Coming Home
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,102
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,102
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Five
Coming Home, Chapter 5
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When Aragorn came into his room, he seemed awake and alert, though Legolas knew he couldn’t have had much sleep... not with a new baby, and having Arwen waking him before dawn the previous morning as well as today.
Legolas felt a pang of regret. He really should not have come here. It had been selfish and stupid.
Aragorn seemed to realize that he was not only in pain and feeling extremely nauseated-- again, (he was sick and tired of being sick and tired) but uneasy. During the day it was so easy to pretend. To push the physical effects to the back of his mind and just ... enjoy. Enjoy the company of people who cared about him and about whom he cared. After years of travel, and the loss of his culture and people, it was novel, and very welcomed.
It was the nights that got to him. In the still and quiet of night, there was nothing to distract him from the way he felt. There was also nothing to keep his mind occupied, and left on it’s own it turned on him, reminding him that he should have died quickly and cleanly, that he still could if he only took matters into his own hands. If he was only strong enough to spare them all the pain of watching his slow decline.
He just couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted to, what he had told Aragorn had been correct, and painfully true. He loved life. Hurting, sick, even depressed and miserable without Aragorn this world, his life... he was part of it, and he did not want to let it go. He was not ready to die, and he was most certainly not ready to forfeit what little time he had left.
“Legolas?”
Legolas glanced up guiltily, he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts, that he had forgotten Aragorn’s presence in the room. Perhaps his mind was going as well. Wouldn’t that be a lovely turn of events... Legolas shuddered at the thought. Insanity and dementia? That he would certainly rather die than succumb to.
“Legolas..” Aragorn said softly, sitting beside Legolas on the bed. His eyes were full of so much concern and love it was nearly impossible for Legolas to look at him, and he looked away quickly. He’d never meant to subject Aragorn to this.
He was going to cry, Legolas realized with horror. Why was this happening now? He’d known this was hopeless and he would die for weeks! Why now? Why in front of Aragorn? With sheer force of will, and no small amount of disgust he shoved the reaction away, before the tears made it to the surface. He had cried exactly once in the past several centuries, and that had been a single tear when Aragorn had left to marry Arwen. He was not going to dissolve into a puddle of tears and sloppy emotions now! What the hell was wrong with him. He had more courage than this, he was stronger than this. At least he had thought he was.
Aragorn traced the back of his fingers lightly across his cheek and Legolas sighed quietly. That felt nice...
“Don’t.” Legolas said, barely recognizing his own voice.
Aragorn cocked his head to one side, brow furrowing, “Don’t what?”
“Don’t offer me your pity,” Legolas all but snarled at him. The shock on Aragorn’s face was well founded. Legolas had never been harsh with him before. Still... he was going to break down if Aragorn didn’t just get the hell away from him. He couldn’t afford to accept Aragorn’s kindness right now. He needed his pride, and Aragorn was about to strip it away.
“I”m fine,” Legolas continued, still growling, “Just leave me alone. Go back to your wife.” Legolas nearly spat the last word, yet even as he flung the words at Aragorn he felt a stab of guilt. Arwen had been good to him, and so had Aragorn, but not now... He prayed Estel would just accept that he needed to be left alone, and go. He had to get himself back under control.
“Just go,” he finished quietly, hating the pleading tone that crept into his voice, but willing to do anything it took to get Aragorn out of there for just a few minutes....
“It isn’t going to work, Legolas.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded though even he heard the hairline fracture that ran through his voice.
“Oh yes you do.” Aragorn said retreating not so much as an inch, to Legolas’s growing distress, “E tim time you are injured, or your emotions get the better of you, you shut down, and push everyone close to you away as far as you can. It won’t work. Not this time, and not ever again.”
“Oh of course not,” Legolas replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Because you’re wonderful at forever aren’t you Strider? Or is it that now my forever is less than a month that you think you can manage to actually keep a promise. Generous of you.”
The hurt in Aragon’s eyes let him know that his barbed remarks had struck home, but Legolas was past caring. Aragorn still wasn’t leaving and he was beginning to panic in earnest, and it just angered him more. He had fought battles hopelessly out numbered, he had seen more in his years than he cared to recount, and he could not remember the last time he had felt so helpless, and afraid. Afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of Aragorn’s presence, and afraid that he would leave.
The confusion didn’t help to alleviate his anger either. After centuries walking middle earth, he did not get confused. Yet confused and scared were exactly what he was, under all the anger. He didn’t even know who or what he was mad at. Which confused and scared him more. It was a vicious cycle that just kept going, emotion spiraling out in ever increasing waves, growing in intensity.
“Legolas, Stop it!” Aragorn said sharply. Legolas realized he was hyperventilating and he couldn’t stop. Legolas stood up abruptly and walked away. If Aragorn wouldn’t leave him, he would do the leaving. Whatever it took... He wanted to run, run away from himself, and failing that away from Aragorn.
When he moved past the human, Aragorn stood and followed, catching him just short of the door. Aragorn grabbed his forearm to stop him, but the pressure over the source of his illness, the sudden jerk as he was pulled up short was more than he could handle.
Pain flooded his nervous system like liquid ice, like shards of glass in his veins instead of his blood, and drove him to his knees with a soft cry. He knew he was going to throw up, but he just couldn’t make himself care... He realized darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision, and when it pulled him under he went gratefully. Anything to escape the emotional turmoil he hd not the slightest idea how to handle.
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When Aragorn came into his room, he seemed awake and alert, though Legolas knew he couldn’t have had much sleep... not with a new baby, and having Arwen waking him before dawn the previous morning as well as today.
Legolas felt a pang of regret. He really should not have come here. It had been selfish and stupid.
Aragorn seemed to realize that he was not only in pain and feeling extremely nauseated-- again, (he was sick and tired of being sick and tired) but uneasy. During the day it was so easy to pretend. To push the physical effects to the back of his mind and just ... enjoy. Enjoy the company of people who cared about him and about whom he cared. After years of travel, and the loss of his culture and people, it was novel, and very welcomed.
It was the nights that got to him. In the still and quiet of night, there was nothing to distract him from the way he felt. There was also nothing to keep his mind occupied, and left on it’s own it turned on him, reminding him that he should have died quickly and cleanly, that he still could if he only took matters into his own hands. If he was only strong enough to spare them all the pain of watching his slow decline.
He just couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted to, what he had told Aragorn had been correct, and painfully true. He loved life. Hurting, sick, even depressed and miserable without Aragorn this world, his life... he was part of it, and he did not want to let it go. He was not ready to die, and he was most certainly not ready to forfeit what little time he had left.
“Legolas?”
Legolas glanced up guiltily, he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts, that he had forgotten Aragorn’s presence in the room. Perhaps his mind was going as well. Wouldn’t that be a lovely turn of events... Legolas shuddered at the thought. Insanity and dementia? That he would certainly rather die than succumb to.
“Legolas..” Aragorn said softly, sitting beside Legolas on the bed. His eyes were full of so much concern and love it was nearly impossible for Legolas to look at him, and he looked away quickly. He’d never meant to subject Aragorn to this.
He was going to cry, Legolas realized with horror. Why was this happening now? He’d known this was hopeless and he would die for weeks! Why now? Why in front of Aragorn? With sheer force of will, and no small amount of disgust he shoved the reaction away, before the tears made it to the surface. He had cried exactly once in the past several centuries, and that had been a single tear when Aragorn had left to marry Arwen. He was not going to dissolve into a puddle of tears and sloppy emotions now! What the hell was wrong with him. He had more courage than this, he was stronger than this. At least he had thought he was.
Aragorn traced the back of his fingers lightly across his cheek and Legolas sighed quietly. That felt nice...
“Don’t.” Legolas said, barely recognizing his own voice.
Aragorn cocked his head to one side, brow furrowing, “Don’t what?”
“Don’t offer me your pity,” Legolas all but snarled at him. The shock on Aragorn’s face was well founded. Legolas had never been harsh with him before. Still... he was going to break down if Aragorn didn’t just get the hell away from him. He couldn’t afford to accept Aragorn’s kindness right now. He needed his pride, and Aragorn was about to strip it away.
“I”m fine,” Legolas continued, still growling, “Just leave me alone. Go back to your wife.” Legolas nearly spat the last word, yet even as he flung the words at Aragorn he felt a stab of guilt. Arwen had been good to him, and so had Aragorn, but not now... He prayed Estel would just accept that he needed to be left alone, and go. He had to get himself back under control.
“Just go,” he finished quietly, hating the pleading tone that crept into his voice, but willing to do anything it took to get Aragorn out of there for just a few minutes....
“It isn’t going to work, Legolas.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded though even he heard the hairline fracture that ran through his voice.
“Oh yes you do.” Aragorn said retreating not so much as an inch, to Legolas’s growing distress, “E tim time you are injured, or your emotions get the better of you, you shut down, and push everyone close to you away as far as you can. It won’t work. Not this time, and not ever again.”
“Oh of course not,” Legolas replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Because you’re wonderful at forever aren’t you Strider? Or is it that now my forever is less than a month that you think you can manage to actually keep a promise. Generous of you.”
The hurt in Aragon’s eyes let him know that his barbed remarks had struck home, but Legolas was past caring. Aragorn still wasn’t leaving and he was beginning to panic in earnest, and it just angered him more. He had fought battles hopelessly out numbered, he had seen more in his years than he cared to recount, and he could not remember the last time he had felt so helpless, and afraid. Afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of Aragorn’s presence, and afraid that he would leave.
The confusion didn’t help to alleviate his anger either. After centuries walking middle earth, he did not get confused. Yet confused and scared were exactly what he was, under all the anger. He didn’t even know who or what he was mad at. Which confused and scared him more. It was a vicious cycle that just kept going, emotion spiraling out in ever increasing waves, growing in intensity.
“Legolas, Stop it!” Aragorn said sharply. Legolas realized he was hyperventilating and he couldn’t stop. Legolas stood up abruptly and walked away. If Aragorn wouldn’t leave him, he would do the leaving. Whatever it took... He wanted to run, run away from himself, and failing that away from Aragorn.
When he moved past the human, Aragorn stood and followed, catching him just short of the door. Aragorn grabbed his forearm to stop him, but the pressure over the source of his illness, the sudden jerk as he was pulled up short was more than he could handle.
Pain flooded his nervous system like liquid ice, like shards of glass in his veins instead of his blood, and drove him to his knees with a soft cry. He knew he was going to throw up, but he just couldn’t make himself care... He realized darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision, and when it pulled him under he went gratefully. Anything to escape the emotional turmoil he hd not the slightest idea how to handle.