A/n: This was written because I have punishments- no net! I wasn't
allowed, technically, to "waste my time making up silly stories" either,
but ho ho ho, I am devious. ^_^ Someday, I'll be out of here, and I'll be
able to write write write all the time...
Disclaimer: *points roughly in the direction of Christopher Tolkien* Him. He does.
Chapter Thirteen: Hands (and claws)
Legolas sat neatly in the chair that Galadriel had gestured him to, and tried not to think about what had happened that night. He could vaguely remember the feeling of being strangled, but other than that, his memory was blocked by spurts of intense pain. Galadriel had simply sat down across from him, and the greater part of the pain had been halved. He hoped that the peace would last.
//It is so good to be able to think straight// he sighed mentally. Galadriel smiled.
//It is, isn't it. Sometimes I have to go down to the fountain to clear my head. Does that happen to you?//
Legolas frowned. //What is "clearing my head"?//
//It means you stop thinking too much at once and sort everything out in your mind, taking time out to think thoughts individually. It's also getting rid of the thoughts that don't do you any good.//
Legolas looked gravely at Galadriel. //What if... someone else clears my head?//
//You mean, clears 'his' head.//
//No...//
Galadriel's jaw dropped silently. She broke the connection abruptly, and began to fling up shields around Legolas and herself. //Valar. No wonder...//
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gwaloth held her head gingerly as she got up, loath to move for fear of her awful headache. She had had another strange dream again, this time involving an old well and her mother. She had been walking through the fields of her old home, and come across a well she did not remember.
In her dream, Gwaloth had removed the lid on the well, and her mother was standing in it, looking up at her with a smile and beckoning. Gwaloth had wanted to ask why, why are you down there? but someone was behind her, who was going to take her away...
Then she had woken up.
Gwaloth sighed unhappily. She often dreamed of the farm, and walking through the fields, and the flowers that never seemed to fade. But this was the first dream she could remember where the well appeared and her mother entered.
She frowned. //Why don't I remember that much about my mother?// she wondered. Then she held her head, for another, stronger, and vastly more irritating headache wave had passed over her.
Gwaloth flopped back on the bed, dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. Even though she had just been sleeping, she felt so tired...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Dark One brooded in the shadows.
//How in Mandos did the Prince recover so quickly?//
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas sat tersely next to Haldir and remembered as hard as he could. Something. Something inside of his was warm and soft and strong and weak. Something good, blissful. Blissful enough that it hurt. What?
Legolas wasn't sure what it was, but he had the distinctly unpleasant feeling that something was trying very, very hard to stop him from remembering.
Legolas sighed and let his head drop wearily. That was the thing that bothered him the most, really. The thing which made him want to shout out in frustration. He couldn't remember what happened to him. He could not remember the pain or the things that had been done to him while he was under the influence of whoeverwas controlling him. All he had were the precious few memories that-
-The Dark One-
-had not taken away from him.
Like an afterimage burned into an eye, the shadows of moments that had been taken from his memory were burned into his mind. But the memories weren't gone, and that was what made him frustrated. He could feel the memories, just beyond his reach but-
-The Dark One-
-had made it so that he could not reach them. And for some reason, Legolas couldn't remember why he feared and loved and trusted the Dark One all at the same time.
A fleeting image came to him, and he clung to it fretfully. It was a pretty girl Elf- Gwaloth?
Yes, that was her name. Gwaloth was important. Important because... why was she important? She had taken care of him... yes, that was it.
He could remember her smile, her warm hands on his cool face, and her earnest eyes.
"Don't worry, Legolas," she had said reassuringly. "I will keep you safe from the shadows." And he could feel himself nodding and feeling safe, within her arms.
******************************************************************
Gwaloth lurched to her feet. She looked around herself, confused and a bit frightened.
//How did I get here?// she wondered, and then a memory prompted itself into her mind.
//I was walking. I fell asleep. I was so tired, so tired that I didn't want to walk all the way back home. I was sleeping. I was dreaming peacefully, right here under the shade of the tree...//
Gwaloth looked at her feet. A few old leaves had fallen to the ground. Something was strange about them.
She stiffened. This was the tree that Haldir- haldir....- had found Legolas and Gwaloth in, drinking their own blood. She tried not to retch as she marched away from the scene, the cold January breezes which were cold enough to carry snow, even in Lothlorien, making her tanned skirts sway. Her body was warm. Gwaloth felt that there was some reason she should not be warm after sleeping for so long outside, but then she forced herself to concentrate on walking back to her flet.
If she thought about anything else, her mind would drift back to the leaves on the ground, brown and ugly with old, dried, evil-smelling-
Blood.
Instead she tried to think about the dream she had had. She let herself slip back into its memory...
She sat up, and the air was warm and sweet and smelled of flowers. Her mother, a tall, beautiful, black-haired Elf was standing beside her, one hand placed approvingly on her head. Gwaloth knew she was a child again, and smiled sunnily up at her dear, beloved mother.
But her mother wasn't there anymore, and Gwaloth sat down on a rock in the forest, wanting to cry. Suddenly, though, a tiny elfchild of only ten year of age sat in front of her. Her hair was red and fiery, and her eyes were blue. She had very short hair though- she was far too young, too young for it to even reach her ears.
"Why are you so sad?" asked the child, in an adult voice. Gwaloth sniffled, and rubbed her nose.
"I'm alone," she said unhappily. "I want Mama."
"Well, then, you must find her. Come here, with me, along this path- oh! look! a well! I suppose we ought to stop for a drink on such a warm day, don't you?"
The child had grown into a giant who towered over the child Gwaloth's head. She was frightened of the child-adult. She hesitantly drew back the cover, and stood blinking.
Her mother stood in the bottom of the well, far far under the clearwater. She said, "Oh, good, Gwaloth! You've found me! I knew you would find me, my darling, my love. Come- come with me-"
And she beckoned.
But the stranger had wrapped her huge, giant arms around Gwaloth's waist and was dragging her away...
Gwaloth broke the chain of thought and memory with a shudder. She looked back at the path, musing quietly and wondering why she was dreaming so much about her mother these days.
//I don't even know that much about her- all I know is that she died of a fever. That's what ada said, before he got sick. He told me. He did. And then I went away to Mirkwood to find work, and I met Legolas, and now I have followed him here.//
Gwaloth did not find it that disturbing that most of her memories were in such a simple format- she was used to it. A good deal of her memories were like that- they sounded as though they were the voice of someone else boringly reciting facts, almost, as though her mind had a voice of its own...
What she had never really wondered- and this is the one that would keep someone awake at night-
Whose voice was it?
*****tbc*****
A/n: LOve you all especially if you read this. *hugs tearfully*
Disclaimer: *points roughly in the direction of Christopher Tolkien* Him. He does.
Chapter Thirteen: Hands (and claws)
Legolas sat neatly in the chair that Galadriel had gestured him to, and tried not to think about what had happened that night. He could vaguely remember the feeling of being strangled, but other than that, his memory was blocked by spurts of intense pain. Galadriel had simply sat down across from him, and the greater part of the pain had been halved. He hoped that the peace would last.
//It is so good to be able to think straight// he sighed mentally. Galadriel smiled.
//It is, isn't it. Sometimes I have to go down to the fountain to clear my head. Does that happen to you?//
Legolas frowned. //What is "clearing my head"?//
//It means you stop thinking too much at once and sort everything out in your mind, taking time out to think thoughts individually. It's also getting rid of the thoughts that don't do you any good.//
Legolas looked gravely at Galadriel. //What if... someone else clears my head?//
//You mean, clears 'his' head.//
//No...//
Galadriel's jaw dropped silently. She broke the connection abruptly, and began to fling up shields around Legolas and herself. //Valar. No wonder...//
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gwaloth held her head gingerly as she got up, loath to move for fear of her awful headache. She had had another strange dream again, this time involving an old well and her mother. She had been walking through the fields of her old home, and come across a well she did not remember.
In her dream, Gwaloth had removed the lid on the well, and her mother was standing in it, looking up at her with a smile and beckoning. Gwaloth had wanted to ask why, why are you down there? but someone was behind her, who was going to take her away...
Then she had woken up.
Gwaloth sighed unhappily. She often dreamed of the farm, and walking through the fields, and the flowers that never seemed to fade. But this was the first dream she could remember where the well appeared and her mother entered.
She frowned. //Why don't I remember that much about my mother?// she wondered. Then she held her head, for another, stronger, and vastly more irritating headache wave had passed over her.
Gwaloth flopped back on the bed, dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. Even though she had just been sleeping, she felt so tired...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Dark One brooded in the shadows.
//How in Mandos did the Prince recover so quickly?//
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas sat tersely next to Haldir and remembered as hard as he could. Something. Something inside of his was warm and soft and strong and weak. Something good, blissful. Blissful enough that it hurt. What?
Legolas wasn't sure what it was, but he had the distinctly unpleasant feeling that something was trying very, very hard to stop him from remembering.
Legolas sighed and let his head drop wearily. That was the thing that bothered him the most, really. The thing which made him want to shout out in frustration. He couldn't remember what happened to him. He could not remember the pain or the things that had been done to him while he was under the influence of whoeverwas controlling him. All he had were the precious few memories that-
-The Dark One-
-had not taken away from him.
Like an afterimage burned into an eye, the shadows of moments that had been taken from his memory were burned into his mind. But the memories weren't gone, and that was what made him frustrated. He could feel the memories, just beyond his reach but-
-The Dark One-
-had made it so that he could not reach them. And for some reason, Legolas couldn't remember why he feared and loved and trusted the Dark One all at the same time.
A fleeting image came to him, and he clung to it fretfully. It was a pretty girl Elf- Gwaloth?
Yes, that was her name. Gwaloth was important. Important because... why was she important? She had taken care of him... yes, that was it.
He could remember her smile, her warm hands on his cool face, and her earnest eyes.
"Don't worry, Legolas," she had said reassuringly. "I will keep you safe from the shadows." And he could feel himself nodding and feeling safe, within her arms.
******************************************************************
Gwaloth lurched to her feet. She looked around herself, confused and a bit frightened.
//How did I get here?// she wondered, and then a memory prompted itself into her mind.
//I was walking. I fell asleep. I was so tired, so tired that I didn't want to walk all the way back home. I was sleeping. I was dreaming peacefully, right here under the shade of the tree...//
Gwaloth looked at her feet. A few old leaves had fallen to the ground. Something was strange about them.
She stiffened. This was the tree that Haldir- haldir....- had found Legolas and Gwaloth in, drinking their own blood. She tried not to retch as she marched away from the scene, the cold January breezes which were cold enough to carry snow, even in Lothlorien, making her tanned skirts sway. Her body was warm. Gwaloth felt that there was some reason she should not be warm after sleeping for so long outside, but then she forced herself to concentrate on walking back to her flet.
If she thought about anything else, her mind would drift back to the leaves on the ground, brown and ugly with old, dried, evil-smelling-
Blood.
Instead she tried to think about the dream she had had. She let herself slip back into its memory...
She sat up, and the air was warm and sweet and smelled of flowers. Her mother, a tall, beautiful, black-haired Elf was standing beside her, one hand placed approvingly on her head. Gwaloth knew she was a child again, and smiled sunnily up at her dear, beloved mother.
But her mother wasn't there anymore, and Gwaloth sat down on a rock in the forest, wanting to cry. Suddenly, though, a tiny elfchild of only ten year of age sat in front of her. Her hair was red and fiery, and her eyes were blue. She had very short hair though- she was far too young, too young for it to even reach her ears.
"Why are you so sad?" asked the child, in an adult voice. Gwaloth sniffled, and rubbed her nose.
"I'm alone," she said unhappily. "I want Mama."
"Well, then, you must find her. Come here, with me, along this path- oh! look! a well! I suppose we ought to stop for a drink on such a warm day, don't you?"
The child had grown into a giant who towered over the child Gwaloth's head. She was frightened of the child-adult. She hesitantly drew back the cover, and stood blinking.
Her mother stood in the bottom of the well, far far under the clearwater. She said, "Oh, good, Gwaloth! You've found me! I knew you would find me, my darling, my love. Come- come with me-"
And she beckoned.
But the stranger had wrapped her huge, giant arms around Gwaloth's waist and was dragging her away...
Gwaloth broke the chain of thought and memory with a shudder. She looked back at the path, musing quietly and wondering why she was dreaming so much about her mother these days.
//I don't even know that much about her- all I know is that she died of a fever. That's what ada said, before he got sick. He told me. He did. And then I went away to Mirkwood to find work, and I met Legolas, and now I have followed him here.//
Gwaloth did not find it that disturbing that most of her memories were in such a simple format- she was used to it. A good deal of her memories were like that- they sounded as though they were the voice of someone else boringly reciting facts, almost, as though her mind had a voice of its own...
What she had never really wondered- and this is the one that would keep someone awake at night-
Whose voice was it?
*****tbc*****
A/n: LOve you all especially if you read this. *hugs tearfully*
