Disclaimer: I don't own although it maybe slightly AU.
Author's Note: I'm sorry this update took so long. It got bad suddenly and I got sick of writing it down and now I'm at a difference place from where Legolas is. It's like he's completely different now. I just feel like I'm falling faster and further but I don't want that with Legolas. If I ever get around to ending the story, it will be difficult because endings in life aren't as clean, there's always loose ends and it's hard to define when a part of your life really does end. Does that make any sense or does it sound like mindless chatter? Well if it's the latter, then I guess I tried my best trying to explain myself. The format may be different because ff.net is not cooperating with me.
::For Eden::
::Chapter Six::
Legolas regarded Estel, still somewhat warily, on his bed. Estel could only stay seated as still as he could. He had the notion that if he moved too quickly or spoke too loudly he would scare the elf away. Estel was silently urging Legolas to start talking.
Legolas felt his heart beat thick and slow as though he was underwater. He tried to pull apart the strands of thought in his mind but they just became hopelessly tangled. He wanted to talk, he really did, but his tongue felt severed. He finally looked up at Estel, at his solid eyes as opposed to his own that felt transparent.
"Legolas, are you unhappy?" Legolas frowned.
"Unhappy is a way of putting it. Angry, sad." His mouth felt tender around the sharp words but he kept talking. He would keep talking until he bled.
"Why?"
"Because I am a spoilt prince with an insatiable desire to end this godforsaken life." Legolas stood up suddenly; his bones felt ablaze with a fire. He was angry again. The fire would eat away at his bones until they turned to dust."You are not that, Legolas," Estel said gently. The fire started to ebb away. Estel gripped Legolas' wrist; the skin felt hot underneath the surface, as though coals were burning deep in his body. "You are in no way spoiled. I need to know why you are so unhappy with your life."
"I don't know. I have everything, Estel, and yet I am still unhappy. How can you say that I am not spoiled?"
"Because you are kind and good," he answered simply.
"You hardly know me."
"You are my friend, Legolas, and I know that you are not how you see yourself. You must stop loathing yourself, Legolas." Legolas could feel wetness pricking at his eyes and he was surprised. He had forgotten how to cry and the tears felt foreign, full in his eyes and throat, but Legolas did not let them spill over.
"You have to tell me, why do you do this?" Estel traced the cuts underneath Legolas' shirtsleeve. Legolas winced and twisted his arm out of Estel's grasp. He gripped his arm almost protectively but with a distant look on his face, as though the arm and the cuts were not his own.
"Because I have an uncontrollable anger, because sometimes I don't know Estel. I don't know if I'm living or if I am dead! This," Legolas pointed accusingly to his chest. "Is the only thing that tells me that I am still alive, still forced to endure this, this numbing life that kills me each day." His voice cracked and Legolas sank back on his bed, his head was raging.
"I need to know, I have to remind myself, that I can still feel, that I haven't turned completely to stone," Legolas said, softly. Estel strained to hear his voice.
"Why do you feel this way?" Estel was baffled, for once. In his entire life he had been completely sure of everything, the ground beneath his feet, his emotions, and suddenly this was thrown into his life. He was afraid, too, he wasn't used to feeling this way. Suddenly, Estel wasn't sure if it really was solid ground that stretched out from beneath his feet.
"I don't know. I just get so sad sometimes. So angry. I'm sorry. I have no right to be feeling this way." Estel leaned forward and gripped Legolas' hand again.
"No Legolas, you shouldn't ever have to apologize for your emotions. You have a right to feel whatever you do. You also have a right to be happy. And not wounded." Legolas couldn't look at his arm.
"For how long?" Legolas shook his head.
"I honestly don't know."
"Whenever you're angry, Legolas don't hold it in. You hold everything in until you are about to break."
Legolas almost confessed that sometimes he did wish he could break. If he were broken, he would not have to live with the uneasiness in his stomach and the pain. Pain from what? He did not know.
"Sometimes it hurts for no reason," Legolas said.
"What hurts?"
"Trying to live. It hurts and the redundancy reduces me to nothing. I am an elf, Estel, I have to hold up the glory of my father and yet I am still shackled to the cruel bonds of time. I don't want to die."
"You won't die," Estel said, gently. "You're immortal."
"But that's just it." Legolas hid his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in his hair. "I don't know what I want. I don't want to live forever but it is death that I fear the most. I am weak.""Legolas, there is an enormous amount of pressure on you. You are a prince; it is one of the hardest positions to fill. You have to understand, your father cares about you, and he would not mind listening to you." Legolas stayed silent.
"And me, Legolas, anytime, anywhere I'll listen. Please, let me help you?" Legolas swallowed hard.
"I will if I can." There was an odd sense of closure in Legolas' words and Estel suddenly felt as though he should leave, not that he was unwelcome but still that perhaps Legolas deserves time alone now. He rubbed Legolas' shoulder and walked out.
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Legolas sat, unmoving. He was…he's supposed to be feeling better now, isn't he? Legolas tried to work around his thoughts. He couldn't, he wanted to tell Estel but he couldn't find the words, he didn't know what he wanted to say. He did feel better. A weight was gone from his chest but that left him feeling strange.
Legolas felt empty and cold. With Estel away, he suddenly felt different. It has hard to believe that the conversation actually took place; it was all so very surreal. When he hugged himself, his arms felt foreign. Another part of him felt strangely triumphant. He was being taken seriously. He, Legolas, was not seen as a histrionic, self-centered prince. As sick as it was, Legolas felt almost proud that his illness was real, that it wasn't all in his head. It was something for others to take seriously, proof that his problems were not trivial.
His stomach churned at these treacherous thoughts as cold sweat broke over his body. Legolas raked across his face with the back of his hand. He was shivering now. His body was shaking, like convulsions; he needed to be calm. Legolas tried taking deep breaths but they were like gasps; he couldn't calm himself.
Before he could think, his traitor hand found the blade as though it had always been molded there into his palm. He drew the blade along the palm of his left hand. It shone red, like a lifeline.
As he drew across his legs, his eyes felt blinded. Light was blinding his eyes. He wished it was something heavenly but he blinked away salt. His mouth tasted metal and his salty, wet tears.
He felt pathetic; he was pathetic. Did anyone else feel sorry for himself or herself like he did? He had no right to. Legolas felt his arms. They felt bruised; purple petals were blooming under his transparent skin. He was wretched and weak. Did he really deserve Estel? Estel was strong and grounded. He had no right to bother Estel. Legolas could see the boy's concerned face and hear his reassuring words in his minds eye but he could not bring himself to feel worthy of it.
Who was he? Legolas could barely recognize himself anymore. Blue eyes, long hair, ashen face. He could only think of the stranger he saw when he looked in the mirror. His body felt foreign and his ribs were gaunt and showed through the skin like baskets. The bones in his shoulders, his arms, felt like the bones of birds, hollow and breakable. His voice trembled in his throat, like an animal.
Screaming. People screaming. Demons screaming. Screaming at him to stop. Screaming at him for being who he was, worthless, shameful. They pierced his ears and Legolas clamped his hands over them. He thought he could feel the blood trickling from them. Screaming, so much screaming. Who was it? He was…he was screaming. Legolas could barely recognize his own voice. It was calling someone. Calling. Reaching. Arms enveloped him. Warmth enveloped him and breeze blew away the tears and sweat and blood.
"I told you, you can call me and I'll always come," Estel said.
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Estel did not know how long he sat there, hugging the crying elf. He felt small and fragile in his arms and Estel wondered if part of his uncanny appearance had to do with his weight. Did this boy eat?
He tried to stop Legolas from saying sorry. He kept repeating it, as the salty tears traced down his face. Estel felt at a loss; he wanted to hard to help him but he wasn't sure if he was at all.
"Don't say you're sorry. I want to help you." Estel wasn't sure if he was talking to Legolas or himself.
"I want to help you." Legolas shook his head. Did he hear Estel right? Did the boy truly want to help him? Did he, Legolas, matter to him? He was not burdening Estel with his worries? He felt doubtful but let hope, a thin strand of it, survive in his heart. It warmed him, from his stomach, across his body. It was the not raging fire that had threatened to devour him earlier. It was different; it was the comforting, steady warm ebb of light.
Estel frowned in thought. Legolas was still whispering, repeating himself softly. He didn't want Legolas to be sorry. He strained to hear the elf's voice. When he heard him, Estel let a small smile form on his lips.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you."
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A/n: I'm so sorry this has been a short chapter and somewhat fluffy chapter. I don't know what to do; Legolas has come so far for me to bring him back down just because of how I'm feeling. I'll have to figure out where to take this, whether to keep it with me, my emotions, or let it turn into a story. I just don't want people to feel bad if Legolas doesn't improve and sinks back into the state he started out in because it is fully possible to pull out of this sort of depression. I have to thank everyone, absolutely everyone who's reviewed. Believe it or not, you have all helped me in one way or another and I've fallen behind in regularly updating and responding to reviewers so I'll pick that up starting the next chapter. Thank you all, once again, for understanding and relating; it has made all the difference in the past few months.