Disclaimer: All the stuff in italics is Tolkiens work, as is his character Legolas, just the outline of the story is mine really, the idea, inspired of course, by Tolkien's poem. His poem is from the book of Lost Tales. Enjoy :p

By the way, this is told from Legolas' pov. And was written for my sister, because i never write Legolas stories often.

Legolas' Cottage of Lost Play.

You and me – we know that land

And often have been there

In the long old days, old nursery days,

A dark child and a fair.

I remembered her so clearly, even though I was barely begun when I knew her. It pained me that her face still remained in my mind, and her dark hair, against mine, when our heads mingled while deep in conversation.

Was it down the paths of firelight dreams

In winter cold and white,

Or in the blue-spun twilit hours

Of little early tucked-up beds

In drowsy summer night,

That You and I got lost in Sleep

And met each other there –

Your dark hair on your white nightgown,

And mine was tangled fair?

Our countless 'sleep-overs' when we snuck into each others rooms and mixed up schemes and stories, before falling asleep, curled together, smiles on our faces, and tangled hair. Hers was always silky though, and smooth.

We wandered shyly hand in hand,

Or rollicked in the fairy sand

And gathered pearls and shells in pails,

While all about the nightingales

Were singing in the trees.

We dreamt together, clearly seeing what the other saw, mingling our minds and staying together. Always we thought, together.

We dug for silver with our spades

By little inland seas,

Then ran ashore through sleepy glades

And down a warm and winding lane

We never never found again

Between high whispering trees.

When she left, I could never find those places where we'd gone as a child, no matter how far and wide I looked. She always seemed to lead the way, but not anymore.

The air was neither night or day,

But faintly dark with softest light,

When first there glimmered into sight

The Cottage of Lost Play.

It was our place, our secret place, where all the young elves went to escape the noisy hustling parents and the many chores of nagging, or the haven for those who were in trouble. When I was with her, it was magic, and no one could ever find it. It was magic, I think, because now it is gone, and I can't find it anymore. 'Twas builded very very old

White, and thatched with straws of gold,

And pierced with peeping lattices

That looked toward the sea;

And our own children's garden-plots

Were there – our own forgetmenots,

Red daisies, cress and mustard,

And blue nemophile.

O! all the borders trimmed with box

Were full of favourite flowers – of phlox,

F larkspur, pinks, and hollyhocks

Beneath a red may-tree:

And all the paths were full of shapes,

Of tumbling happy white-clad shapes,

And with them You and Me.

I gave her a garden kit for her birthday once, and she looked at me, a fire in her eyes, and she laughed at me, and I started to cry. So she took me by the hand, and we built our garden near the cottage, and promised each other never to laugh at the other, and never, ever to forget. And her eyes were sad when she said it, but I didn't understand.

And some had silver watering-cans

And watered all their gowns,

Or sprayed each other; some laid plans

To build them houses, fairy towns,

Or dwellings in the trees;

And some were clambering on the roof;

Some crooning lonely and aloof;

And some were dancing fairy-rings

And weaving pearly daisy-strings,

Or chasing golden bees;

But here and there a little pair

With rosy cheeks and tangled hair

Debated quaint old childish things –

And we were one of these.

We schemed and plotted and made up stories, which we told each other with glee, our hair mingling together, hers dark, mine fair. Our faces nearly nose to nose as we whispered things and spoke about our dinner or the kitchen fire, things, which now seem unimportant.

But why it was there came a time

When we could take the road no more,

Though long we looked, and high would climb,

Or gaze from many a seaward shore

To find the path between sea and sky

To those old gardens of delight;

And how it goes now in that land,

If there the house and gardens stand,

Still filled with children clad in white –

We know not, You and I.

We grew older together, and we still were friends, but though I adjusted to the growing-up life, she was always hungering for her childhood again. Her eyes grew sadder, her hair became tangled, while mine was fine and fair, having learnt from her to brush it at least once a day.

And why it was Tomorrow came

And with his grey hand led us back;

And she fought all the while, never wanting to leave the carefree ways of the time when she was all right. She did not want responsibility.

And why we never found the same

Old cottage, or the magic track

That leads between a silver sea

And those old shores and gardens fair

And she cried and cried when we couldn't find it any more, and there was nothing I could do to console her little heart, as I was young and did not know what to do. I hugged her, and crept in her room, and she tried to bring back the imaginations we created, but we knew that they were not real, and she cried so much, and looked so sad. I miss her oh so much.

Where all things are, that ever were –

We know not, You and Me.

And she died one day, her eyes so sad and confused, her small body so fragile, her hair so dark and her blood so red against her white nightgown. I don't know if she knew that she broke her promise to always be together, but I still see her face, everywhere I turn, the darkness of the night, the fairness of the forest, the reflection in the pool, where I can sometimes see us sitting like so long ago. Her dark hair on her white nightgown and mine was tangled fair.