The Unexpected | LotR Fanfiction

Chapter 31

         

Murky gray broke through the blurred darkness, little nothings floating in the stuffy nonexistent frigid air.

The world pulsed in broken bits of color like a dying heart, shattering the prison-like an illusion at random intervals.

Visions of his Tree-Shade and a Ranger-King filtered through and then—nothing.

A sheathed knife scattering rocks and stray grass. A black arrow thudding into the soft dirt. And then—nothing.

A flash of a knife slit a gray, gritty throat—

Legolas buried his head in his knees, his hands clutching at his limp dirty strands of once golden hair. Stray tears dampened his trouser, pants of warm air escaped his mouth.

"No. No."

In his mind's eye the knife didn't slice an orc throat, but a pale slender throat. The throat of a king. The skin of a father.

He could feel the blood on his hands as if he was the one that had held the knife.

It might as well have been my hand that had slain him, he thought. I didn't move. I didn't help.

Your fault. You're fault.

Morgalen's words bounced and echoed around the otherworldly chamber, drilling their way into Legolas's skull, along with the shouts and clangs of battle.

Is this it? Is there where my friends die?

He lifted his head to watch the murky images from the outside world filter through to his mind-prison like the sun shining through trees.

A sharp pain made by his teeth stung his tongue and a tangy iron filled his mouth. Each slash of a blade made him flinch.

My fault. My fault.

Would he see the deaths of his friends?

Or would the orphan keep seeing his father's death?

*********

The dark wood of the hut seemed to shine with newly down-poured rain. Water streamed off the straw-thatched roof and a slow puffing bloom of gray billowed out of a crude chimney. The watered-down sunrise rose behind the house, smiling as if it was glad for rainfall, but even happier it had stopped. Birds twittered and sang over their nests of younglings, feeding them with their fresh catch of wiggling worms in the cool morning air.

A muffled argument went on behind the wooden walls, the sound of something hitting the wall and shattering to bits showed the tell-tale signs of conflict.

The shutters flew open by command of a pale hand, a ring of gold engulfing her index finger, a ring of silver setting beside it on another. The sudden clamor sent squirrels scuttering away. The woman stuck her head out the opening in the wall, her hair shining like liquid moon-gold in the light of the rising sun. Her stormy eyes quickly lined with glittering silver, threatening to spill over on her cheeks. She looked around at the natural surroundings and quickly wiped away the evidence of her sorrow with her wool sleeve.

"Fine! I'll go to my Father! He might be the only one that will help!" The steely feminine voice that came from inside the homey hut sounded vaguely familiar. It was strange and yet comforting to hear elven words being spoken.

The stormy-eyed woman quickly turned back to the interior of her home, the tip of a pointy ear peeking through the mane of hair. "Do you not think I have not thought of that, daughter?! We cannot go to him. Not now."

"Then when should we go to him?! You talk as if you plan on never seeing him again." A pause. "Don't you want to see father?"

The golden-haired woman ignored the question deftly by arranging a breakfast with nimble hands. "We will go to him when the situation at hand is too dire to ignore."