Disclaimer: There were no reasons for me to change my mind since the last chapter of "The Blackthorn", so – I don't own "Lord of the Rings."
Author's note: My friends! Please, read this to avoid useless wrangles from both sides.
I don't approve of Mary Sues. I understand the authors who resort to them – this character is simple. It doesn't demand much effort to write about it, it doesn't make the author exert herself; it is as sweet as a spice-cake. And let it be this way – I'm not going to nag. It's about imagination. But what always surprised me is how easily this everlasting "Girl-that-falls-into-the-Middle-Earth" fits in the history of the War the end of which in the literal sense hung by a hair. Rewriting what Tolkien wrote is laudable, yet things just cannot work out this way, if you understand my vague hint. Even if the girl is dumb or keeps mum about her awareness. It's time, it's not a plaything.
But… I don't approve of making a Mary Sue of Legolas either, how it often happens.
I'm not mocking at it. I'm not laughing at it. It becomes not very funny, if you go deeper. You may consider my story a parody - rather a grievous one. I personally don't know how to label it, so let it be – Romance-Angst, may be Action, though … h'm … romance… well, you'll see and you'll judge… May be somebody will help me with labeling.
Great thanks to Faerlas, who spent her time on me to check out the poem. (the poem-reading is optional, although it may help to understand the context.)
Watch your steps
By Adamanta Altiere.
The waters of time
Do not bear to be forded
Bemoan the crime
Of the two who ignored it.
Two beings too blameless,
Resistant to lure
With glances too tameless
And spirits too pure-
Each worthy of praise
For the heart of a strong one.
They both had two ways
And they both chose the wrong one.
And rivers had flooded,
And battles had swollen,
And no one had stood it,
And each one had fallen.
Two swords, crossed in anger,
Two steely night-lighters
Broke down with clangour,
Disarming the fighters.
They wept in the shambles
And moaned in pain,
For all their rambles
Had finished in vain.
And goodness was trampled
And darkness was chosen,
And evil was sampled,
And hearts became frozen.
And there left no places
To miss their features…
Two villains - two faces
Of innocent creatures.
Prologue.
She was standing on the bridge, as thin and chiselled as the diamond streams of a waterfall behind her. He knew she had fathomed his presence before he stepped out of the trees and strolled to her. So alluring… So enchantingly frail…So unprotected…
She turned her head, bestowing him a tender smile, and as she spoke her voice was the sweetest music to his ear:
"Came to admire the sunset?"
"I came to admire, indeed," responded he, his heart heavy with what he was going to do in a short few minutes, "But not the sunset…"
Her cheeks flushed a little – she bowed her head so that the cascade of dark locks hid the disconcerted glint in her eyes.
"Did you speak to Elrond and Gandalf?" she wanted to know, breaking the uncomfortable silence, which he had no heart to interrupt. He winced, feeling on the rack, because he had spoken to them… He had and now he wished he hadn't.
"I did," puzzled by his gloomy intonation, she shot him a questioning glance.
"What ails you, Legolas? Can I help you?" her hand lay on his shoulder, a soft touch hurting him more that all the wounds he had ever got. He shook his head.
"They told me you mustn't stay here," he blurted out, unable to keep it in himself anymore, "You must leave."
A smile blossomed on her face, and she brought her hands to her mouth to restrain a gasp of joy.
"Does it mean that they know how I can leave? Oh, Legolas, I'm going home… Am I?"
He moaned and brusquely swung away not to see those shining hazel eyes, studying him with so much hope in their ineffable depth. They measured him down to his very bottom. They accused him. Though unaware of what a sinner he was in reality, they still did. His nails sunk into his palms.
"Legolas?" all the merriment vanished from her voice, "Legolas… Please, what's wrong with you?"
"That's what is wrong!" shouted the elf suddenly.
Not giving her a chance to pull back, he caught her in his arms and kissed those wonderful lips, sweetened by the honey taste of berries, the lips, coloured as the petals of late spring peonies. She stiffened, yet didn't break loose from his grasp, unskillfully but willingly kissing him in return. He felt her caress the back of his neck, her thin fingers entangling in his scattered hair…
"Gwirith," whispered Legolas, as his free hand stole down to his broad leathern belt.
"What is it?"
"I shall hate myself till I die," forced he and swiftly pressed a cold thing in his fist an inch lower her underarm.
Her eyes widened in shock and a small cry escaped her mouth, whipping against his lips. Horror-stricken, Legolas was watching a shadow of fleeting pain in the dark pupils. A warm wave gushed onto his palm and he drew back his hand, getting sick at the sight of the raw crimson spots, which covered his skin and smacked of wet copper.
He hadn't just done it… He hadn't… He couldn't have done something so sordid.
The girl's lifeless form fell at his feet, the haft of the elfish dagger protruding from her left side. Legolas dropped on the spot and bent over the diminutive body.
"Gwirith…" muttered he lamely, "Gwirith, I'm sorry… I didn't want to hurt you…"
His trembling fingers were travelling all over her now calm face, feverishly stroking her cheeks, her hair, her closed eye-lids. Like a madman he kissed the cooling lips again and again in desperate attempts to warm them with his breath. His reason refused to accept the truth…
"Gwirith!" his outcry was full of woe and misery.
"She doesn't hear you…"
He hadn't noticed Gandalf to come up. The wizard leaned towards the quiet girl, and the unrest in his grey eyes abated… He slowly covered her face with a hood of her emerald-green gown.
"Don't you dare lay your hands on her!" bawled Legolas in rage, "You forced me to do it! You forced me to kill her!"
"It was more than necessary," responded Gandalf, turning to leave, but the elf outstripped him, grabbing the second dagger and pointing it at the serene old man in front of him. Grief and anger befogged his mind.
"Why me?" his voice was breaking with emotions, "Why?"
"You did it, Legolas. Isn't it the best answer?" stated the wizard calmly, "Console yourself, noble Prince. You didn't make her suffer. Now we have to go and announce the sorrowful news to the others. Lady Gwirith expired and it certainly was an accident. Nobody's fault."
Yet the elf remained motionless and cold like the statue of indifference. Only his eyes were burning with dark, spiteful flame, as two live coals among inanimate ashes.
"Be you cursed," uttered he slowly, not taking his glance away from the girl on the ground, "Be you all cursed for bloodying my hands and my soul. And be I cursed for having let you."
"We saved many other souls," rejoined Gandalf, but Legolas didn't listen to him anymore. He was rapidly fleeting away from that horrible place and that horrible picture…
(taking a shield and looking from behind it very carefully) Be my guests, review it. :o)))
Adamanta.