Chapter eight.
Legolas was locked up in a small cell below deck. There were no windows. No fresh air. No light. The cell was part of a row of such cells, but none of the others had occupants. This fact had made Legolas conclude that the corsairs were not sailing towards Mordor.
Not that Legolas cared anymore. Without Lanthir, Limloeth or Lainfea, he didn't really have a goal. He had failed his siblings, and so, he no longer deserved to live.
He felt weak and pathetic. He should have moved faster. He should have fought better. He had been over the day of the battle a thousand times in his mind now, analyzing everything he could have done to save his brother. He should have planned better. He should have tried harder.
He should have died.
He should have died instead of Lanthir. He should have died instead of Limloeth. Instead of Lainfea.
Why had the Valar not let him die instead of them? Why couldn't he have taken their place? Why hadn't they let him die with them, before he had betrayed his sisters?
For he had. He had told the corsairs about Limloeth and Lainfea and it hadn't mattered. He had sold them out for nothing. He had failed his sisters just as he had failed his brother.
For the first few days with the corsairs, he had counted the hours. With every minute passing he had asked himself if this was the minute one of his sisters gave up. If this was the minute Lainfea took her last breath. If this was the moment Limloeth stroked Lainfea's golden hair one last time.
The only few moments of peace he had left were the moments the corsairs had beaten him so badly he was unconscious. Legolas found himself almost longing for those moments. The beatings almost distracted him from the real pain he felt.
When he was young, his father had told him of the way his grandparents had died. He had told him there were two ways an elf could die. The first was to die in battle, like Lanthir had, and Limloeth and Lainfea too, in a way. The second one was to die of grief. To simply fade, until you cease to exist. When he first heard the story, he had thought he would rather die of grief, that from a battlewound, for he had believed it would hurt less.
How wrong he had been. How could he ever have thought a mere fleshwound was anything compared to the pain he felt when he thought of his siblings. This pain wasn't just skin deep. It ached throughout his entire body and soul.
He could feel his heart giving up. Every time he though of Lanthir, Limloeth or Lainfea, he could almost hear his heartbeat slow down as the despair washed over him.
But Legolas didn't care. If he would die, he would leave Middle Earth and go to the Halls of Mandos, here he would see his siblings again.
Where his pain would disappear.
He smiled for the first time in days as he had a vision of Lainfea running towards him and jumping into his arms. He would spin her around, until they were both dizzy, like his father had done with Limloeth when she was younger.
Then he would put her onto the ground and she would take his hand and lead him towards Limloeth and Lanthir.
Both of them would sit with all the great elves of the past; their grandfather Oropher, King Gil-galad. King Finrod Felagund, as well as King Thingol. Limloeth would sit quietly and respectfully in the corner, listening to all these great kings of old, and smile her warmest smile at him when he and Lainfea would enter. Lanthir would stand in the middle of the room, asking the kings all kinds of questions. About battles they had fought in, about their lives, and about things like the air-velocity of swallows. His brother would turn, run towards him and pull him into the circle, forcing him to join the discussion.
There would be no pain. There would be no hurt. There would be no hate. There would be Legolas, Lanthir, Limloeth and Lainfea together were they should be.
And his mother would look after them, because she would be there as well.
It was the thought of his mother that made his heart stop in the end. The last thing he saw, was a lady coming walking soundlessly towards him. All Legolas could see of her were her eyes.
Big, beautiful, brown eyes.
He knew those eyes.
They belonged to…
"Nana," Legolas whispered,
and his eyes closed.
TBC
sam611: Here. Have a Kleenex.
moonshine44: Am I really going to kill them? Wait and see... Tomorrow I will post again.
Nessa Ar-Feiniel: Ha! I will not tell you anything... Well not untill tomorrow in chappy 9
Aly K : I'm glad you like it!
That was it for today... No wait.. first a vague hint:
reread Chapter 1 and keep thinking: Lanthir is not the milkelf's son, Lanthir is not the milkelf's son...If you get it, you will get bonuspoints! (yeah, i don;t know why you would needthose eighter but it sounded cool)
Liek