Whispers of the Forest (Legolas x Male OC)

Grief and Guilt

Is this what it felt like to lose someone? Someone he loved so fiercely the stars couldn't even say it wasn't destined. And then it slips from his grasp, and though he knew it was true, all that was left was this empty, swirling, painful mess stuck inside. Suddenly, Legolas understood why his father never talked about his mother. Sîrion wasn't completely lost yet, and still, it felt like fire through his throat to utter his listener's name.

He curled into himself tighter, pressing his back into the door as a sob ripped through his chest and the tears he had been holding back finally fell. Alone, he could no longer hold in the crushing, aching pain in his chest. His empty room in Minas Tirith seemed to mock him by echoing any sound that was wrenched from his throat. It felt as though his world was collapsing before him, and he found his mind stuck in a dreaded loop of despair. Guilt festered between the cracks of grief, causing his heart to tighten more as it began to split. The image of Sîrion with the healers of Minas Tirith was burned in his mind. The listener's face was peaceful, eyebrows furrowing every so often as if he were dreaming and Legolas had wished so desperately that Sîrion was just stuck in a dream. That he would wake any minute now and smile that wonderful smile, but he never did. Instead, the healers began to work, fast and panicked, as they removed the blood-soaked bandages from the listener's side to reveal the swiftly done, crude stitches of an army camp healer. As they snipped at the stitches, Legolas felt himself being led away and, despite wanting to stay, wanting to never leave Sîrion's side, he couldn't find the strength to fight the grip on his wrist.

Legolas stood with his arms crossed against his chest, shaking his head to chase the memory away and gasping for breath to try to control his crying, even just for a moment, to no avail. He clenched his fists, sight blurred from the constant onslaught of tears, but he could still see that familiar brown leather satchel placed neatly on the edge of his bed. Underneath was the green cloak from Lothlòrien neatly folded up. His heart sunk, a pang resonating through his chest. One of the others must have brought it up here before he had found his way. The Prince walked swiftly, picking up the satchel and cloak, hugging them close to his chest as he crumpled onto the soft covers. He could feel more sobs building up as he pressed his face into the soft green-grey fabric, desperately seeking any comfort. His heart did the familiar small joyful flutter as he was surrounded by Sîrion's scent. A moment of peace before his mind ripped him back to reality, or more so, harshly reminded Legolas of the distant look in Sîrion's eyes as he fought for consciousness and all the blood. Blood spilling from the listener's torso. The crimson, smeared handprint left on Legolas's cheek once Sîrion's eyes fluttered closed. And all the Prince could do was hold him, press a hand against the long deep gash and pray to Valar that the healers of man could save Alda. His last words played through Legolas' mind... words that were the last string of hope he could cling onto. 'Everything is going to be okay.' And though he tried to repeat that now, it brought little comfort and did nothing to calm the now muffled sobs. Perhaps if he had just been a little quicker, he could've helped Aragorn before Sîrion was put in such a situation. Fired an arrow rather than trying to struggle through that horrid group of orcs... but Legolas didn't know if he could trust his aim again in such a dire situation. Helms Deep still weighed heavily on him, and as he failed to gasp for air between his helpless weeping, he couldn't help but wonder if Sîrion wouldn't have gotten hurt then as well if only he had brought down that torch-carrying orc. If that wall were never blown to pieces, perhaps the listener would've come from that battle unscathed... safe... perhaps then Legolas could've helped Aragorn first, and Sîrion would be with him in this empty room. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold his breath and willing the world to stop. For just a moment of peace... of stability. None came, and the sob that wracked through his chest burned his throat. The corners of his eyes stung as the tears continued to fall, and so he stopped fighting it, falling into the sporadic, painful grief his mind was so keen on focusing on.