Black Eyes
Chapter Thirteen: L'enfer
by Capella
A/N: Er, yes. I'm terribly sorry about the long, long break in between chapters. My brain on the blink + a rotten computer = long updating time. I would say that it'll never happen again, but it might, so I don't want to be a liar. But I will try to be better and less lazy.
Some of the author notes got so excessively long that I put them at the bottom. Do read them, please -- it's a matter of life and death. Well, not really. Just annoying.
Oh, yes. L'enfer is French for "the hell."
Hey, read and review, okay? I love to read them. It's what I do in my spare time.
A special thanks to both Whitney and twilight, whose feedback I desperately crave and love, and whose wisdom is probably equal to -- oh, I don't know, Illuvatar. Thanks, you guys.
I know this chapter is dark, and most of the ones before it, too. I promise that it'll get better. It won't be unhappy for the rest of the story. If not next chapter, than the next, okay? :)
This is -- an odd chapter. The first part is almost all impulse, and the second half is me attempting to force myself to write when I can't think. Sorry if it seems forced, but if I hadn't made myself do it, it would have never gotten done, ever.
On a small side note, I 3 Gippal.
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"There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling, I can't seem
To find myself again, my walls are closing in..."
-- Linkin Park, "Crawling"
_________________________
Legolas stared down at Harry's face, slack with sleep, looking so innocent that the thought of what he was about to do made him desperately want to turn back. But for some reason, his head felt full of fog -- he could not think, could not turn back or do anything but stare down at Harry's sleeping visage in anguish. His hand trembled violently on the knife.
But it wasn't revenge that made him drive the knife into Harry's chest, because revenge would have brought some sort of triumphant feeling when Harry's eyelids flew open and his eyes immediately sought out Legolas's own; instead, a feeling of intense grief and regret made Legolas nearly snatch his hand back. Something kept it there; something made him push the knife deeper into Harry's chest. Harry managed to choke out a desperate whimper, his eyes wide and panicked and shocked.
"Legolas --" Harry gasped, his hands coming up to grip Legolas's wrist, trying to pull Legolas's fingers off the knife. "Take it out -- Legolas --"
"I cannot, Harry," Legolas whispered, using his other hand to stroke the black, tangled hair back from Harry's sweaty forehead, tracing the scar almost reverently. Harry flinched at Legolas's touch, staring up at Legolas with horrified sort of betrayal in his eyes.
"P-please," Harry said in a whispery tone, and despite himself, Legolas leaned forward a bit so he could catch the breathless words. "Why -- are you doing this -- to me?"
Harry made a broken sort of sobbing noise from deep in his throat as Legolas simply shook his head, and when Legolas placed his free hand on Harry's chest he could feel it spasming wildly under his fingers. He stared down at his hand in disbelief as it became soaked with blood.
Harry was already beginning to get weak; Legolas could tell from the feebleness of the fingers that tried to pry his hand away and the pale, sickly shade of Harry's skin. Legolas leaned down until his lips nearly touched Harry's ear, Harry's shuddering, panting breaths puffing gently against his cheek. Words welled up in Legolas's throat, and they were words that hardly seemed his own; it was almost as if someone else was speaking and Legolas was merely watching the scene play out. It was -- disconcerting.
"Do you have any idea," he asked quietly, "how much your presence torments me? I see you and all I can think about it what you have done. You deserve a punishment. And with you still alive I shall never get another night's rest -- nay, nor even a peaceful waking moment."
"No," Harry sobbed, struggling for breath even as he was choking on his own blood, and Legolas didn't know if it was a denial of his impending death or what Legolas had just said. "It hurts," he whimpered softly. "Please -- Legolas --" Tears overflowed and ran down his temples and into his hair, spiking his eyelashes together. Legolas wiped Harry's tears away with a thumb.
Legolas placed a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek and leaned back, and while his horror was not simply gone, he felt a growing sense of righteousness amidst it. For some reason he could not identify, he took his hand off Harry's chest and slid it underneath Harry's shirt; Harry's skin was soft and slippery-wet under his fingers, and then Harry was gasping and dying and beautiful like nothing else. Legolas could not seem to look away.
Harry's skin had gone pale, nearly white, a sharp contrast to the bright blood rapidly staining Harry's shirt and the sheets. It made him remember a night past, one of many, when Harry had made him wish he were dead; Legolas shuddered and twisted the knife a bit more. Harry's spine arched violently and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. It was so much like the way he looked when they made love that Legolas's heart ached.
"I am sorry, Harry," he murmured. Harry's eyes turned upon him, wild, desperate, the green of his irises made even more brilliant by the white shade of his skin. "But you do understand why I must do this, do you not?"
Harry's back lowered onto the sheets and he let out a last, despairing breath, his hands dropping from where they'd been clawing at Legolas's wrists and onto the bed. He shuddered once more and was still.
Legolas pressed a gentle kiss onto Harry's already cooling lips, ignoring the trickle of blood oozing out the corner of Harry's mouth.
"Good-bye, Harry," he whispered.
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Legolas woke with a muffled gasp, not surprised to feel the wetness of tears on his face or the trickle of blood down the backs of his hands from where he'd dug his fingernails into his palms. Surprisingly enough, the rope binding his wrists was gone.
"Bad dreams?" Harry asked wryly.
Legolas looked over at him and then shut his eyes, for a moment overwhelmed by the memories of Harry screaming, of Harry dying and sobbing and pleading.
"I suppose I can understand why," Harry said when Legolas didn't answer. "I remember having the worst nightmares in Mordor." He flashed a smile at Legolas, teeth white and even. "What did you dream about?"
Legolas opened his eyes again slowly, catching his bottom lip in between his teeth when he saw Harry's eyes close to his, burning bright and green, just as they had only a few moments ago.
"We have stopped," he asked instead of answering, shifting his eyes away for a moment, surprised to see blue water surrounding them. The Gray Havens were nowhere in sight. "Why? How long did I sleep?"
Suddenly a hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him to his feet roughly, and Legolas had to suppress a cry of hurt at the pain that radiated through his body when Harry's fingers pressed deep into an open wound.
There was a strange look in Harry's eyes now; a hungry, wild aspect lurking behind the bright green of his irises.
"Harry, what are you --"
"I have tried," Harry said in a raspy tone. "I have tried, and --" He cut off abruptly, shutting his eyes as if in pain. "God, but I want you."
Harry ran a hand up into Legolas's hair and crushed their lips together violently, almost angrily. It was so unlike Harry's normal kisses -- even since they had left Minas Tirith -- that Legolas had to pull back. Only Harry's hand tangled in his hair kept their lips together. Harry simply parted Legolas's lips and dominated the kiss, his tongue demanding and overpowering and slightly possessive.
Harry slid his other hand underneath the back of Legolas's shirt, touching the sensitive skin of Legolas's lower back gently, sending a jolt of electricity up Legolas's spine. Harry leaned back a bit and nipped his bottom lip.
"Harry," he breathed. "Harry --"
Harry's mood changed entirely in less than a breath. "Stop it," Harry ground out, snarling, turning away. "I don't --" He pressed a hand to his temple.
"You are not making sense," Legolas said, touching a hand cautiously to Harry's shoulder.
Suddenly he was on his back on the deck of the ship, his head ringing and his jaw aching from where Harry had driven his fist into it. Harry loomed above him, breathing heavily, pupils dilated. A tear spilled down his cheek, and Harry seemed unaware of it.
All Legolas's senses screamed for him not to be vulnerable while facing an enemy. He moved to stand and Harry was on him before he even got to his knees, pinning Legolas down with his legs.
"Harry," Legolas tried, and a slap left his cheek aching.
"Stop talking, God damn you," Harry snarled with a hint of desperation in his voice. Legolas tried to hit him, tried to throw Harry off, but Harry grabbed his flailing wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. Harry's breaths were fast and panicked.
Legolas went still in Harry's hands, breathing evenly and staring up at Harry's flushed, desperate face.
"Get off of me, Harry," he said quietly. He refused to acknowledge the fact that his breathing was speeding up in fear, that his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that it was almost strange that Harry did not seem to hear it. "Please."
Harry shook his head in denial, sweat running down his face and mixing with the tears. Legolas shut his eyes as Harry rolled him onto his stomach, kept them closed when Harry pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and used the other to roll down Legolas's leggings. Harry switched his grip on Legolas's wrists to the back of Legolas's neck.
Harry did not touch him except to hold his head down. Legolas did not say anything at first, because he knew it would be ignored. He rolled his head to the side, biting at his arm to muffle his moans as he was pierced, shutting his eyes to keep in the tears of pain and betrayal and wishing he couldn't hear the noises Harry was making. He began to sob, involuntary little cries jerked from him as his face and shoulders were rocked against the wood of the boat.
The first time he cried out in pain, Harry echoed him, and Legolas felt the tears dripping onto his neck. He could hear the sounds coming from his own throat, half-screams of anguish as if the suffering he felt was too great to get the full scream out of his throat. He tried to calm down by telling himself that he'd survived worse things than this, that he'd had a barbed arrow go through his thigh and a sword cut a gash in his stomach and worse. Worse than this. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter. Gods -- he was shivering so badly that he didn't know how Harry kept the grip on his neck.
When Legolas started to beg -- when he started to say things like "no" and "please stop," Harry's tears fell heavier and steadier on his skin, and his cries did not seem to be of pleasure at all. But he did not stop, so Legolas tried to stop struggling. He couldn't stop crying.
When Harry came, he made a horrible sort of noise in the back of his throat, something both a sob and a scream, and rolled off Legolas so fast that it was all Legolas could do to lay there in shock, trembling violently, his body aching fiercely, his face slick with tears and sweat. He kept his eyes tightly closed and stayed where he was, on his stomach, feeling the drip of liquid down his thigh. Blood and -- and something else. He bit his tongue and blinked his eyes to clear them of tears, surprised when no more came.
A tentative hand touched his sweat-damp back and he flinched, too tired and weak and hurting to get away.
"Legolas, I am sorry," Harry said quietly. "But you understand why...why I had to do it. I mean -- you did it to me, before." Harry's voice was weak. "I just -- I saw you sitting there and I had to. I had to. I don't know why." Harry traced his bruised wrists from where they were still above his head, in the position that Harry had pinned them. "Does it -- hurt?" Harry's voice lowered to a whisper, still tracing gentle patterns on his back.
"No," Legolas said, but the lie was loud in his ears, and his voice was hoarse from crying; his body ached as if he'd been beaten. He still did not dare to open his eyes.
"Oh," Harry said, and his tone was so strange that Legolas looked over his shoulder without even thinking about it. Harry was sitting a few feet away, curled in a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees. Shudders shook him from head to foot. His eyes were wide and unseeing, and even as Legolas stared at them, they -- flickered, from bright green to cloudy and back. It was not unlike the same flicker Legolas had seen just after Harry had killed Palahuan.
"Harry," he whispered. Harry's eyes trained on him, looking uncertain, flickering wildly. "Harry." He didn't know what to say. His stomach was cramping and his body ached violently. It took an effort not to cringe away from Harry's gaze.
Harry shook his head and closed his eyes tightly, pressing his palms against his closed lids. There was a bit of blood staining the tips of his fingers. Legolas didn't know if it was from Thaliephel or from -- from him. He stared at the blood, assaulted by a sudden feeling of revulsion and fear. It had really happened. It had happened and it was not something he could escape from, trapped on this little ship as they were. It had happened and probably would again, and again until Harry finally killed him.
Harry was whispering something now, drawing his attention away from the morbid thoughts circling in a dangerous cycle in his thoughts. Legolas peered at Harry's lips through tear-blurred vision, but could not make out the words.
After a few moments Legolas simply laid his cheek back onto the cool deck of the ship, feeling the dampness of his own sweat on the wood, and passed out. He did not bother to find his leggings and put them back on, or to unbunch his shirt from where it was pushed up around his chest. He left his wrists where they were, crossed over his head. He fell into a dreamless sleep, as deeply as his hurts would allow.
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"He is gone?"
Draco snarled unpleasantly. "I've said it five times already. I dislike repeating myself." His wand dangled enticingly at his side. It would take less than a second to draw it. His fingers nearly itched with the effort of holding them in fists.
Aragorn made a placating gesture with his hands. "I am just as worried as you. I just --"
"Who said I was worried?" Draco growled, pressing his lips together angrily. "I'm angry, I'm not worried. He just left me --"
"Draco," Aragorn started, and then seemed to change what he was about to say mid-sentence. "When did he leave?"
"I -- don't know," Draco admitted reluctantly, his worked-up anger gone suddenly. "I was sleeping. I was tired." He decided to leave off the part about what exactly had exhausted him so.
It had been a shock, waking up that way. He'd woken up slowly only a few hours later, the feel of Haldir's skin still clinging to his hands and his lips -- smooth and sleek and warm. Reached out, and the bed had been empty.
He refused to think about the fact that the situation bore a strong, painful resemblance to the morning after Dean's body had been discovered. Only perhaps Harry'd had less pure reasons for leaving him alone afterwards, that night.
"It was just one more night," Harry had said coldly when Draco had finally cornered him. "One more opportunity to turn me over to Voldemort. I mean, why else would you have slept with me? Weren't you thrilled to have a last chance, a victory fuck?" At the time, Draco hadn't realized that he'd pulled back his fist until it had connected with Harry's jaw. Harry had pulled his wand out, and --
He traced the deep scar outlining his Dark Mark absently.
"Draco?" Aragorn asked, peering into Draco's eyes, and Draco realized with a jolt that he'd been staring off into nothing.
"I'm sorry, Aragorn. What were you saying?"
Aragorn looked at him for just a moment, eyes narrowed suspiciously, before continuing. "I am worried for Haldir and Legolas as well." Draco noticed the deliberate absence of Harry's name and winced. A pained look crossed briefly over Aragorn's face. "However, I cannot leave my people, as much as I would desire to. I am afraid that I must entrust this to you alone, you and Thranduil."
"That pompous --"
"The King of Mirkwood," Aragorn said firmly, "is as worried for his son as you are for Haldir and Harry." He raised an eyebrow at Draco's glare.
"Fine," he muttered, and then in a louder voice: "Will Gandalf be going?"
Aragorn sighed. "I cannot say. He left Minas Tirith early on in the day, and did not tell anyone where he was heading, not even I. If you encounter him, it will be by good fortune or his own will, not mine."
Draco adjusted his shirtsleeves and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, get the King of Mirkwood and tell him that we must leave now." He raised an eyebrow. "And Aragorn, tell him not to be late."
"That will not be necessary."
Draco turned, rolling his eyes, as Thranduil walked up, his stride sure and graceful as if he was walking into his throneroom. He wore a light blue tunic and darker leggings that seemed more suited for a dignitary's visit than for searching for his son in the wild. A delicate silver diadem rested in his hair. "Wonderful for you to join us." Draco set his shoulders, straining for every inch of height. He wished he was tall enough to look the king in the eye. "Forgive me for skipping my bowing and scraping."
To his surprise, Thranduil looked almost -- abashed, if such a word could be applied to one so proud. "I ask that you forgive me for my behavior yesterday," he said haltingly, as if the words pained him. "Leaving my people grieves me, and not being able to save my son more so." He let out a tiny sigh, reaching up to adjust his diadem, and letting his hands fall with a tiny twist to the corner of his mouth when he realized that it didn't need it.
"We will find your son." Draco was astonished at the vehemence in his own voice. Thranduil blinked, and a small smile curved his lips for a moment.
"I thank you," he said softly. "And I promise you that once we find Legolas, I will help you find the ones you seek, also. Even if --" he stopped and took a breath, and the next words came out slowly and with great effort. "Even if he was the one who hurt my son."
Draco let himself smile despite the ache in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you."
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"Wake up, Legolas."
Legolas flinched at the hand that touched his cheek gently. Harry's eyes stared into his own from only a few inches away, sparkling with feverish excitement. "Get up. Now."
It was with a great effort that Legolas managed to pull himself to his feet, ignoring Harry's outstretched hand. He winced at the pain in his lower back and stared at Harry dully, waiting.
"Come on." There was an odd note of breathless expectancy in Harry's voice, and when he grabbed Legolas's hand to pull him to the front of the ship, Harry's hands were trembling faintly.
Legolas waited to speak until Harry stopped at the very front of the ship, his toes nearly touching the side of the ship. "Harry, why --"
"Shut up, Legolas," Harry said softly and placed both hands on Legolas's shoulders, urging him ungently down to his knees. Legolas went without a word of protest, though his body throbbed with pain. He stared at the wood beneath his knees and waited.
Harry's hand tangled in Legolas's hair, pulling his head back until he stared up at Harry's flushed face; Legolas dug his nails into his palms as Harry tugged on his hair and grinned down at him.
"It's time," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning dangerously, looking up from Legolas and scanning the ocean.
"Harry," Legolas whispered, hating himself for flinching when Harry glared down at him. "I do not --"
"Shut up," Harry hissed, and silver flashed in his hand. "Talk and I'll slit your throat." A knife appeared at Legolas's throat, digging into his skin, and Legolas felt a small warm drop of blood trickle down his chest.
"Why?" he asked dully, staring out at the ocean and not really caring for Harry's answer. Harry growled and nicked his neck with the knife.
"I said shut up. If you interfere --" Harry's breath was coming in audible, excited gasps. "Just don't." He kept the knife at Legolas's throat. Legolas considered talking for a moment, just to see if Harry would cut his throat.
Suddenly Harry opened his mouth and bellowed.
"Ulmo!"
Legolas started violently, and the knife cut a deep weal in his throat. Harry paid him no attention.
"Ulmo!" Legolas glanced up at Harry again, trembling; Harry's eyes were the brightest green with excitement.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, ignoring Harry's raged glare. "You do not know what you are doing! Do not call him again!"
"Are you afraid?" Harry grinned down at him. "You, afraid of anything?"
Legolas narrowed his eyes, forgetting for a moment the knife at his neck and the aches of his body. "You are a fool to not fear the King of the Sea. How you even learned his name, I do not know, but you must not anger him. He will tear apart this ship."
"With you on it?" Harry asked, his eyes glinting and his smile showing too many teeth. "I do not think so."
The boat rocked suddenly, violently, and Legolas tore his eyes away from Harry to look at the ocean; the edges of the waves were white-tipped with foam and towering high, many almost higher than the mast of the ship itself. The water was an angry, swirling indigo, and Legolas shook to hear the sound of the crashing waves that almost sounded like voices.
"Are you not afraid, Harry?" he whispered. "Can you not feel his wrath?"
"I revel in it," Harry said softly, almost to himself. "For my downfall --"
The rest of the words were lost as the crest of a wave smashed against the side of their boat and Legolas was sent sprawling across the deck of the floor, smashing into the side. Miraculously, Harry stayed on his feet, staring out into the violent sea with an almost expectant expression.
"Come to me," he said. "Now."
The ocean roared angrily, almost in denial of his command, but slowly a form appeared in front of the bow of the boat; it was glowing faintly -- a man, it appeared, but wreathed in an armor that seemed to be made of gold and silver fish scales, with a long blue-green beard. His eyes were a furious, glowing green that set a shaking inside Legolas's bones.
What do you wish of me, mortal man?
His voice was like and unlike the other Vala -- it was somehow the light tone of a trickling brook and the powerful sound of the depths of the ocean. Harry did not seem impressed. Harry simply raised an eyebrow and -- smirked.
"I want to go to Valinor. You will show me the way of the Straight Road."
It seemed as if Ulmo laughed, and the ocean waters shook with the power of it.
You know that I cannot, mortal man, and even if I wished it, I would not. There is evil in the heart of you, and your blackened soul in Valinor would put a stain upon the land. No, mortal man, I will not.
Harry's eyes flashed furiously. "Fine." His tone was strangely conversational. He was across the deck in two steps, grabbing Legolas by the hair and pulling him to his knees again, bending Legolas's head back and exposing his throat. Legolas did not make a move to escape, but stared into Ulmo's eyes, and he thought that he could almost see a hint of concern in them. "Then I will cut his throat. Oh, have you two met? This is Legolas, the crowned Prince of Mirkwood. You do know that it is written if the blood of Thranduil fails, Mirkwood will fade. I suggest you let me go to Valinor if you do not want to see your precious Elves die."
I can kill you, mortal man.
Harry smiled, but the hand in Legolas's hair shook for a moment. "Not before his blood stains the deck of this boat. We both will live, or we both will die. Which will it be, Lord of Waters?"
You have hurt him.
"Yes." For a moment, Harry's hand loosened. His voice was oddly quiet. "I have."
There was a moment of pause, and the waters gradually quieted. Ulmo bowed his head slightly, mockingly, glaring at Harry with murderous green eyes.
You may pass. But my brothers in Valinor will not be so lenient, and I dare say that you will not evade thirteen of my kind.
"We shall see." Harry's smile was grim. "And I be greatly aggrieved if our pact is not kept. You will direct the path of my ship onto the Straight Road, and you will not inform your brothers and sisters of my coming." Ulmo's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Harry forestalled his arguements with a slight jerk of Legolas's hair.
Fine, mortal man. Your pact shall be kept. I curse the day that my brother raised you from the dead. Would that you have died, and saved us whatever torment you seek to inflict upon the land of my brothers. Go now, and do not speak to me again.
The moment Ulmo's speech ceased the waters became still and clear as glass, and Ulmo's form disappeared from the air in front of the ship. Harry let go of Legolas with a pleased chuckle.
"Fool," he cackled, grinning as the wind caught the sails and the ship began gently but steadily moving towards the West. "He is a fool, forever a fool. But he gave me what I wanted."
"You," Legolas seethed, forcing himself to his feet however much he wavered; his legs felt as if they wished to collapse, and every move sent fiery pain up his spine. "What have you done? What are you planning to do? You must not go to Valinor!"
In a flash Harry was at his side, twisting a hand in the front of Legolas's shirt.
"Do not tell me what to do, Legolas," he said in a dangerous, quiet tone. Legolas flinched away from the look in Harry's eyes, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes. Harry made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and threw Legolas to the deck.
"Do not bother me again, Legolas," he said, and gazed towards the West as if he could see the city of Valinor before him. "I have planning to do."
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Extensive Author's Note: Gah. I know it's not the greatest. But it is done, and while that isn't all that matters, at least it's something. Forced, yeah. Not my best, yeah. But, oh well. Now for the fun stuff.
It is official; I have a new pet peeve. Did you know, I have gotten actual e-mails telling me "Hey, you know, I really don't like the way Harry is acting. Could you go back and change it, please/Could you change it now?", and also some that say that "Harry isn't evil. He is a good person. Haven't you read the books? What is wrong with you, idiot?" Thusly, I am getting ready to tear my hair out. No, I am not going to change the story to make you more comfortable or so that you'll like it more. No, I won't consider changing the way Harry is behaving, or make the ending exactly how you want it. a) don't tell me to change it, and b) do not tell me what I can and cannot write. Don't tell me that "Harry isn't evil, he's good". Hey, guess what. My story. I can write him however I damn well please, and I could do it without even giving a reason for it. So either go with the flow and try to enjoy the ride, or don't read it. I'm near to the point where I say that if I get one more email like that, I'm just going to say hell with it, and just kill everyone off. End of story.
But it's okay if you say "yeah, it's really sad the way Harry's such an ass" or "this is rather depressing" or "I don't like the way Legolas's getting the crud beat out of him, but oh well". Just don't tell me what to do, kay? Kay.
Whew, sorry for the vitriol, and sorry for those of you who had to read all of that and didn't deserve it.
Ulmo's appearence is entirely made up. I have no idea how he looks. This is from a picture that I remember from a drawing of Ulmo I saw. Oh, well. Sounds good enough.
Also, the part about Mirkwood fading? I don't know if it's true or not. I thought I remembered reading it in one of Tolkien's many books, but I'm not sure. Even if it's not true, it's still there.
Uh, sorry for all these author notes.
Chapter Thirteen: L'enfer
by Capella
A/N: Er, yes. I'm terribly sorry about the long, long break in between chapters. My brain on the blink + a rotten computer = long updating time. I would say that it'll never happen again, but it might, so I don't want to be a liar. But I will try to be better and less lazy.
Some of the author notes got so excessively long that I put them at the bottom. Do read them, please -- it's a matter of life and death. Well, not really. Just annoying.
Oh, yes. L'enfer is French for "the hell."
Hey, read and review, okay? I love to read them. It's what I do in my spare time.
A special thanks to both Whitney and twilight, whose feedback I desperately crave and love, and whose wisdom is probably equal to -- oh, I don't know, Illuvatar. Thanks, you guys.
I know this chapter is dark, and most of the ones before it, too. I promise that it'll get better. It won't be unhappy for the rest of the story. If not next chapter, than the next, okay? :)
This is -- an odd chapter. The first part is almost all impulse, and the second half is me attempting to force myself to write when I can't think. Sorry if it seems forced, but if I hadn't made myself do it, it would have never gotten done, ever.
On a small side note, I 3 Gippal.
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"There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling, I can't seem
To find myself again, my walls are closing in..."
-- Linkin Park, "Crawling"
_________________________
Legolas stared down at Harry's face, slack with sleep, looking so innocent that the thought of what he was about to do made him desperately want to turn back. But for some reason, his head felt full of fog -- he could not think, could not turn back or do anything but stare down at Harry's sleeping visage in anguish. His hand trembled violently on the knife.
But it wasn't revenge that made him drive the knife into Harry's chest, because revenge would have brought some sort of triumphant feeling when Harry's eyelids flew open and his eyes immediately sought out Legolas's own; instead, a feeling of intense grief and regret made Legolas nearly snatch his hand back. Something kept it there; something made him push the knife deeper into Harry's chest. Harry managed to choke out a desperate whimper, his eyes wide and panicked and shocked.
"Legolas --" Harry gasped, his hands coming up to grip Legolas's wrist, trying to pull Legolas's fingers off the knife. "Take it out -- Legolas --"
"I cannot, Harry," Legolas whispered, using his other hand to stroke the black, tangled hair back from Harry's sweaty forehead, tracing the scar almost reverently. Harry flinched at Legolas's touch, staring up at Legolas with horrified sort of betrayal in his eyes.
"P-please," Harry said in a whispery tone, and despite himself, Legolas leaned forward a bit so he could catch the breathless words. "Why -- are you doing this -- to me?"
Harry made a broken sort of sobbing noise from deep in his throat as Legolas simply shook his head, and when Legolas placed his free hand on Harry's chest he could feel it spasming wildly under his fingers. He stared down at his hand in disbelief as it became soaked with blood.
Harry was already beginning to get weak; Legolas could tell from the feebleness of the fingers that tried to pry his hand away and the pale, sickly shade of Harry's skin. Legolas leaned down until his lips nearly touched Harry's ear, Harry's shuddering, panting breaths puffing gently against his cheek. Words welled up in Legolas's throat, and they were words that hardly seemed his own; it was almost as if someone else was speaking and Legolas was merely watching the scene play out. It was -- disconcerting.
"Do you have any idea," he asked quietly, "how much your presence torments me? I see you and all I can think about it what you have done. You deserve a punishment. And with you still alive I shall never get another night's rest -- nay, nor even a peaceful waking moment."
"No," Harry sobbed, struggling for breath even as he was choking on his own blood, and Legolas didn't know if it was a denial of his impending death or what Legolas had just said. "It hurts," he whimpered softly. "Please -- Legolas --" Tears overflowed and ran down his temples and into his hair, spiking his eyelashes together. Legolas wiped Harry's tears away with a thumb.
Legolas placed a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek and leaned back, and while his horror was not simply gone, he felt a growing sense of righteousness amidst it. For some reason he could not identify, he took his hand off Harry's chest and slid it underneath Harry's shirt; Harry's skin was soft and slippery-wet under his fingers, and then Harry was gasping and dying and beautiful like nothing else. Legolas could not seem to look away.
Harry's skin had gone pale, nearly white, a sharp contrast to the bright blood rapidly staining Harry's shirt and the sheets. It made him remember a night past, one of many, when Harry had made him wish he were dead; Legolas shuddered and twisted the knife a bit more. Harry's spine arched violently and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. It was so much like the way he looked when they made love that Legolas's heart ached.
"I am sorry, Harry," he murmured. Harry's eyes turned upon him, wild, desperate, the green of his irises made even more brilliant by the white shade of his skin. "But you do understand why I must do this, do you not?"
Harry's back lowered onto the sheets and he let out a last, despairing breath, his hands dropping from where they'd been clawing at Legolas's wrists and onto the bed. He shuddered once more and was still.
Legolas pressed a gentle kiss onto Harry's already cooling lips, ignoring the trickle of blood oozing out the corner of Harry's mouth.
"Good-bye, Harry," he whispered.
_________________________
Legolas woke with a muffled gasp, not surprised to feel the wetness of tears on his face or the trickle of blood down the backs of his hands from where he'd dug his fingernails into his palms. Surprisingly enough, the rope binding his wrists was gone.
"Bad dreams?" Harry asked wryly.
Legolas looked over at him and then shut his eyes, for a moment overwhelmed by the memories of Harry screaming, of Harry dying and sobbing and pleading.
"I suppose I can understand why," Harry said when Legolas didn't answer. "I remember having the worst nightmares in Mordor." He flashed a smile at Legolas, teeth white and even. "What did you dream about?"
Legolas opened his eyes again slowly, catching his bottom lip in between his teeth when he saw Harry's eyes close to his, burning bright and green, just as they had only a few moments ago.
"We have stopped," he asked instead of answering, shifting his eyes away for a moment, surprised to see blue water surrounding them. The Gray Havens were nowhere in sight. "Why? How long did I sleep?"
Suddenly a hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him to his feet roughly, and Legolas had to suppress a cry of hurt at the pain that radiated through his body when Harry's fingers pressed deep into an open wound.
There was a strange look in Harry's eyes now; a hungry, wild aspect lurking behind the bright green of his irises.
"Harry, what are you --"
"I have tried," Harry said in a raspy tone. "I have tried, and --" He cut off abruptly, shutting his eyes as if in pain. "God, but I want you."
Harry ran a hand up into Legolas's hair and crushed their lips together violently, almost angrily. It was so unlike Harry's normal kisses -- even since they had left Minas Tirith -- that Legolas had to pull back. Only Harry's hand tangled in his hair kept their lips together. Harry simply parted Legolas's lips and dominated the kiss, his tongue demanding and overpowering and slightly possessive.
Harry slid his other hand underneath the back of Legolas's shirt, touching the sensitive skin of Legolas's lower back gently, sending a jolt of electricity up Legolas's spine. Harry leaned back a bit and nipped his bottom lip.
"Harry," he breathed. "Harry --"
Harry's mood changed entirely in less than a breath. "Stop it," Harry ground out, snarling, turning away. "I don't --" He pressed a hand to his temple.
"You are not making sense," Legolas said, touching a hand cautiously to Harry's shoulder.
Suddenly he was on his back on the deck of the ship, his head ringing and his jaw aching from where Harry had driven his fist into it. Harry loomed above him, breathing heavily, pupils dilated. A tear spilled down his cheek, and Harry seemed unaware of it.
All Legolas's senses screamed for him not to be vulnerable while facing an enemy. He moved to stand and Harry was on him before he even got to his knees, pinning Legolas down with his legs.
"Harry," Legolas tried, and a slap left his cheek aching.
"Stop talking, God damn you," Harry snarled with a hint of desperation in his voice. Legolas tried to hit him, tried to throw Harry off, but Harry grabbed his flailing wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. Harry's breaths were fast and panicked.
Legolas went still in Harry's hands, breathing evenly and staring up at Harry's flushed, desperate face.
"Get off of me, Harry," he said quietly. He refused to acknowledge the fact that his breathing was speeding up in fear, that his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that it was almost strange that Harry did not seem to hear it. "Please."
Harry shook his head in denial, sweat running down his face and mixing with the tears. Legolas shut his eyes as Harry rolled him onto his stomach, kept them closed when Harry pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and used the other to roll down Legolas's leggings. Harry switched his grip on Legolas's wrists to the back of Legolas's neck.
Harry did not touch him except to hold his head down. Legolas did not say anything at first, because he knew it would be ignored. He rolled his head to the side, biting at his arm to muffle his moans as he was pierced, shutting his eyes to keep in the tears of pain and betrayal and wishing he couldn't hear the noises Harry was making. He began to sob, involuntary little cries jerked from him as his face and shoulders were rocked against the wood of the boat.
The first time he cried out in pain, Harry echoed him, and Legolas felt the tears dripping onto his neck. He could hear the sounds coming from his own throat, half-screams of anguish as if the suffering he felt was too great to get the full scream out of his throat. He tried to calm down by telling himself that he'd survived worse things than this, that he'd had a barbed arrow go through his thigh and a sword cut a gash in his stomach and worse. Worse than this. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter. Gods -- he was shivering so badly that he didn't know how Harry kept the grip on his neck.
When Legolas started to beg -- when he started to say things like "no" and "please stop," Harry's tears fell heavier and steadier on his skin, and his cries did not seem to be of pleasure at all. But he did not stop, so Legolas tried to stop struggling. He couldn't stop crying.
When Harry came, he made a horrible sort of noise in the back of his throat, something both a sob and a scream, and rolled off Legolas so fast that it was all Legolas could do to lay there in shock, trembling violently, his body aching fiercely, his face slick with tears and sweat. He kept his eyes tightly closed and stayed where he was, on his stomach, feeling the drip of liquid down his thigh. Blood and -- and something else. He bit his tongue and blinked his eyes to clear them of tears, surprised when no more came.
A tentative hand touched his sweat-damp back and he flinched, too tired and weak and hurting to get away.
"Legolas, I am sorry," Harry said quietly. "But you understand why...why I had to do it. I mean -- you did it to me, before." Harry's voice was weak. "I just -- I saw you sitting there and I had to. I had to. I don't know why." Harry traced his bruised wrists from where they were still above his head, in the position that Harry had pinned them. "Does it -- hurt?" Harry's voice lowered to a whisper, still tracing gentle patterns on his back.
"No," Legolas said, but the lie was loud in his ears, and his voice was hoarse from crying; his body ached as if he'd been beaten. He still did not dare to open his eyes.
"Oh," Harry said, and his tone was so strange that Legolas looked over his shoulder without even thinking about it. Harry was sitting a few feet away, curled in a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees. Shudders shook him from head to foot. His eyes were wide and unseeing, and even as Legolas stared at them, they -- flickered, from bright green to cloudy and back. It was not unlike the same flicker Legolas had seen just after Harry had killed Palahuan.
"Harry," he whispered. Harry's eyes trained on him, looking uncertain, flickering wildly. "Harry." He didn't know what to say. His stomach was cramping and his body ached violently. It took an effort not to cringe away from Harry's gaze.
Harry shook his head and closed his eyes tightly, pressing his palms against his closed lids. There was a bit of blood staining the tips of his fingers. Legolas didn't know if it was from Thaliephel or from -- from him. He stared at the blood, assaulted by a sudden feeling of revulsion and fear. It had really happened. It had happened and it was not something he could escape from, trapped on this little ship as they were. It had happened and probably would again, and again until Harry finally killed him.
Harry was whispering something now, drawing his attention away from the morbid thoughts circling in a dangerous cycle in his thoughts. Legolas peered at Harry's lips through tear-blurred vision, but could not make out the words.
After a few moments Legolas simply laid his cheek back onto the cool deck of the ship, feeling the dampness of his own sweat on the wood, and passed out. He did not bother to find his leggings and put them back on, or to unbunch his shirt from where it was pushed up around his chest. He left his wrists where they were, crossed over his head. He fell into a dreamless sleep, as deeply as his hurts would allow.
_________________________
"He is gone?"
Draco snarled unpleasantly. "I've said it five times already. I dislike repeating myself." His wand dangled enticingly at his side. It would take less than a second to draw it. His fingers nearly itched with the effort of holding them in fists.
Aragorn made a placating gesture with his hands. "I am just as worried as you. I just --"
"Who said I was worried?" Draco growled, pressing his lips together angrily. "I'm angry, I'm not worried. He just left me --"
"Draco," Aragorn started, and then seemed to change what he was about to say mid-sentence. "When did he leave?"
"I -- don't know," Draco admitted reluctantly, his worked-up anger gone suddenly. "I was sleeping. I was tired." He decided to leave off the part about what exactly had exhausted him so.
It had been a shock, waking up that way. He'd woken up slowly only a few hours later, the feel of Haldir's skin still clinging to his hands and his lips -- smooth and sleek and warm. Reached out, and the bed had been empty.
He refused to think about the fact that the situation bore a strong, painful resemblance to the morning after Dean's body had been discovered. Only perhaps Harry'd had less pure reasons for leaving him alone afterwards, that night.
"It was just one more night," Harry had said coldly when Draco had finally cornered him. "One more opportunity to turn me over to Voldemort. I mean, why else would you have slept with me? Weren't you thrilled to have a last chance, a victory fuck?" At the time, Draco hadn't realized that he'd pulled back his fist until it had connected with Harry's jaw. Harry had pulled his wand out, and --
He traced the deep scar outlining his Dark Mark absently.
"Draco?" Aragorn asked, peering into Draco's eyes, and Draco realized with a jolt that he'd been staring off into nothing.
"I'm sorry, Aragorn. What were you saying?"
Aragorn looked at him for just a moment, eyes narrowed suspiciously, before continuing. "I am worried for Haldir and Legolas as well." Draco noticed the deliberate absence of Harry's name and winced. A pained look crossed briefly over Aragorn's face. "However, I cannot leave my people, as much as I would desire to. I am afraid that I must entrust this to you alone, you and Thranduil."
"That pompous --"
"The King of Mirkwood," Aragorn said firmly, "is as worried for his son as you are for Haldir and Harry." He raised an eyebrow at Draco's glare.
"Fine," he muttered, and then in a louder voice: "Will Gandalf be going?"
Aragorn sighed. "I cannot say. He left Minas Tirith early on in the day, and did not tell anyone where he was heading, not even I. If you encounter him, it will be by good fortune or his own will, not mine."
Draco adjusted his shirtsleeves and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, get the King of Mirkwood and tell him that we must leave now." He raised an eyebrow. "And Aragorn, tell him not to be late."
"That will not be necessary."
Draco turned, rolling his eyes, as Thranduil walked up, his stride sure and graceful as if he was walking into his throneroom. He wore a light blue tunic and darker leggings that seemed more suited for a dignitary's visit than for searching for his son in the wild. A delicate silver diadem rested in his hair. "Wonderful for you to join us." Draco set his shoulders, straining for every inch of height. He wished he was tall enough to look the king in the eye. "Forgive me for skipping my bowing and scraping."
To his surprise, Thranduil looked almost -- abashed, if such a word could be applied to one so proud. "I ask that you forgive me for my behavior yesterday," he said haltingly, as if the words pained him. "Leaving my people grieves me, and not being able to save my son more so." He let out a tiny sigh, reaching up to adjust his diadem, and letting his hands fall with a tiny twist to the corner of his mouth when he realized that it didn't need it.
"We will find your son." Draco was astonished at the vehemence in his own voice. Thranduil blinked, and a small smile curved his lips for a moment.
"I thank you," he said softly. "And I promise you that once we find Legolas, I will help you find the ones you seek, also. Even if --" he stopped and took a breath, and the next words came out slowly and with great effort. "Even if he was the one who hurt my son."
Draco let himself smile despite the ache in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you."
_________________________
"Wake up, Legolas."
Legolas flinched at the hand that touched his cheek gently. Harry's eyes stared into his own from only a few inches away, sparkling with feverish excitement. "Get up. Now."
It was with a great effort that Legolas managed to pull himself to his feet, ignoring Harry's outstretched hand. He winced at the pain in his lower back and stared at Harry dully, waiting.
"Come on." There was an odd note of breathless expectancy in Harry's voice, and when he grabbed Legolas's hand to pull him to the front of the ship, Harry's hands were trembling faintly.
Legolas waited to speak until Harry stopped at the very front of the ship, his toes nearly touching the side of the ship. "Harry, why --"
"Shut up, Legolas," Harry said softly and placed both hands on Legolas's shoulders, urging him ungently down to his knees. Legolas went without a word of protest, though his body throbbed with pain. He stared at the wood beneath his knees and waited.
Harry's hand tangled in Legolas's hair, pulling his head back until he stared up at Harry's flushed face; Legolas dug his nails into his palms as Harry tugged on his hair and grinned down at him.
"It's time," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning dangerously, looking up from Legolas and scanning the ocean.
"Harry," Legolas whispered, hating himself for flinching when Harry glared down at him. "I do not --"
"Shut up," Harry hissed, and silver flashed in his hand. "Talk and I'll slit your throat." A knife appeared at Legolas's throat, digging into his skin, and Legolas felt a small warm drop of blood trickle down his chest.
"Why?" he asked dully, staring out at the ocean and not really caring for Harry's answer. Harry growled and nicked his neck with the knife.
"I said shut up. If you interfere --" Harry's breath was coming in audible, excited gasps. "Just don't." He kept the knife at Legolas's throat. Legolas considered talking for a moment, just to see if Harry would cut his throat.
Suddenly Harry opened his mouth and bellowed.
"Ulmo!"
Legolas started violently, and the knife cut a deep weal in his throat. Harry paid him no attention.
"Ulmo!" Legolas glanced up at Harry again, trembling; Harry's eyes were the brightest green with excitement.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, ignoring Harry's raged glare. "You do not know what you are doing! Do not call him again!"
"Are you afraid?" Harry grinned down at him. "You, afraid of anything?"
Legolas narrowed his eyes, forgetting for a moment the knife at his neck and the aches of his body. "You are a fool to not fear the King of the Sea. How you even learned his name, I do not know, but you must not anger him. He will tear apart this ship."
"With you on it?" Harry asked, his eyes glinting and his smile showing too many teeth. "I do not think so."
The boat rocked suddenly, violently, and Legolas tore his eyes away from Harry to look at the ocean; the edges of the waves were white-tipped with foam and towering high, many almost higher than the mast of the ship itself. The water was an angry, swirling indigo, and Legolas shook to hear the sound of the crashing waves that almost sounded like voices.
"Are you not afraid, Harry?" he whispered. "Can you not feel his wrath?"
"I revel in it," Harry said softly, almost to himself. "For my downfall --"
The rest of the words were lost as the crest of a wave smashed against the side of their boat and Legolas was sent sprawling across the deck of the floor, smashing into the side. Miraculously, Harry stayed on his feet, staring out into the violent sea with an almost expectant expression.
"Come to me," he said. "Now."
The ocean roared angrily, almost in denial of his command, but slowly a form appeared in front of the bow of the boat; it was glowing faintly -- a man, it appeared, but wreathed in an armor that seemed to be made of gold and silver fish scales, with a long blue-green beard. His eyes were a furious, glowing green that set a shaking inside Legolas's bones.
What do you wish of me, mortal man?
His voice was like and unlike the other Vala -- it was somehow the light tone of a trickling brook and the powerful sound of the depths of the ocean. Harry did not seem impressed. Harry simply raised an eyebrow and -- smirked.
"I want to go to Valinor. You will show me the way of the Straight Road."
It seemed as if Ulmo laughed, and the ocean waters shook with the power of it.
You know that I cannot, mortal man, and even if I wished it, I would not. There is evil in the heart of you, and your blackened soul in Valinor would put a stain upon the land. No, mortal man, I will not.
Harry's eyes flashed furiously. "Fine." His tone was strangely conversational. He was across the deck in two steps, grabbing Legolas by the hair and pulling him to his knees again, bending Legolas's head back and exposing his throat. Legolas did not make a move to escape, but stared into Ulmo's eyes, and he thought that he could almost see a hint of concern in them. "Then I will cut his throat. Oh, have you two met? This is Legolas, the crowned Prince of Mirkwood. You do know that it is written if the blood of Thranduil fails, Mirkwood will fade. I suggest you let me go to Valinor if you do not want to see your precious Elves die."
I can kill you, mortal man.
Harry smiled, but the hand in Legolas's hair shook for a moment. "Not before his blood stains the deck of this boat. We both will live, or we both will die. Which will it be, Lord of Waters?"
You have hurt him.
"Yes." For a moment, Harry's hand loosened. His voice was oddly quiet. "I have."
There was a moment of pause, and the waters gradually quieted. Ulmo bowed his head slightly, mockingly, glaring at Harry with murderous green eyes.
You may pass. But my brothers in Valinor will not be so lenient, and I dare say that you will not evade thirteen of my kind.
"We shall see." Harry's smile was grim. "And I be greatly aggrieved if our pact is not kept. You will direct the path of my ship onto the Straight Road, and you will not inform your brothers and sisters of my coming." Ulmo's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Harry forestalled his arguements with a slight jerk of Legolas's hair.
Fine, mortal man. Your pact shall be kept. I curse the day that my brother raised you from the dead. Would that you have died, and saved us whatever torment you seek to inflict upon the land of my brothers. Go now, and do not speak to me again.
The moment Ulmo's speech ceased the waters became still and clear as glass, and Ulmo's form disappeared from the air in front of the ship. Harry let go of Legolas with a pleased chuckle.
"Fool," he cackled, grinning as the wind caught the sails and the ship began gently but steadily moving towards the West. "He is a fool, forever a fool. But he gave me what I wanted."
"You," Legolas seethed, forcing himself to his feet however much he wavered; his legs felt as if they wished to collapse, and every move sent fiery pain up his spine. "What have you done? What are you planning to do? You must not go to Valinor!"
In a flash Harry was at his side, twisting a hand in the front of Legolas's shirt.
"Do not tell me what to do, Legolas," he said in a dangerous, quiet tone. Legolas flinched away from the look in Harry's eyes, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes. Harry made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and threw Legolas to the deck.
"Do not bother me again, Legolas," he said, and gazed towards the West as if he could see the city of Valinor before him. "I have planning to do."
__________________________
Extensive Author's Note: Gah. I know it's not the greatest. But it is done, and while that isn't all that matters, at least it's something. Forced, yeah. Not my best, yeah. But, oh well. Now for the fun stuff.
It is official; I have a new pet peeve. Did you know, I have gotten actual e-mails telling me "Hey, you know, I really don't like the way Harry is acting. Could you go back and change it, please/Could you change it now?", and also some that say that "Harry isn't evil. He is a good person. Haven't you read the books? What is wrong with you, idiot?" Thusly, I am getting ready to tear my hair out. No, I am not going to change the story to make you more comfortable or so that you'll like it more. No, I won't consider changing the way Harry is behaving, or make the ending exactly how you want it. a) don't tell me to change it, and b) do not tell me what I can and cannot write. Don't tell me that "Harry isn't evil, he's good". Hey, guess what. My story. I can write him however I damn well please, and I could do it without even giving a reason for it. So either go with the flow and try to enjoy the ride, or don't read it. I'm near to the point where I say that if I get one more email like that, I'm just going to say hell with it, and just kill everyone off. End of story.
But it's okay if you say "yeah, it's really sad the way Harry's such an ass" or "this is rather depressing" or "I don't like the way Legolas's getting the crud beat out of him, but oh well". Just don't tell me what to do, kay? Kay.
Whew, sorry for the vitriol, and sorry for those of you who had to read all of that and didn't deserve it.
Ulmo's appearence is entirely made up. I have no idea how he looks. This is from a picture that I remember from a drawing of Ulmo I saw. Oh, well. Sounds good enough.
Also, the part about Mirkwood fading? I don't know if it's true or not. I thought I remembered reading it in one of Tolkien's many books, but I'm not sure. Even if it's not true, it's still there.
Uh, sorry for all these author notes.