WARNING: This is a hint of SLASH. While there is no explicit homosexual action, this story involves a man (male elf, really) in love with a man. If this bothers you, I am certainly not going to make you read it, and indeed kindly request that you take yourself elsewhere and read some of the lovely het works on ffnet. If you read the fic in spite of my warning, then don’t complain to me!
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all of its characters clearly do not belong to me. They belong to the amazing J.R.R. Tolkien. I’m merely playing with their minds... (evil grin).
Feedback: Please, please, please...yes, I am begging! I would like to know what you think of it; love it, hate it, don't get it- whatever! Just keep in mind that flames will be used to heat my very cold dorm room.
Author's Notes: This is the second installment in the Double Edged series. Again from Legolas’ POV. Let me know what you think about it. if you can offer some constructive criticism, I would really appreciate it! Keep reviewing, and I will keep writing!
Chapter 2 - The Senses
The wind breathes across my face, tangles playfully in my hair, whispers its joyful secrets into my ears. A baby bird was hatched this morn... a star was born... a leaf fell into the river... an elf loved... It soothes my brow and lifts my face, entreating me to smile with it, then flitters away. So many joys exist in this world. It would take more than the lifetimes of every elf that has ever been created just to begin to catalogue them. Is it better to try to see as many of the miracles as possible, or to focus on one wonder? Would it be as fulfilling (or more perhaps) to study intensely through every angle, examine, experience, understand one solitary marvel?
It began with a touch. A callused hand brushing against pale, soft skin in the most innocent of ways. A shiver racing through a sensitive body as the contact is created, sustained, then removed. The hitherto unknown desire to follow the hand, to gain more. A sudden and inexplicable knowledge – carnal knowledge. I know how your skin would feel against mine. I know how your hands would get lost in my hair. I know how you would sigh.
No. No, actually it did not truly begin with a touch. Before touch was sound. The sound of your voice saying my name. Carried to my ears perhaps by the very wind that haunts me with images of joy. Strong, deep, infinitely caring (you would hold the world to your heart if you could), and far more cruel. The timbre of your voice swam through the air, echoed through my ears into my brain, and raced through my blood in search of my heart. My name has never been so dear to me as when it wrapped itself around my soul with your warmth – bringing with it the vision of how soft your eyes must have looked when you spoke it.
Ah. Perhaps that is how it really began. Not a touch or a sound, but an image. Not just the image of your strong form, or your beautiful face. This doom must have been initiated when my eyes first met yours. It was because they shone with the light of the moon. Or because they let me see that you were trying not to show all of your pain. Yet every sacrifice that you have made for the people of this land are written in the golden flecks that highlight the blue. Or perhaps I saw in them something that I have never recognized in another. Something that resides deep within my soul. Something that I need. Perhaps it was a different reason altogether, but certainly, this began with a look into your eyes.
Or... Possibly I saw reflected in your eyes something that had existed long before mine had ever perceived you. My soul knew yours. Not by sight, or touch, or sound, but from something far more primal. I believe that you carry a missing part of my soul. I have known for eons that a part of my self was missing. I have known that I would have to find and reclaim this piece in order to be full. I know not how it came to be in your possession. Maybe the Gods decided to play some perverse trick upon me. But I do not believe in fate. I live by my own actions. If you hold a piece of my soul, then I must have, at some unknown time – or perhaps before the existence of time - have given it to you.
Well. I want it back. It was foolish of me to have given it away. I need it. Or... I need you.
The wind has returned, catching the tears from my cheeks, and dashing them to the ground. It wraps around my head, darts between my lips. It whispers to me of beautiful things. A rock tumbled over a waterfall... a butterfly found its flower... an elf loves. So many beautiful things... a universe of amazement. With so little time... Maybe the only way to see all of the beauty in this world is to fully understand the beauty of one miracle, and through it, see every other. If I could catch just one dream, catch it and keep it in my heart, feed it, nurture it, learn it... perhaps that would be enough... perhaps that would be everything.
The wind whispers into my ear. It whispers beautiful things. It whispers deadly things. It whispers with your voice... Legolas... It whispers of love.
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