Author's Note: Hello, loyal readers. You've whined about Legolas. We listened. Then we ignored you all! Bwahahahaha! Actually, we're joking. Here, for your reading pleasure, we present yet another scene from everybody's favourite elf-boy. Incidently, this chapter sees the return of the long-absent soundtrack, though we've only included part of the song, as some of it just doesn't apply to Legolas. Hmm...we haven't done that since we cut out part of Pink's "Don't Let Me Get Me" because it seemed cruel to compare Aragorn to Britney Spears (this is cruel to Aragorn, not Britney). Well, now that we've offended half of our reviewers, we should probably stop now.
At any rate, we'll probably have another chapter up tomorrow. You hear? *Tomorrow*! So check back, and with any luck it'll be there.
On with the chapter!
Cheers,
The Nightrunners
Dirge for Thranduillion
Soundtrack: Bed of Lies (Matchbox 20)
No I would not sleep in this bed of lies
So toss me out and turn in
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes
I'm marking it down to learning
I am
Don't wanna be the one who turns the whole thing over
Don't wanna be somewhere where I just don't belong
Where it's not enough just be sorry
Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in
Tried to be more than me
And I gave till it all went away
And we've only surrendered
To the worst part of these winters we've made
No I would not sleep in this bed of lies
So toss me out and turn in
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes
I'm marking it down to learning
I am
I wonder if this is death.
Somehow, though, it doesn't seem right. I always guessed death to be simple, a final nothingness. I can remember what happened, and I still have some confused sensory data coming through, so I don't think I've died.
...Yet.
It's all so fuzzy. I can remember grabbing the Witch-Queen, and I remember falling through the glittering shards of glass, my face buried in the demon-child's coat. I remember talking to the girl who used to be the Undómiel. I told her something about Paris, about what Glorfindel said...
And after that, there's nothing. Just a long stretch of darkness and a whole lot of pain. There was a blur of brightness and vibrations, strong vibrations all around me. The smell of dirt and metal, and closer, soap and aftershave. Then, again, nothing.
I had one vivid dream, that I was at Helm's Deep once more, with Adam. We talked, that much I know, but the details of the conversation elude me now.
I felt cold; a deep, numbing cold. The chemical stench of gasoline and the stale taste of recycled air. It smelled like rock. A warm body next to mine, a gentle hand on my face. Then nothing.
All these were random, disjointed images that occasionally broke the darkness. Now, I'm lying somewhere warm, and I haven't moved in a long time. Someone is always nearby; I can hear them, smell them, sense them hovering there. But I can't make my eyes focus and I can't speak. My muscles won't even twitch. All I can do is lie here and try to breathe.
I know they all escaped New York, because they've all been here with me at one point or another. I've smelled Gabe's aftershave and Felix's hair gel. Peter cracks his knuckles when he thinks. Mark sighs and Sam paces. Alice hums to herself. Adam tugs compulsively at a lock of hair.
Yes, I *can* hear a human tugging their hair. Shut up.
I'm glad they all escaped. I just hope I'll be as lucky.
My mind is perfectly fine, if a little fuzzy in places. The pain has faded and left numbness in its wake. It's my corporeal form I'm more concerned with. If the body dies, the mind can only hold out so long. I've got a strong will -thirty thousand years of living *will* turn you into a real stubborn son-of-a-bitch, make no mistake. But, to be honest, examining the situation from a emotionally detached point of view...well, it looks like a one way trip to Mandos's Hall for me. This is our last stop. Will the last thought in the brain please turn out the lights...
...Wait a minute. There's no way I'm just going to give up. I didn't live though the Sack of Rome, the Black Death, the Spanish Inquisition, the French *and* Russian Revolutions, the Battle of Trafalgar, the Boxer Rebellion *and* all three World Wars just to die by jumping out a window with some hellspawned demon in the guise of a snot-nosed little brat!!
My apologies. I digress.
There *is* someone who can help me. There's someone who can bring me to Elrond and the other Elves. There's someone who can save my life. But only if the obstinate bastard can hear me calling.
So I focus every bit of will, every last shard of concentration that I have, and I call out to him. A mental scream into the void, if you will. Maybe he'll hear. Maybe he'll come. Maybe.
All I can do is lie here and wait. Though I'm beginning to realize...
It may be too late.