Disclaimer: Not mine
AN: Sorry it took me this long again. ... . ;;;;;;;;;
Daynight. A game of joy, a game of life. Day turns to night. Night turns to daylight. Burned by your own blood. Scars of your soul, silent, cracked, despoiling. Hushed in its poison.
("What importance does your life hold?")
That voice. The deadly, melodious voice. Oh, how it seemed to reach for him, murmuring softly into his ear: Give up meleth, give up. Come with me and be delivered from pain and torment. Take my hand and unite us again. For we are soul and heart apart.
"It is precious. Valar's gift."
A vague answer which hinted at no profound train of thoughts. As if spoken by a person who had learned to live as the day came. So general, everybody could have spoken those words. But with him, this skinny, delicate figure, it sounded like an affectation. As if a drowning man wouldn't reach for air, had he the possibility to.
His counterpart – how he hated him, how he hated himself, him with the malicious, sneering voice – lifted one eyebrow and watched him with a gaze that gave evidence that he saw right through him. That he knew exactly what Legolas was thinking and feeling. And that both amused him to no end.
Legolas felt enragement sneaking through his body. The rage, the helplessness and in turn rage because of this helplessness.
(„Precious enough to die for it?")
The corner of those lips were moving slightly. Illusion, game of light, reality. Oh, Elbereth. He hated those lips as well.
("Your heart shows you the path you have to follow. Do you not already hear the susurration that incessantly whispers: Give up, give it a try. I will deliver you. I will grant you your freedom one second time, beloved.")
"What will your free me from?" He heard himself ask. With the same soft voice he learned to loathe.
("From yourself. From the world. From the lies that you play with. From the lies that surround you. From the lie that you are.
Does it not hurt you? All this betrayal, all those illusions. Do they not hurt you?
Your soul is yielding. You can feel it, can you not? Of course you can. Your soul is yielding, it wants to follow your heart, wants it so badly. But you deny this asylum. You lock it into this body which is now condemned to perish. Oh, meleth, why do you torment yourself so much? Why do you torment myself so much? The end will only be postponed, not changed. The pain will only deepen, it will not fade despite time's healing arms. Do you want to die in shame, disoriented, deranged, insane – in body and soul? Just take my hand. I will help you. I will avert the dishonor which waits for you. Be quiet and come,
Legolas
Legolas
Legolas.")
„Legolas!"
A dull noise that seemed to drift through water to Legolas' ears. He turned his head sideways and tried to banish the insistent knocking from his thoughts.
„Legolas, please open the door."
He took a deep breath and gripped the blanket closer to his body to drive away the cold which seemed to have found a way into his limbs. Oh, his lids, how heavy they were. How he wished to close them and lose himself in a dreamless illusion, one void of any nightmare.
And how terrifying those thoughts were to him – an Elf! He who had never before felt weariness of life – since life was his constant, eternal companion. He who had never before closed his eyes longer than a short moment, a short heartbeat.
But the desire, the desire grew in his heart. A scream that increased in intensity. An echo. Again and again. Louder, louder – l o u d e r –
(Give up, meleth, give up. Come with me and be freed of pain and agony. Take my hand and unite us once more. For we are soul and heart apart.)
„Legolas?"
Again he did not answer. If only the voice would finally fade away! If only it wouldn't bother him again! He wasn't able to deal with him yet. Was not able to lead the conversation the man in front of his door hoped to get. Not now, not after everything that happened. Not when the pain was still so near and the scar so deep. The pain and the humiliation.
How he made it back to his chambers, he did not know exactly. Sometimes he must have stood up, knowing, that he would have to face Aragorn, if he was to remain on the small footbridge.
Of course he knew that the inescapable conversation was only stalled and as a consequence he would have to bear every minute of waiting in anxious apprehension. Though it seemed a lot better than having the conversation right here and now.
"Legolas, I know youre here, why else would the door be locked? Did something happen?"
The prince pressed his eyelids together and raised his hands to his throat to suppress the scream that he's like to shout out until his voice became hoarse and the night gave way to the day.
His soul lamented - oh, Elbereth - as if its dull rhythm wanted to take over his heartbeat!
(Give up, meleth, give up. Come with me and be freed of pain and agony. Take my hand and unite us once more. For we are soul and heart apart.)
His soul whined. Overwhelmed, overpowered, conquered and dreary. The broken fragments fell in every direction and cut into his flesh mercilessly.
He gasped sharply. The air faded. Pain set into the entanglement of voices that threatened to carry him away. Colours became more powerful, tones louder, screams more hysterical.
'Let go, let go!' warned a melody in the back of his head.
The bow stretched, an arrow cut through the air, shortly before it would shatter its target into thousand shards. In awful expectation the air stick in his throat.
A little bit. A little bit more. Now----
"LEGOLAS!"
He loosened the arms from his throat and choked. His whole body began to tremble uncontrollably while his lungs filled with sweet oxygen again. Lethargy and heaviness enfolded him and befuddled his thoughts. This time, however, the haze had a calming and relieving effect.
Behind a wall of cotton he heard Aragorn's sigh and finally the steps that slowly lead away from his chamber.
But now, that the man went away at last, he wished for nothing more than his presence. His comfort and - may he hope for it - his love.
Everythign seemed so inprecise and unreal. Everything was changed - most of all he himself. He didnt't know where he stood anymore. Didnt't know what was him anymore. He didnt't know what made him any different from this ironic, sarcastic mirrow image anymore.
Weren't they identical? The same features, the same eyes, the same lips. Were they one?
"Aragorn?" A whisper, barely louder than a waft of air that invites leaves to dance.
Legolad threw the blanket carelessly aside and tried to get on his feet. His finger groped helplessly for a grip when his legs threatened to give in under his weight. Something fell to the ground, clanking.
Without paying any further attention he stumbled to the door and opened it with trembling fingers.
"Aragorn?"
"I think he went to the halls already," a female voice advised him. He felt the calming pressure of a hand upon his skin.
"Legolas, you look terrible, what happened to you?"
The prince turned his head and looked at Arwen with faded eyes. She gasped and pulled him closer to embrace him. "Legolas, what is happening with you?" she cried and stroked his hair softly while he remained in her arms unmovingly.
"It calls for me," he answered after a long while. "More and more..."
"What, Legolas? What is calling for you?"
He laid his head slowly on her shoulder. "My heart." He took a shallow breath. It hurt to breathe. "He was right. Heart and soul cannot be apart..."
And slowly... slowly she began to understand what happened to her friend.
"You're fading."
thank you everyone for your nice reviews sorry it took me so long to update (/-)