A/N: Hello all once more! I am now recovered from my accident and glad to
find my love of writing had still remained in tact. I hope you enjoy this
chapter, its very unusual. Big thanks to all who reviewed and to those who
will. Cheysuli I plead, beg update Hidden Darkness! Please! I need it.
Katherine, same goes out to you. Read on!
Chapter 6
Black.
Completely black.
Or at least it had been at first. Now it had dimmed at the edges, faded to a bleak grey. A change so subtle he may not have seen it, had his eyes been open. Slowly, so slowly images and shapes began to appear, all grey. Occasionally a letter or even a word would pass by. They came without a sound, and left just the same. Some flashed by, retreating into oblivion within the second. Others lingered, twisting and turning, wading and drowning in the confusion of the unconscious. Is it possible for thoughts to creep? None dared to venture into colour, swirling like shadows in a shadow world.
Half remembered names and faces.
A fragment of a song.
The darkness would have been soothing, an escape from the reality of light, but alas the images that haunted his dazed mind were not benevolent. They mocked him with their ambiguity, challenged him to make sense of chaos, to combat the unseen. The unreal.
The faces that first smiled on him, turned cruel, and grew so dark they threatened to be lost in the black. Weapons, or rather shapes, appeared in hands that till now shook others and clasped with affection.
He tried to turn away, but how does one go about escaping the mind? It is impossible. Instead he shifted his body, but without sight knew not where he headed. In reality he had twisted sharply to his right, his head impacting with an exposed tree root.
Try telling that to the wounded imagination.
His attempt to flee blocked by an unseen wall, the perimeter of his mind. He had reached the edge and was about to fall off. And fall off he did.
The blissful darkness returned, free from shape or foe. Just darkness like that of sleep, only this was different. This darkness was reluctant to relinquish its hold. This was not the kind of slumber he could simply wake from.
Suddenly something started to stir once more in the mist. The return of the faces, this time slightly clearer. He could make out long fine hair blowing carelessly in a strong wind, strange as he did not feel cold. Sound pervaded his mind for the first time in what felt like hours. Softly at first, someone was calling to him, or perhaps shouting at him. The call grew louder but no more distinct. The face became sharper and soon was the only thing he saw. Expressionless, the figure betrayed the voice seeming detached from it, with an eerie, evil calm.
The figure pulled away though could still be seen. He was bizarrely aware of great distance. Now he felt cold, cold for the first time in years.
The call became a desperate shriek, whatever it was trying to say lost in inexplicable hysteria.
A flash of brilliant blue and the figure, now plainly cloaked, outstretched an inconceivably long arm and beckoned ominously with a nimble finger.
Unaware of any other option, he leaned forward about to step forward with the gait of an unpractised infant. But all of a sudden though still surrounded by darkness he felt himself teetering dangerously on a ledge, and scrabbled backwards.
He knew he did not want to fall. He saw nothing yet he knew. Yet the figure still gestured for him to come, or did it? Looking closer, he saw it had pulled back, it seemed shocked. The hand remained extended yet it hung limp.
In a flash of insight he realised. . . understood. He comprehended what was happening to him.
Mandos.
He was being called, nay, tempted into the Halls of Mandos.
This was not the airy light he had always imagined it to be. Not a place of final rest, of memory and of heroes. Why was he faced with such darkness? Is this what truly awaited him in Mandos?
The figure seemed to read his mind and in a voice that penetrated all others, simply said;
"You are not meant to be here."
That was the key. He had come to Mandos before his time. Something unnatural had played a part in his passing, something had interfered.
Amazed at what had come to be, yet sad to be denied peace; he lay sprawled on the unseen plateau. He waited, waited for whatever was to come next. It was the mysterious figure that moved first.
It's hand still outstretched, turned along with what body that could be seen, and indicated a completely different direction.
Tired with lying, he sat up puzzled. The cloaked form stepped forward to the ledge on its side dropping his hand, only to raise it once more and point directly at him before speaking again.
"I am sending you back."
He was not prepared for what happened next. A stream of light burst through his vision, his hands flew to his face, there was a hideous scream, like that of a terrified maiden. The sunlight was so dazzling his hands failed to stop it as it worked it's way into his brain. His warm brain. Slowly, steadily, he let his tired eyes adjust and removed his hands, flexing them, testing their strength. He finally looked out onto the world.
The real world.
Legolas had woken.
A/N: See? Not what you expected. Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Review!
Chapter 6
Black.
Completely black.
Or at least it had been at first. Now it had dimmed at the edges, faded to a bleak grey. A change so subtle he may not have seen it, had his eyes been open. Slowly, so slowly images and shapes began to appear, all grey. Occasionally a letter or even a word would pass by. They came without a sound, and left just the same. Some flashed by, retreating into oblivion within the second. Others lingered, twisting and turning, wading and drowning in the confusion of the unconscious. Is it possible for thoughts to creep? None dared to venture into colour, swirling like shadows in a shadow world.
Half remembered names and faces.
A fragment of a song.
The darkness would have been soothing, an escape from the reality of light, but alas the images that haunted his dazed mind were not benevolent. They mocked him with their ambiguity, challenged him to make sense of chaos, to combat the unseen. The unreal.
The faces that first smiled on him, turned cruel, and grew so dark they threatened to be lost in the black. Weapons, or rather shapes, appeared in hands that till now shook others and clasped with affection.
He tried to turn away, but how does one go about escaping the mind? It is impossible. Instead he shifted his body, but without sight knew not where he headed. In reality he had twisted sharply to his right, his head impacting with an exposed tree root.
Try telling that to the wounded imagination.
His attempt to flee blocked by an unseen wall, the perimeter of his mind. He had reached the edge and was about to fall off. And fall off he did.
The blissful darkness returned, free from shape or foe. Just darkness like that of sleep, only this was different. This darkness was reluctant to relinquish its hold. This was not the kind of slumber he could simply wake from.
Suddenly something started to stir once more in the mist. The return of the faces, this time slightly clearer. He could make out long fine hair blowing carelessly in a strong wind, strange as he did not feel cold. Sound pervaded his mind for the first time in what felt like hours. Softly at first, someone was calling to him, or perhaps shouting at him. The call grew louder but no more distinct. The face became sharper and soon was the only thing he saw. Expressionless, the figure betrayed the voice seeming detached from it, with an eerie, evil calm.
The figure pulled away though could still be seen. He was bizarrely aware of great distance. Now he felt cold, cold for the first time in years.
The call became a desperate shriek, whatever it was trying to say lost in inexplicable hysteria.
A flash of brilliant blue and the figure, now plainly cloaked, outstretched an inconceivably long arm and beckoned ominously with a nimble finger.
Unaware of any other option, he leaned forward about to step forward with the gait of an unpractised infant. But all of a sudden though still surrounded by darkness he felt himself teetering dangerously on a ledge, and scrabbled backwards.
He knew he did not want to fall. He saw nothing yet he knew. Yet the figure still gestured for him to come, or did it? Looking closer, he saw it had pulled back, it seemed shocked. The hand remained extended yet it hung limp.
In a flash of insight he realised. . . understood. He comprehended what was happening to him.
Mandos.
He was being called, nay, tempted into the Halls of Mandos.
This was not the airy light he had always imagined it to be. Not a place of final rest, of memory and of heroes. Why was he faced with such darkness? Is this what truly awaited him in Mandos?
The figure seemed to read his mind and in a voice that penetrated all others, simply said;
"You are not meant to be here."
That was the key. He had come to Mandos before his time. Something unnatural had played a part in his passing, something had interfered.
Amazed at what had come to be, yet sad to be denied peace; he lay sprawled on the unseen plateau. He waited, waited for whatever was to come next. It was the mysterious figure that moved first.
It's hand still outstretched, turned along with what body that could be seen, and indicated a completely different direction.
Tired with lying, he sat up puzzled. The cloaked form stepped forward to the ledge on its side dropping his hand, only to raise it once more and point directly at him before speaking again.
"I am sending you back."
He was not prepared for what happened next. A stream of light burst through his vision, his hands flew to his face, there was a hideous scream, like that of a terrified maiden. The sunlight was so dazzling his hands failed to stop it as it worked it's way into his brain. His warm brain. Slowly, steadily, he let his tired eyes adjust and removed his hands, flexing them, testing their strength. He finally looked out onto the world.
The real world.
Legolas had woken.
A/N: See? Not what you expected. Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Review!
