This can't be real- Part 2

Next part up! This is a bit shorter than the first part, and deals with a different time when probably a lot of elves in Mirkwood were hoping that what was happening wasn't real. Thank you to everyone who has read, and remember, reviews are really, really welcome. They honestly make my day (and I did not have a fab day today, having started school again and finding out that I am in no classes with my close friends, and that I have a lot of work coming my way. Yippee!)

Also, if you could let me know what you think of my OC Belhadron, that would be much appreciated. I am planning more things for him, but I would really like to know your opinion of him first.

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

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Year 2460 of the Third Age

It was just an ordinary day. Of course, saying that often invited a lot of trouble, but now, a few hundred years into the Watchful Peace, an elf in Mirkwood could cautiously say today was going to be a good day, and not cause everyone in the room to freeze and look towards the door, as if half expecting someone to come in with new of an orc attack or spiders over the elf path.

Legolas sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he sat at his desk, quill in his other hand. He looked up and glanced out of the window, glaring at the sunny woods outside when he was stuck inside. He had been out on patrol in the south until recently, but still did not like being sat at his desk when he could be outside.

Although the Necromancer had fled Dol Guldur for nearly four hundred years, there was still darkness in the forests of Mirkwood. For the first few years, nothing had changed much; the spiders had still tried to move further and further north, and there had still been fighting beneath the trees. But gradually the elves won back, with the power of the Necromancer gone, thanks to Mithrandir. Legolas could still remember the feast they had thrown in honour of what the wizard had done for them.

Yet still the elves of Mirkwood were cautious in their optimism. Patrols still went out regularly, scouting far south past the mountains to ensure that the darkness was not returning. And so far, the patrols were coming back with nothing substantial.

Legolas sighed again as he read over what he had just written. He could not seem to concentrate today, on anything at all. Even taking to the archery fields and filling the centre of a target with arrows had not managed to help, as it usually did.

He was no fool. He knew the Watchful Peace would not last forever. The Necromancer had not been vanquished, it had only fled from Dol Guldur, and someday it would be back. But he, like so many of the other elves who had seen so much fighting, so much war, he hoped each day that they would be able to have that day as well. That they could hold on for a little longer.

And then suddenly everything changed, though nothing changed at the same time. Nothing was physically different around him; the room was still exactly the same, as were the woods outside. But everything was different.

It was like a cold hand had passed over everything, coming from the south and passing over to the north. A cold hand that had leeched a little of the colour out of not just the room, but everything. And suddenly it seemed as if the sun wasn't shining anymore, even when you glanced out of the window and you could still see it in the sky.

And Legolas knew what this was, instinctively, as he had felt the same presence depart nearly four hundred years ago, and he knew what had returned to the southern forests and why it suddenly seemed like the sun was not working or why everything suddenly felt muffled.

The Necromancer had returned to Dol Guldur. The Watchful Peace was over. And Legolas didn't know what to do.

He didn't know how long he sat there, his hand poised with the quill in it, staring blankly at the wall as the sensation solidified and became more real. He didn't know what to do, whether he should go outside or stay sitting. He was sure that most of the elves in the stronghold would have felt the same thing that he did, and realized what has happened.

Not all of them, though, realized Legolas. Those born during the Watchful Peace, the elflings and the younger elves, they were not there when the Necromancer had first fled. They did not understand how dark the forest had been before, even if they had been told it time and time again. They did not know what would be in store for them now.

The door to Legolas' study was flung open and a dark haired elf nearly ran into the room. He stopped when he saw Legolas look up at him, and the quill drop from his fingers.

"Legolas, please tell me you did not just feel the same thing I felt," Belhadron said, almost frantically. "Saes, this cannot be happening. This can't be real."

Legolas nodded and stood from his chair abruptly. "This isn't fair," he muttered angrily, his jaw clenched. He strode to the window and leant on the sill, his entire body tense. "Ai Valar, this isn't fair."

Belhadron didn't say anything, just came and stood nearby. He looked out at the woods and chuckled morosely. "Things don't look very different, do they?" he muttered. "And yet everything has changed."

"Aye," said Legolas. He grimaced. "Please tell me this isn't real."

Belhadron shrugged. "I almost would. I am having a hard time believing it as well, mellon-nin. It feels like this is a dream, like if I concentrate hard enough I will just wake up and this won't have happened."

"I know," muttered Legolas. He gripped the sill tightly, his knuckles white. "This isn't fair."

Abruptly he jerked upright and turned to Belhadron. "Why couldn't we have just a little longer?" he shouted. "Why not? What have we done to deserve this, to deserve him coming back?"

"I don't know," said Belhadron through gritted teeth. He moved to the edge of the window and looked out, his hand finding the side of the frame as if to hold himself up, to prevent the cracks from spreading.

Legolas shut his eyes briefly, trying to hold back the flood that he could feel building up. He just didn't want to believe this, and yet with every passing second it became more true. He looked over at Belhadron, and his expression was almost pleading. "Why couldn't we have had just a few more years?" he asked softly. "Was that too much to ask? Ai Valar! Haven't we given enough?" He sighed and leant heavily on the windowsill. "Haven't we paid enough?"

"Haven't we paid enough?" echoed Belhadron scathingly. He grimaced and shifted his weight, as if he couldn't bring himself to stand still. "Elbereth. We have paid far too much."

A sudden anger came over him and he clenched his fists. "Why?" he asked bitterly. "What have we done to deserve all of this? We had space! We had time without the constant fighting, without the blood and the death and the horrors and everything we have grown used to seeing! And now it has been ripped away. Why? Have we failed in some way? Have we erred, is this our fault?"

Legolas didn't answer, save for a long sigh. Belhadron paced up and down the study, and then without warning snatched up a wine goblet from the desk and threw it, as hard as he could, at the wall. The goblet clattered off the stone with a loud clang.

Legolas watched as Belhadron turned away from the goblet and, uttering a curse under his breath, slammed both hands against the wall, as if he could try and push it away. He stopped there, leaning with his hands flat against the wall, his head down. His breaths came sharply as he momentarily shut his eyes against it all.

And Legolas, from where he leant against the windowsill, reached up and grasped his friend's shoulder. Belhadron looked over at him, and the blond archer was not surprised to see a tear roll down his friend's cheek. He knew ones were falling down his own as well.

Belhadron managed a weak grin, which Legolas returned, before dropping his head back down and breathing deeply. His entire body was tense and rigid, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he did not even know it.

Legolas looked up as the door creaked open and Thranduil looked into the room. The King's hardened gaze took in the scene in front of him, the two elves both standing like the only thing holding them up was the wall, and maybe each other.

Legolas caught his eye and nodded slightly. Thranduil studied his son carefully for a few seconds, noticing the anger and frustration and the slight blankness in his eyes that showed that he was still hoping, still clinging onto the idea that this was not real. Belhadron was next to him, and Thranduil expected nothing less from his son's second when he saw the wine goblet on the floor, and his hands up against the wall like he had slammed it. Everyone knew Belhadron was quick to laugh and jest, but Thranduil knew how quickly that could turn into anger, faced with something so demanding and huge that laughter does nothing.

Thranduil nodded back at Legolas and moved out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. He too had felt the change; how could he not? Yet he had spent far more of his life in the darkness; he had suffered blows like this before. Compared to the return of Sauron after the Last Alliance, this was a minor blow. They had known it was coming.

And yet the shattered glass in his study, from where he had thrown it across the room in his anger, proved that he too was furious about this, as well as a whole other mixture of emotions that he couldn't place. Despair was in there, as was guilt, he was sure of it. And maybe…

No matter how long he had lived, or how much he had been through, there was still a little bit of hope left in him. But this was not a good hope, a hope that they could still fight this. This hope was sly and misleading, making him think that maybe things weren't real, that this hadn't really happened.

Thranduil sighed and began to walk away from the room. He would talk to Legolas soon- defence plans needed to be drawn up, strategies had to be discussed. But for now, it would take a little time for him, for everyone, including himself, to realise that this was true. That this was real. That they had failed.

Hope is not always a good thing. It keeps you fighting, yes, and it keeps you going when it looks like there is no end in sight. But sometimes, sometimes when things become so bad, hope is there to soften the blow, to allow you those moments when you can still believe that this isn't real. And whilst it is comforting to think this, whilst this takes the edge of the pain or the misery or the guilt that you feel, it still doesn't make it a dream.

To Be Continued...

I also wanted to point out with this how sometimes words can be absolutely useless when trying to comfort something- this is something I have found out. If someone is really set on what they are thinking or feeling, words aren't always enough to change their thoughts or actions. For me, I just prefer it when someone is there. They don't have to try and reassure me, convince me that this will be alright or that things will get better. They just have to be there, and acknowledge that whatever it is that is happening is bad.

Next part will be up in two days- a Friday for me. As always, please review.