Legolas crept his way silently back into the walls of Helm's Deep. Many were sleeping while they could before facing many different and difficult journeys before first light dawned. Shadows were cast around the valley and the stones like forgotten drapery and barely any sound reach the elf's ears. What he know realised was a stronger fear than he had expected had left him confused and worried after his discussion with Aragorn. Whilst gazing at the sky and the stars he had been looking inwards at this blackness that had eaten away at him and now left him hollow. But hollow with a dreadful presence that was threatening to spring forth and burn him again.
But for now he was just weary, feeling something on the borders of despair of a loneliness that even his love of Aragorn could not break away. It was not a loneliness of spirit, he knew his heart was never truly alone because of his love for that man, but this was a sharper isolation, and loneliness of self. He was the only one of his kind to be in this exact kind of experience, within this ring of people that effected him so differently that they effected anyone else. Yes, Aragorn had helped him look at and identify his fear, but it was different to that which the men and even the dwarves that had fought here today were feeling.
Even the other elves that had battled today were isolated from him. The West was calling to them strongly and took away all blackness and dark from their hearts. The call of the West was still a distant murmur to he, he who had been stirred too deeply into this affair to leave before its conclusion. He was even divided from his own kind.
He was truly isolated in the shadows and he knew no one else could understand this, let alone cast light to alleviate this dark.
He came to the edge of the well he had been heading for. He felt parched, truly thirsty for the first time that he could remember. The repeated strenuous motion of drawing a full bucket from the mysterious depths of the well was slightly soothing. He rested the heavy bucket on the well's edge and drank deeply, cupping handfuls of shiny, dark water from the large and leaky pail. Splashing the cold water over his face started to ease the physical sense of weariness that had stolen over him of late. He was so enthralled in listening to the wonderfully distracting sounds of the splashing and trickling of the clean water that he did not hear the approaching footstep. Indeed, again for the first time, he did not realise he had company until a sword blade was pressed against his throat.
"You lay fist to my brother again, elf or no, I will insure you taste the bitterness of mortality."
Legolas stood slowly and calmly. The maiden's blade lifted with him with a cool, steady precision. Silence threaded in the shadows as Legolas looked with wonder into the infinite and fierce depths, sparkling with rage and devoid of fear, of Eowyn's eyes. The Shield Maiden waited for him to speak but Legolas could conceive of no words that would begin to explain what was a complex matter even to himself.
Eomer was parched. He was weary and his muscles ached and his spirit was slung low somewhere within the soles of his boots. He had not been given a moment to think in the last few hours but had been very busy organising a thousand and one tasks that had to be seen to before any further progress on future plans could be attempted. The true, staggering totals of the death toll were starting to roll in and the keening mourning wails had been heard as loudly in the valley as the victory cries. The war was still far from over and this disastrous victory had planted black doubts deep in his mind that festered away like cankers.
He had seen to all most pressing matters and had helped as much as he could before taking a chance to slip away. Once again, he just needed a few minutes of solitude to reflect, to think, to mourn and to attend to his protesting body. He knew of an old well located in the far back regions of the fortress, a place that was all shadow and memories. There he could sip water cooled by the stones of mountains and let his mind rest so that it could rise again to tackle the many-tiered issues and tasks that were awaiting him.
But for now he was just weary, feeling something on the borders of despair of a loneliness that even his love of Aragorn could not break away. It was not a loneliness of spirit, he knew his heart was never truly alone because of his love for that man, but this was a sharper isolation, and loneliness of self. He was the only one of his kind to be in this exact kind of experience, within this ring of people that effected him so differently that they effected anyone else. Yes, Aragorn had helped him look at and identify his fear, but it was different to that which the men and even the dwarves that had fought here today were feeling.
Even the other elves that had battled today were isolated from him. The West was calling to them strongly and took away all blackness and dark from their hearts. The call of the West was still a distant murmur to he, he who had been stirred too deeply into this affair to leave before its conclusion. He was even divided from his own kind.
He was truly isolated in the shadows and he knew no one else could understand this, let alone cast light to alleviate this dark.
He came to the edge of the well he had been heading for. He felt parched, truly thirsty for the first time that he could remember. The repeated strenuous motion of drawing a full bucket from the mysterious depths of the well was slightly soothing. He rested the heavy bucket on the well's edge and drank deeply, cupping handfuls of shiny, dark water from the large and leaky pail. Splashing the cold water over his face started to ease the physical sense of weariness that had stolen over him of late. He was so enthralled in listening to the wonderfully distracting sounds of the splashing and trickling of the clean water that he did not hear the approaching footstep. Indeed, again for the first time, he did not realise he had company until a sword blade was pressed against his throat.
"You lay fist to my brother again, elf or no, I will insure you taste the bitterness of mortality."
Legolas stood slowly and calmly. The maiden's blade lifted with him with a cool, steady precision. Silence threaded in the shadows as Legolas looked with wonder into the infinite and fierce depths, sparkling with rage and devoid of fear, of Eowyn's eyes. The Shield Maiden waited for him to speak but Legolas could conceive of no words that would begin to explain what was a complex matter even to himself.
Eomer was parched. He was weary and his muscles ached and his spirit was slung low somewhere within the soles of his boots. He had not been given a moment to think in the last few hours but had been very busy organising a thousand and one tasks that had to be seen to before any further progress on future plans could be attempted. The true, staggering totals of the death toll were starting to roll in and the keening mourning wails had been heard as loudly in the valley as the victory cries. The war was still far from over and this disastrous victory had planted black doubts deep in his mind that festered away like cankers.
He had seen to all most pressing matters and had helped as much as he could before taking a chance to slip away. Once again, he just needed a few minutes of solitude to reflect, to think, to mourn and to attend to his protesting body. He knew of an old well located in the far back regions of the fortress, a place that was all shadow and memories. There he could sip water cooled by the stones of mountains and let his mind rest so that it could rise again to tackle the many-tiered issues and tasks that were awaiting him.