A/N: Oh, I forgot. This fic obviously does not go according to either the book or the movie. Legolas would never do such a thing. But well, this is MY fic. Oh, and by the way, I’m doing a literary criticism on Tolkien for my English class. Lol. Have to read lots of books on him, so it’s an excuse to read LotR again… J it’s for Friday!!!! Oh well. Please read and review. And now, enjoy:
A/N 2: Talia! How could you! That’s exactly what I was about to write! Oh well, I think I should stop giving you hints for what will happen in the next chapters, but I won’t tell you which of your guesses is the right one J thanks a lot for all your wonderful reviews, people. It makes me want to write more, so as long as they keep coming, I will keep writing, ok? Oh, and for those of you who do not like L/A, well I am sorry. But now you know that this fic is of that type, so you have been warned. Though you all have the right to your opinions. It won’t exactly end like a typical L/A though; it will get closer to the real plot of LotR… in a few chapters. You’ll see J pfeww, long note. Sorry. Now, if you are still reading this, you can finally read the story! J
“Nnnooooo!” screamed Aragorn, but it was too late. It felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. He’s gone…Legolas…and it’s all my fault, thought Aragorn, tears sliding down his rough cheeks. From somewhere behind him, he hear slow footsteps, but he did not turn around. It might have been Saruman or Sauron himself for all he cared. He would have enjoyed the pain and the death that would inevitably follow. But the old man who patted him on the back was none other than Gandalf.
“Come,” he only said, waiting for Aragorn to rise. The two men made their slow way toward the edge of the cliff, but Aragorn stopped a few paces off, reluctant to come closer and see for himself exactly what had happened to the beautiful elf. Although Aragorn was a hardened soldier, his stomach heaved at the very thought of that slim, broken figure lying somewhere down below. Gandalf, standing at the brink, waved is right hand in the air.
“Mmm, yes…the change in pressure would have been great,” he mused, stroking his beard. Then he looked at Aragorn. “Although elves are formidable beings, they are just not cut for flying.” “They would make awful birds,” he said after a silence. Aragorn stood with his mouth open, wondering what was the meaning of the wizard’s words, but his thoughts were brought short by the figure of Legolas floating up from the gap. He was limp and plae and his eyes were closed, but his body was seemingly whole. Aragorn looked questioningly at Gandalf, while the wizard flicked his wrist and gently brought Legolas’s body to lay down on the grass. He stooped and placed his wrinkled hand on the elf’s smooth forehead.
“He will live,” he finally said, almost with a chuckle. Aragorn had trouble understanding what had just happened.
“But he…” he chocked, waving his hand toward the cliff.
“No, he didn’t. I was here just in time.”
Legolas came to consciousness, and at first, he was surrounded by a hazy whiteness. The Gray Havens? No, it can’t be. They would never accept one like me. Not after what I have tried to do, he thought with sadness. But he soon fell asleep again, dreaming no dreams. The second time he awoke, his vision was much more clearer, and he was surprised at his surroundings. He was lying in a bed, covered with a warm, white blanket, in an airy, white room. It had one large window with a carved frame, through which he could see distant buildings among many tall trees. A cough interrupted his thoughts.
“Gandalf!” he exclaimed, happy to see the old man again, sitting in a beautifully carved chair next to his bed. But the elf’s expression clouded up again.
“Where am I, what happened?” and then, after a silence, with an almost inaudible whisper he asked, “why am I still alive?”
Gandalf saw the pain and shame in Legolas’s eyes. “It was not your time yet, youngling. It was not your time… Now rest. You are still very weak.” And the el slept again, with his eyes open, as elves usually do. Gandalf stayed for a while, looking at the peaceful elf. He looked so innocent and relaxed; so young. And yet, he obviously suffered and wanted to end that pain somehow. The wizard sighed, then quietly left the room to meet two figures waiting anxiously outside.
“How is he?” asked Elrond as soon as Gandalf closed the door.
“Well, if you mean physically, he’s fine, albeit still a bit shaky. Pardon my lack of tactfulness, but I arrived just in time to prevent him being squashed like a big…as for his psychological self,” he continued after a moment, “he is deeply pained by something and he desperately wants to get rid of that pain in the only way he knows how: death. He intends to leave Middle-earth and burn all the bridges so he will never be able to come back.”
Aragorn was distraught by Gandalf’s revelations. He hadn’t known that his merry friend held such a dark secret. He was about to enter Legolas’s room, when he felt Elrond’s hand upon his shoulder.
“Not yet. Let him rest.” Gandalf and Elrond then left together, while Aragorn stayed by the door, sitting down on the cool floor with his face in his hands, wondering what he might have done to Legolas. He knew that he was somehow at fault, but the more he thought about it, the less an answer came.
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A/N~ this is the end for now. Still have to write that paper. Sorry it’s so short. Will probably post next chapter next week. Maybe will finish story next week because I’ll be on vacation! Youppppiiiii! Lol. Don’t pay attention to me. Yes, do, and review, please!
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