasped, as if his throat was torn, with an underlying tint of malice. "What, oh what, have you done now . . ."
* * *
Haldir dabbed gently add Legolas' sweating brow. The elf's sleep had not been gentle. He had cried out and struggled much . . .far too often for Haldir's comfort. But life still flowed in his veins, even if so very frailly.
Several skilled Lothlorien healers were attending to Legolas' injuries. They worked in silence, each pondering their own thoughts and their own pities. Haldir could do little, for he had been taught not in the ways of the healer, but in the ways of the warrior. But he refused to leave, lest his friend awake.
Suddenly Legolas brought his knees close to his chest, and rolled to the side. Haldir caught him from falling off the soft, cotton bed, and lifted him gently back up. "(1)Le nwalme na tel, Legolas, este si, " Haldir whispered gently. The healers remained silent, working diligently as they could on the fallen prince.
Haldir blanketed Legolas' quivering shoulders, hoping it was just the cold, praying it was nothing else. He stroked his golden hair, trying to get rid of the crusted blood. Just then he noticed a dark bruise on his cheek that he hadn't seen before. There were others, too . . .on his arms and on his legs, and another on his other cheek. All just coming to his notice now. The healers seemed to see them too.
"Were those there before, Cerefin?"
The young healer looked over at Haldir. "The bruises? No, I did not see them."
A frown crossed over Haldir's face. He was certain they hadn't been there before. He glanced at Legolas' face, and saw him stirring. In a moment he was standing over his friend, dabbing again at his brow.
Legolas' eyes opened wearily. But the moment he saw Haldir's worried face, he shot up, grasping the elf's shoulder with far more strength than he should have had. Terror shone in his eyes like nothing Haldir had seen before, his voice trembling and desperate.
"(2)Haldir, ped tenn' nin! Ped Im cui! Im undulavesse nin agar, ped Im firn, ped Im echui! Haldir, Haldir, ai, Elbereth, ped tenn' nin!" His voice was rough and terrible to hear through the terror and pleading he spoke with.
Haldir held back his own tears at what his friend said. "Legolas, lye nwalme na tel, este," he said gently.
An unbelievable look of relief crossed Legolas' features, as he let his head fall back and his hold on Haldir's shoulder release. The cruel injuries ailing him returned full-blown in shockwaves of agony. He gritted his teeth and felt his eyes burning.
"Legolas . . . don't cry . . ."
Legolas looked upwards at Haldir in question.
"You're crying . . ."
Through gritted teeth, and a barely audible voice escaping a quivering and broken body, the elf prince responded.
"You are too."
* * *
FINALLY DONE! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! A bit short, I know, but I figured it took me long enough. Plus, a good spot to leave off, no?
Okay, so my elvish is kind of rusty, and please forgive me and alert me of any mistakes I've made. The translations are kind of loosely done too. Here's the translations: Your torment is ended, Legolas, rest now.
(Haldir, speak to me! Say I live! I'm drowning in my blood, say I'm dead, say I'm awakening! Haldir, Haldir, ai, Elbereth, speak to me!)
Legolas, your torment is ended, rest.
So, yes, that's how things turned out. Still working on the elvish though. I was hesitant to add it in, but I thought it might add something.
The Dark Rouge: Okay, finally wrote the dark rouge. Heh.
Merrylyn: I know that last chapter was bad. I was overcome by superior evilness.
Kate: I will tell you again. Not a romance. Will not be a romance. Because I suck at writing romance. No need to worry on that part. And cookies are good! Yummy!
Sirithiel: Don't worry, not a romance.
Legolasluver: You watch Buffy too! Yay! SPIKE EXPLODED! AUG! MUST KILL SOMETHING! Good, good, pass down the art of world-destruction to the young ones. Mwaha.
Angel of Death: Yes, I'm gonna make Leggy have a younger brother. Or older. Haven't quite decided on age yet. Hm, still hate Nifien? I'll have to come up with something to make you feel sad for her.
Ankhesanamun: Okay, I can now spell your name. Yay! I've been working on it!
Little-lost-one: Sorry to kill your father. But a sadist's gotta do what a sadist's gotta do, no?
Melissa greenleaf: Three people have identified him as dead: Haldir, Saruman, and . . .erm.ELBERETH!
Lady of the Forest: Oh, good I made you flinch! Happy days!
Goma-Ryu: Yes, yes, his stubbornness is good! And so cute! Hehe.
White Wolf: Very, very fragile, let me tell you. Mwaha.
Sondol Undomiel: Been through enough? Already? *thinks * Of course not!
Lirenel: I'm sorry to do that to you! But character death is a must in my stories! Especially favourite-characters' death! Heh.
Okay, really sorry if I forgot anyone! I didn't mean to! And I must thank you all for reviewing! I really never did expect this many reviews! But . . .review again! Yes! Again! Heh. I know those were bad responses, but I really wanna update before I go to bed.
~Searcher of Souls~
A/N: OMG, I'm so sorry for the wait! But it took me a long time to think up the first part here. And I'm not particularly happy with the beginning of this chapter, but it was high time to update. Elvish translations are at the bottom author's note.
FOR ALL HARRY POTTER FANS! My good friend has just got an account on fanficion. Her penname is Katinka Inga Banenenenenea. Or something of the sort. You'll know it when you see it. She has one Harry Potter angst fic up, the main character Lucius Malfoy, and I think it's a pretty good story line. If you have time, read it! It's called The Waning of the Moon, I think. Go and read! She's pretty good!
ON WITH THE STORY!
* * *
Someone was reaching to him; he couldn't see whom, his vision was clouded with shrouds of darkness. He shrunk away from the touch. It was warm, not menacing and cruel, but still he cowered from it. He couldn't trust anything anymore.
Suddenly, he felt strong arms wrap around his body, and he heard himself cry out tiredly as the touch agitated his fresh wounds. Little by little, he could feel his spirit becoming more and more detached from his scarred body. He wanted to fight those arms, he wanted to make them let go; he didn't want to ever be hurt or touched again. But he couldn't move, he couldn't. His arms hung limp and useless at his sides, his neck lolling his head to the side. His eyes were closed, but he could see himself. In some unfamiliar, deranged sense of dreaming, he could see himself. But that was all. He who carried him remained anonymous, and he wouldn't remind himself of where he was; because he knew he was still there, though he couldn't see. He just . . .knew it.
Without warning, the arms failed beneath his body, and he tumbled from their hold.
He clamped shut his eyes, and braced himself for the landing. But none came. Air rushed past him, blowing his hair into his face, and still he waited, tense and anxious. But still he fell, tumbling in space without a purpose. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His body hit the ground with breaking force. He cried out brokenly in surprise, and remained curled into a defensive ball for a moment, tensely awaiting something else to happen.
Nothing did.
Legolas rose to his feet with surprising grace, grace that he knew he had long since lost. He moved tall and soundlessly. None of his wounds bothered him, though still they remained scattered over his body. The land surrounding him was wide and barren, with nothing but rotting corpses of trees and unproductive grey soil. The air smelled of death, and it wrapped around him like a blanket trying to suffocate him. He shivered as a ghost of a breeze played with his golden hair, which had regained its glow and shimmer.
A dim light appeared on the horizon. The sun, Legolas thought vaguely. He started to run towards it. Why, if indeed it were the sun, would he try to run to it? But this was a dream. This wasn't real. So perhaps he could reach the sun and bathe in its light and its haven from the darkness that had been devouring him for what seemed like an unbearably long time.
Light crept onto his feet, slinking up his legs, his torso, his chest, spreading over his shoulders, climbing his neck; and it blessed his face, shining over his fair, golden features. He laughed in true joy for the first time in far too long, and he smiled at the memory of happiness; and he didn't want it to leave him. Laughter rolled from his mouth, his eyes squinting shut in delight, and he kept running, venturing farther and farther into the light, escaping the menacing darkness behind him.
But all good things seem to never linger long, do they.
The ground before him opened, like a great, cavernous mouth, wanting to devour the fair creature above it. A slight cry escaped him in surprise. The giant fissure reached his feet, and he was thrown off balance. His arms waved wildly at his sides, trying desperately to regain his footing. But the gap widened, spreading beyond him, and the earth trembled viciously. One great jolt of the earth threw him from his feet, tossing him into the great fissure.
His mouth open in a silent scream, the ever-widening walls of the ground rushed past him.
Suddenly, his tunic snagged on something. His plummet came to an abrupt halt. Warily, he twisted his neck to see what had caught him. His mouth dropped open in wordless horror.
One long, spindly hand protruded from the side of the sheer cliff, clinging to his tunic, groping, fingering the material blindly. The skin on it was decaying, clinging to the thin muscle and raw bone; like that of something dead.
Without warning, the rotting hand released its hold, and he was falling again, his arms and legs flailing madly about him.
He saw the ground come into view, rushing far too quickly to meet him. He shut his eyes tight, waiting for the collision. His body crashed into the ground violently, shaking his senses, and he clearly heard a rib crack.
Softly he groaned, and lay motionless on the ground, groping desperately at the dirt, not wanting to fall again. He was suddenly aware of the injuries covering his frail body, and they flamed up in roaring pain that shook his fragile frame. Tears brimmed in his eyes. This was far, far too real for a dream.
A soft sound disturbed his silence. He lifted his head. The dark circles around his dim, despairing eyes were back, his golden hair dull and limp, matted with his own blood and now with dirt. He found his tunic gone and his leggings torn.
Dirt was quietly shifting in several spots around him. With his good hand he tried to push himself away, shrinking back towards the sheer cliff wall. He looked up towards where the sky had been blue before. It was so far away now . . . And it was black, shrouded with dark, threatening thunderclouds.
Unexpectedly, Legolas felt himself yanked down to the earth. Another rotting hand clung to his wrist with inhuman strength. Everywhere they were rising from the ground, groping blindly at him, pulling him like a game of tug-o-war. One thrust itself at his burned leg, and he yelped at the force with which it grasped the fresh wounds. Another squeezed his jaw. More and more unearthed themselves, each trying to take him as their own. But they were all pulling downwards, into the earth.
He struggled as much as the restraining holds could allow, but their strength was mysteriously strong and cruel, bruising his face, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His shoulder began to dig into the ground, pushing aside the dirt. He was sinking. Slowly, slowly, being pulled down, beneath the earth.
Suddenly he was pulled through, and he was caught in strong arms. He peered shyly up at the face of who had caught him; he gaped in astonishment. Half the face was real, untainted . . .normal to say the least. But the other half was dead, like its hand that had pulled him into his arms. Yet it was more than that that made him gawk in silent and terrifying awe. He who held him was not merely any old corpse.
It was Haldir.
But it couldn't have been. For he had not the kindness in his eyes, not the friendly touch or smile. But an angry scowl, a sly glint in dark, dark eyes. Yet it was, there was no denying it. And there were others . . .Elladen, Elrohir, Aragorn . . .they were all there, all rotting, all . . .dead . . .
"Dear, dear, little elf . . ." The corpse that was Haldir shook his head. The others were watching with cruel delight on their decaying faces. His voice rasped, as if his throat was torn, with an underlying tint of malice. "What, oh what, have you done now . . ."
* * *
Haldir dabbed gently add Legolas' sweating brow. The elf's sleep had not been gentle. He had cried out and struggled much . . .far too often for Haldir's comfort. But life still flowed in his veins, even if so very frailly.
Several skilled Lothlorien healers were attending to Legolas' injuries. They worked in silence, each pondering their own thoughts and their own pities. Haldir could do little, for he had been taught not in the ways of the healer, but in the ways of the warrior. But he refused to leave, lest his friend awake.
Suddenly Legolas brought his knees close to his chest, and rolled to the side. Haldir caught him from falling off the soft, cotton bed, and lifted him gently back up. "(1)Le nwalme na tel, Legolas, este si, " Haldir whispered gently. The healers remained silent, working diligently as they could on the fallen prince.
Haldir blanketed Legolas' quivering shoulders, hoping it was just the cold, praying it was nothing else. He stroked his golden hair, trying to get rid of the crusted blood. Just then he noticed a dark bruise on his cheek that he hadn't seen before. There were others, too . . .on his arms and on his legs, and another on his other cheek. All just coming to his notice now. The healers seemed to see them too.
"Were those there before, Cerefin?"
The young healer looked over at Haldir. "The bruises? No, I did not see them."
A frown crossed over Haldir's face. He was certain they hadn't been there before. He glanced at Legolas' face, and saw him stirring. In a moment he was standing over his friend, dabbing again at his brow.
Legolas' eyes opened wearily. But the moment he saw Haldir's worried face, he shot up, grasping the elf's shoulder with far more strength than he should have had. Terror shone in his eyes like nothing Haldir had seen before, his voice trembling and desperate.
"(2)Haldir, ped tenn' nin! Ped Im cui! Im undulavesse nin agar, ped Im firn, ped Im echui! Haldir, Haldir, ai, Elbereth, ped tenn' nin!" His voice was rough and terrible to hear through the terror and pleading he spoke with.
Haldir held back his own tears at what his friend said. "Legolas, lye nwalme na tel, este," he said gently.
An unbelievable look of relief crossed Legolas' features, as he let his head fall back and his hold on Haldir's shoulder release. The cruel injuries ailing him returned full-blown in shockwaves of agony. He gritted his teeth and felt his eyes burning.
"Legolas . . . don't cry . . ."
Legolas looked upwards at Haldir in question.
"You're crying . . ."
Through gritted teeth, and a barely audible voice escaping a quivering and broken body, the elf prince responded.
"You are too."
* * *
FINALLY DONE! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! A bit short, I know, but I figured it took me long enough. Plus, a good spot to leave off, no?
Okay, so my elvish is kind of rusty, and please forgive me and alert me of any mistakes I've made. The translations are kind of loosely done too. Here's the translations: Your torment is ended, Legolas, rest now.
(Haldir, speak to me! Say I live! I'm drowning in my blood, say I'm dead, say I'm awakening! Haldir, Haldir, ai, Elbereth, speak to me!)
Legolas, your torment is ended, rest.
So, yes, that's how things turned out. Still working on the elvish though. I was hesitant to add it in, but I thought it might add something.
The Dark Rouge: Okay, finally wrote the dark rouge. Heh.
Merrylyn: I know that last chapter was bad. I was overcome by superior evilness.
Kate: I will tell you again. Not a romance. Will not be a romance. Because I suck at writing romance. No need to worry on that part. And cookies are good! Yummy!
Sirithiel: Don't worry, not a romance.
Legolasluver: You watch Buffy too! Yay! SPIKE EXPLODED! AUG! MUST KILL SOMETHING! Good, good, pass down the art of world-destruction to the young ones. Mwaha.
Angel of Death: Yes, I'm gonna make Leggy have a younger brother. Or older. Haven't quite decided on age yet. Hm, still hate Nifien? I'll have to come up with something to make you feel sad for her.
Ankhesanamun: Okay, I can now spell your name. Yay! I've been working on it!
Little-lost-one: Sorry to kill your father. But a sadist's gotta do what a sadist's gotta do, no?
Melissa greenleaf: Three people have identified him as dead: Haldir, Saruman, and . . .erm.ELBERETH!
Lady of the Forest: Oh, good I made you flinch! Happy days!
Goma-Ryu: Yes, yes, his stubbornness is good! And so cute! Hehe.
White Wolf: Very, very fragile, let me tell you. Mwaha.
Sondol Undomiel: Been through enough? Already? *thinks * Of course not!
Lirenel: I'm sorry to do that to you! But character death is a must in my stories! Especially favourite-characters' death! Heh.
Okay, really sorry if I forgot anyone! I didn't mean to! And I must thank you all for reviewing! I really never did expect this many reviews! But . . .review again! Yes! Again! Heh. I know those were bad responses, but I really wanna update before I go to bed.
~Searcher of Souls~