Ok, I'm back! And on time!!! Can you believe it????
The end is approaching my friends!!! Maybe in another chapter or two, but never fear, I will always have new stories coming in!
Brief note on this chapter: I know it said that some healing began at the end of the last chapter, but our elf still has to suffer some more!
Chapter Twelve: No tears left to cry
When this began
I had nothing to say
And I get lost
In the nothingness
Inside of me
I was confused
And I let it all out
Only to find
That I'm not the only person
With these things
In mind
Inside of me
But all the vacancy
The words reveled
Is the only real thing
I've got left to fell
Nothing to lose
Just stuck
Hollow and alone
And the fault is my own
And the fault is my own
The tree's occupant slid down its branches to the ground and began to stroll idly, it had been only a moment, but for the first time in a very long time, the stars had begun to sing. He had almost forgotten what it had sounded like, and that just made it more beautiful.
But the dream...? The rowan grove, the rosewood tree, the missing grave, his mother...his father...
This dream had not been the same nightmare that had plagued him for years, but it was a dream! But the image was as clear before him as ever, the sight of his mother not as his last memory of her, but tall and lovely as she had always been in life. Thranduil, his father.... absentmindedly Legolas touched the side of his forehead where the other elf had brushed away a loss piece of his hair in the dream, it was almost as if he had really felt a touch to his temple, a different one then he had remembered from long ago.
The scars from the past still showed, in many more ways then one, and he was not sure if they would ever close and heal but....
It all had seemed so real; it was almost like he was still there, still in the dream.... still seeing his father before him, his grey eyes so aged and sad.... maybe it had been real, but could it had been? His mother was dead, and the image of his father had been warped many times, even from the brief meeting they had a few days ago.
Old anger began to flare up again. The loss, the betrayal, the pain... pain, he knew it so well. The pain had twisted his heart so, like that of a cracked ruined hearth after a fire. Hot, hard, scard, and dead. The turning of his heart to all the pain had made him deaf to the stars, and left him without tears. He had never wept since that one night.
Life was nor easy in this band, not only the hardship that were laid on their shoulders from the fear and discrimination that was set in the minds of other people that came across them, but every person in this company bore scars and wounds on their souls. And since they wandered all over Middle Earth old reminders of whatever caused their wounds turned up somewhat frequently. The elf had seen the grief that burdened everyone here and he himself carried it as well, but somehow he had never been able to find the respite from his comrades as the others did.
This was perhaps because that the others had their tears, they had tears for their sorrows, and Legolas had none left to cry. He had sat and comforted friends as others had, but the others cried with them, he did not.
The stories of old told of elves that had forsaken their immortality, that long-suffering tale of the elf maiden who loved a mortal. In the tale the others had always asked her way she stayed when there was no hope. Why did these Shadow People linger together when there is no hope? Why did he linger? The maid in the legend held on for her love, but what were they holding on to? What had the world left for them?
What had the world left for them, but each other?
Were they all here because they were the only ones that could understand? But how could a wounded heart ever feel again? It could feel when it healed. Their hearts had healed, so they had their tears, his hadn't.
But the star's song... how could the hollow heart hear their song?
A prick had been made, it was tiny though... but it was there, the merest light of hope had shone it's light. But it was not much. Not enough to make him feel again...
Nothing would be felt until the scars faded and the wounds healed...
But when? Who could know when or how?
TBC
On a small note, I kind of sort of stole the no tears thing from another author too. I'm so terrible! But isn't it said that our best idea's come from others? Well I was reading a book of fairy tales and I came across a line in The Little Mermaid:
"She would have wept for such sorrow, but a mermaid has no tears, so she suffers all the more."
Hans Christian Anderson, my favorite author of fairy tales, I couldn't help it!!
I'm trying to figure out how I kept Legolas from fading; they say the depression is turned inwardly, (Thank you farfulng) but it is my personal belief that Sigmund Freud wouldn't touch even the most well adjusted elf with a ten-foot couch!!
Well guys see ya soon in chapter 13, over and out.
The end is approaching my friends!!! Maybe in another chapter or two, but never fear, I will always have new stories coming in!
Brief note on this chapter: I know it said that some healing began at the end of the last chapter, but our elf still has to suffer some more!
Chapter Twelve: No tears left to cry
When this began
I had nothing to say
And I get lost
In the nothingness
Inside of me
I was confused
And I let it all out
Only to find
That I'm not the only person
With these things
In mind
Inside of me
But all the vacancy
The words reveled
Is the only real thing
I've got left to fell
Nothing to lose
Just stuck
Hollow and alone
And the fault is my own
And the fault is my own
The tree's occupant slid down its branches to the ground and began to stroll idly, it had been only a moment, but for the first time in a very long time, the stars had begun to sing. He had almost forgotten what it had sounded like, and that just made it more beautiful.
But the dream...? The rowan grove, the rosewood tree, the missing grave, his mother...his father...
This dream had not been the same nightmare that had plagued him for years, but it was a dream! But the image was as clear before him as ever, the sight of his mother not as his last memory of her, but tall and lovely as she had always been in life. Thranduil, his father.... absentmindedly Legolas touched the side of his forehead where the other elf had brushed away a loss piece of his hair in the dream, it was almost as if he had really felt a touch to his temple, a different one then he had remembered from long ago.
The scars from the past still showed, in many more ways then one, and he was not sure if they would ever close and heal but....
It all had seemed so real; it was almost like he was still there, still in the dream.... still seeing his father before him, his grey eyes so aged and sad.... maybe it had been real, but could it had been? His mother was dead, and the image of his father had been warped many times, even from the brief meeting they had a few days ago.
Old anger began to flare up again. The loss, the betrayal, the pain... pain, he knew it so well. The pain had twisted his heart so, like that of a cracked ruined hearth after a fire. Hot, hard, scard, and dead. The turning of his heart to all the pain had made him deaf to the stars, and left him without tears. He had never wept since that one night.
Life was nor easy in this band, not only the hardship that were laid on their shoulders from the fear and discrimination that was set in the minds of other people that came across them, but every person in this company bore scars and wounds on their souls. And since they wandered all over Middle Earth old reminders of whatever caused their wounds turned up somewhat frequently. The elf had seen the grief that burdened everyone here and he himself carried it as well, but somehow he had never been able to find the respite from his comrades as the others did.
This was perhaps because that the others had their tears, they had tears for their sorrows, and Legolas had none left to cry. He had sat and comforted friends as others had, but the others cried with them, he did not.
The stories of old told of elves that had forsaken their immortality, that long-suffering tale of the elf maiden who loved a mortal. In the tale the others had always asked her way she stayed when there was no hope. Why did these Shadow People linger together when there is no hope? Why did he linger? The maid in the legend held on for her love, but what were they holding on to? What had the world left for them?
What had the world left for them, but each other?
Were they all here because they were the only ones that could understand? But how could a wounded heart ever feel again? It could feel when it healed. Their hearts had healed, so they had their tears, his hadn't.
But the star's song... how could the hollow heart hear their song?
A prick had been made, it was tiny though... but it was there, the merest light of hope had shone it's light. But it was not much. Not enough to make him feel again...
Nothing would be felt until the scars faded and the wounds healed...
But when? Who could know when or how?
TBC
On a small note, I kind of sort of stole the no tears thing from another author too. I'm so terrible! But isn't it said that our best idea's come from others? Well I was reading a book of fairy tales and I came across a line in The Little Mermaid:
"She would have wept for such sorrow, but a mermaid has no tears, so she suffers all the more."
Hans Christian Anderson, my favorite author of fairy tales, I couldn't help it!!
I'm trying to figure out how I kept Legolas from fading; they say the depression is turned inwardly, (Thank you farfulng) but it is my personal belief that Sigmund Freud wouldn't touch even the most well adjusted elf with a ten-foot couch!!
Well guys see ya soon in chapter 13, over and out.