**** Chapter 9! Never thought that Nasty, mean, Legolas would get out of
that one. Really, it's getting kinda boring, him escaping and all. I'll
spice it up somehow...****
After cutting himself free in a very make shift manner, Legolas made an effort to stand up. He cursed the wounds in his legs: how was he supposed to run like this? Orophin would pay for that. Aragorn too. Once the Ring was taken under Mirkwood's control... Legolas smiled for a moment.
The elf looked down onto Orophin's unconscious body. His face lay in the ground, which was slightly muddy and grassy with a couple yellow flowers here and there. Suddenly he laughed outright, imagining a vision of the future: Orophin rising from the ground with a brown face, with a few flowers stuck on his forehead.
He took a few steps to test out his slightly numb legs. Each movement stung, but he could manage. Now. Legolas looked around, thinking 'Which way? Follow the river, I guess.' He hurried off in the direction he thought was leading out of the forest.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Anteruth looked at his bloody hands with shock. What had he done?! He looked down upon his friend, Erthan, with shock. His friend lay in a pool of blood, a sword neatly piercing his stomach. Anteruth's sword.
"No! No, no, no..." He said, slipping in to denial. His friend was spread on the forest floor, looking up at Anteruth with unseeing hazel eyes. "I did not... I did not want... no..."
A simple sparring, it had been. Nothing serious, really. Erthan was new with a sword, having begun the art only a few centuries or so ago. He was also a few centuries or so younger than Anteruth.
~*~*~*~* FLASHBACK *~*~*~*~*
"I do not want to hurt you. What if something happens?" Anteruth pleaded with his dark-haired friend not to spar with him. He pushed his own golden hair, frustrated, behind his ear as he spoke. His hair was always coming loose from its hold.
"What do you take me for, a weakling?" Erthan had said, a cross expression blooming. He sat up from where he had been sitting under a mallorn tree with Anteruth. "Let us do it now. Please. How am I supposed to learn if I do no spar with someone better than me?"
Anteruth looked ahead of him, to Celebrant, nervously. They were sitting at the bank, having just completed a race. Now Erthan wanted to train with his swordplay. Anteruth did not think it very wise.
"Fine," He said nervously, also standing up. "But I am still worried." Erthan frowned more at his last comment. 'I am not *that* bad!' He unsheathed his sword and Anteruth followed him slowly.
~*~*~*~* END FLASHBACK ~*~*~*~*~*
Anteruth and Erthan were the best of friends, and were rarely seen apart. They seemed to have known each other since Erthan's birth nearly a thousand years ago. Anteruth remembered that day clearly, and now he would have to remember the day of his friend's death also.
He leaned down. "You can not be dead. You are not dead." He brushed a dark black hair away from Erthan's pale face, smearing some blood off his hands on accident. "Wake up. Wake up!" Anteruth began to sob. "Wake up!" Tears poured down his face and dripped onto his friend's cold forehead, mixing tears with blood.
"Please wake up. Please! Wake up!" Anteruth cried, shaking Erthan's shoulders, avoiding the sword he was trying to ignore was there. "Erthan!" He sunk back for a moment and stopped crying as it all sunk in... his closest friend, more like a brother than his own had been, was dead. And *he* had killed him. 'I killed him. I killed him.'
Anteruth faced the reality of the entire situation and leaned forward, knowing what he had to do. He took the hilt of the sword and carefully slid it out of his friend's body. "I am sorry Erthan. I shall get avenge you." He started to sob as he held the bloody sword in front of him.
With that, he plunged the sword into his chest.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas kept walking down the river, ever cursing Orophin. The wounds in his legs kept opening up and he constantly had to stop and tie the bandages tighter to stop the bleeding.
He bent down and tied his bandage tighter. All of his rage was about to burst. He could not wait to punish Aragorn and the Lorien elf. Legolas could not wait to see the pain on their faces... but what about his counterpart? He shook the thought of Nice Legolas off. No one needed a weakling around. Now Saroun would not get the ring and Mirkwood would rule over all.
Maybe he could be king, even. He did not mind murdering his father, or making someone do it for him. He cocked his head in thought, smirking. He would have to kill his brothers, also, but they were rarely home, so perhaps that was not needed since Legolas was indeed the eldest of them and was the Crown Prince.
He was jerked out of his thoughts, as he was walking along the raging river Celebrant, when he heard a soft, barely audible moan. Legolas snapped his head and pulled out his tiny dagger that had freed him. His long, white blade had been taken from him.
Yet that was unnecessary as all he saw was an Elf laying on the forest floor, beneath a golden mallorn. Legolas froze involuntarily. Some place in side of him wanted to... help him?
Aggressive Legolas did not want to help anybody but himself. What was this he was feeling? Pity! Of all the worthless feelings one could feel, he felt pity! How?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nice Legolas had fallen into a fretful sleep laying by the hobbits. A strange dream interrupted his normal Elvish slumber. He was walking in a river, a strong river. There was something wrong, he could feel it. Then he looked down into the river... it was red. Red with blood.
He couldn't see much, it was very foggy and blurry, but he could distinguish a light by what seemed to be the shore of the river. What was that gleam? Legolas moved toward it...
A blade! No, not a blade, a dagger. Nice Legolas wondered to whom it belonged to. Then he saw... Legolas? Aggressive Legolas! But what was he doing in Nice Legolas's dream?
Then Nice Legolas saw past his "twin." There lay two elves, both covered in blood, their blood streaming into the river, coloring the water. One had no inner light left in him... he was dead... and the other was close to it, a long sword stuck in his chest... had Aggressive Legolas done this?!
He walked to his counterpart, through the bloody river and to the red land. A tree, gold and bright was near. It's leaves were dripping blood. Why all this blood? Legolas touched his face... tears were pouring down it. He wanted to help the dying Elves. But he could not.
Something held him back, did not let him closer than Aggressive Legolas. He reached for the two Elves helplessly and yelled at his double. "Will you not help them?! Help them! Please!" He begged softly. To Nice Legolas's surprise, Aggressive Legolas fell forward unto his knees then.
On his knees, he cupped his face in his hands, Nice Legolas heard him say "How?"
Legolas realized what was going on. This was not a regular dream. This was really happening to Aggressive Legolas. He realized what he had to do, but he did not know how to do it. But he had to save that Elf.
Legolas touched Aggressive Legolas's shoulder and commanded (Something he had not done before), "Comfort him, and take care of him. Do not leave him until he is healed."
Somehow, someway, Legolas knew it would work as Aggressive Legolas kneeled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"How?" Legolas asked the air. How was he feeling these feelings? He should not have these feelings! Yet he found himself crawling toward the wounded Elf, pity flowing through his heart. The other one was dead. He could not be helped.
Legolas pulled the long sword, carefully and gently, out of the Elf's chest. The sword hadn't gone too far inside him, barely missing his heart, so maybe he might survive. 'Why do I care?! He is just one Elf!'
Yet Legolas couldn't help himself. Something else surged through him, and his thoughts screamed at him, telling him a sentence he would never had listened to: ""Will you not help them?! Help them! Please!"
"Ah!" The Elf moaned. So he was conscious. Legolas comforted him, disgusted by himself in his caring mode.
"I will help you. What is your name?" Legolas asked, not controlling the words coming out of his own mouth.
The Elf's eyes snapped open, having closed in his weakened state. "Who are you? Am I in the Halls? Did Mandos actually accept me, despite my sins?" Legolas found himself shaking his head.
"You are not dead," Legolas said. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood. I...I... have come to help...?" Legolas tried everything in him to stop the pity and wanting to help. What was happening to him?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Short chapter this time, very sorry, because I am very busy with school. Please excuse me, but I will do replies to Reviews! PLEASE REVIEW despite my stupidness!
Replies!:
AAAclub: Thank you for addressing me by my correct title! Thanks!
Star-Stallion: We should sell him on E-Bay. Who knows, maybe someone will buy him.
Deana: Thanks for being so faithful even with my unfaithfulness and unreliability!
meisalliam: You're welcome. Not a lot of people like pointy knives that burn with the fires of a thousand evils.
Effigy: * spanks Nasty Legolas * Bad Leggy! Yes, I am mean at cliffies.
Artex: I like random ramblings!
After cutting himself free in a very make shift manner, Legolas made an effort to stand up. He cursed the wounds in his legs: how was he supposed to run like this? Orophin would pay for that. Aragorn too. Once the Ring was taken under Mirkwood's control... Legolas smiled for a moment.
The elf looked down onto Orophin's unconscious body. His face lay in the ground, which was slightly muddy and grassy with a couple yellow flowers here and there. Suddenly he laughed outright, imagining a vision of the future: Orophin rising from the ground with a brown face, with a few flowers stuck on his forehead.
He took a few steps to test out his slightly numb legs. Each movement stung, but he could manage. Now. Legolas looked around, thinking 'Which way? Follow the river, I guess.' He hurried off in the direction he thought was leading out of the forest.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Anteruth looked at his bloody hands with shock. What had he done?! He looked down upon his friend, Erthan, with shock. His friend lay in a pool of blood, a sword neatly piercing his stomach. Anteruth's sword.
"No! No, no, no..." He said, slipping in to denial. His friend was spread on the forest floor, looking up at Anteruth with unseeing hazel eyes. "I did not... I did not want... no..."
A simple sparring, it had been. Nothing serious, really. Erthan was new with a sword, having begun the art only a few centuries or so ago. He was also a few centuries or so younger than Anteruth.
~*~*~*~* FLASHBACK *~*~*~*~*
"I do not want to hurt you. What if something happens?" Anteruth pleaded with his dark-haired friend not to spar with him. He pushed his own golden hair, frustrated, behind his ear as he spoke. His hair was always coming loose from its hold.
"What do you take me for, a weakling?" Erthan had said, a cross expression blooming. He sat up from where he had been sitting under a mallorn tree with Anteruth. "Let us do it now. Please. How am I supposed to learn if I do no spar with someone better than me?"
Anteruth looked ahead of him, to Celebrant, nervously. They were sitting at the bank, having just completed a race. Now Erthan wanted to train with his swordplay. Anteruth did not think it very wise.
"Fine," He said nervously, also standing up. "But I am still worried." Erthan frowned more at his last comment. 'I am not *that* bad!' He unsheathed his sword and Anteruth followed him slowly.
~*~*~*~* END FLASHBACK ~*~*~*~*~*
Anteruth and Erthan were the best of friends, and were rarely seen apart. They seemed to have known each other since Erthan's birth nearly a thousand years ago. Anteruth remembered that day clearly, and now he would have to remember the day of his friend's death also.
He leaned down. "You can not be dead. You are not dead." He brushed a dark black hair away from Erthan's pale face, smearing some blood off his hands on accident. "Wake up. Wake up!" Anteruth began to sob. "Wake up!" Tears poured down his face and dripped onto his friend's cold forehead, mixing tears with blood.
"Please wake up. Please! Wake up!" Anteruth cried, shaking Erthan's shoulders, avoiding the sword he was trying to ignore was there. "Erthan!" He sunk back for a moment and stopped crying as it all sunk in... his closest friend, more like a brother than his own had been, was dead. And *he* had killed him. 'I killed him. I killed him.'
Anteruth faced the reality of the entire situation and leaned forward, knowing what he had to do. He took the hilt of the sword and carefully slid it out of his friend's body. "I am sorry Erthan. I shall get avenge you." He started to sob as he held the bloody sword in front of him.
With that, he plunged the sword into his chest.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas kept walking down the river, ever cursing Orophin. The wounds in his legs kept opening up and he constantly had to stop and tie the bandages tighter to stop the bleeding.
He bent down and tied his bandage tighter. All of his rage was about to burst. He could not wait to punish Aragorn and the Lorien elf. Legolas could not wait to see the pain on their faces... but what about his counterpart? He shook the thought of Nice Legolas off. No one needed a weakling around. Now Saroun would not get the ring and Mirkwood would rule over all.
Maybe he could be king, even. He did not mind murdering his father, or making someone do it for him. He cocked his head in thought, smirking. He would have to kill his brothers, also, but they were rarely home, so perhaps that was not needed since Legolas was indeed the eldest of them and was the Crown Prince.
He was jerked out of his thoughts, as he was walking along the raging river Celebrant, when he heard a soft, barely audible moan. Legolas snapped his head and pulled out his tiny dagger that had freed him. His long, white blade had been taken from him.
Yet that was unnecessary as all he saw was an Elf laying on the forest floor, beneath a golden mallorn. Legolas froze involuntarily. Some place in side of him wanted to... help him?
Aggressive Legolas did not want to help anybody but himself. What was this he was feeling? Pity! Of all the worthless feelings one could feel, he felt pity! How?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nice Legolas had fallen into a fretful sleep laying by the hobbits. A strange dream interrupted his normal Elvish slumber. He was walking in a river, a strong river. There was something wrong, he could feel it. Then he looked down into the river... it was red. Red with blood.
He couldn't see much, it was very foggy and blurry, but he could distinguish a light by what seemed to be the shore of the river. What was that gleam? Legolas moved toward it...
A blade! No, not a blade, a dagger. Nice Legolas wondered to whom it belonged to. Then he saw... Legolas? Aggressive Legolas! But what was he doing in Nice Legolas's dream?
Then Nice Legolas saw past his "twin." There lay two elves, both covered in blood, their blood streaming into the river, coloring the water. One had no inner light left in him... he was dead... and the other was close to it, a long sword stuck in his chest... had Aggressive Legolas done this?!
He walked to his counterpart, through the bloody river and to the red land. A tree, gold and bright was near. It's leaves were dripping blood. Why all this blood? Legolas touched his face... tears were pouring down it. He wanted to help the dying Elves. But he could not.
Something held him back, did not let him closer than Aggressive Legolas. He reached for the two Elves helplessly and yelled at his double. "Will you not help them?! Help them! Please!" He begged softly. To Nice Legolas's surprise, Aggressive Legolas fell forward unto his knees then.
On his knees, he cupped his face in his hands, Nice Legolas heard him say "How?"
Legolas realized what was going on. This was not a regular dream. This was really happening to Aggressive Legolas. He realized what he had to do, but he did not know how to do it. But he had to save that Elf.
Legolas touched Aggressive Legolas's shoulder and commanded (Something he had not done before), "Comfort him, and take care of him. Do not leave him until he is healed."
Somehow, someway, Legolas knew it would work as Aggressive Legolas kneeled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"How?" Legolas asked the air. How was he feeling these feelings? He should not have these feelings! Yet he found himself crawling toward the wounded Elf, pity flowing through his heart. The other one was dead. He could not be helped.
Legolas pulled the long sword, carefully and gently, out of the Elf's chest. The sword hadn't gone too far inside him, barely missing his heart, so maybe he might survive. 'Why do I care?! He is just one Elf!'
Yet Legolas couldn't help himself. Something else surged through him, and his thoughts screamed at him, telling him a sentence he would never had listened to: ""Will you not help them?! Help them! Please!"
"Ah!" The Elf moaned. So he was conscious. Legolas comforted him, disgusted by himself in his caring mode.
"I will help you. What is your name?" Legolas asked, not controlling the words coming out of his own mouth.
The Elf's eyes snapped open, having closed in his weakened state. "Who are you? Am I in the Halls? Did Mandos actually accept me, despite my sins?" Legolas found himself shaking his head.
"You are not dead," Legolas said. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood. I...I... have come to help...?" Legolas tried everything in him to stop the pity and wanting to help. What was happening to him?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Short chapter this time, very sorry, because I am very busy with school. Please excuse me, but I will do replies to Reviews! PLEASE REVIEW despite my stupidness!
Replies!:
AAAclub: Thank you for addressing me by my correct title! Thanks!
Star-Stallion: We should sell him on E-Bay. Who knows, maybe someone will buy him.
Deana: Thanks for being so faithful even with my unfaithfulness and unreliability!
meisalliam: You're welcome. Not a lot of people like pointy knives that burn with the fires of a thousand evils.
Effigy: * spanks Nasty Legolas * Bad Leggy! Yes, I am mean at cliffies.
Artex: I like random ramblings!