Coming Home
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,103
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,103
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 Six
Coming Home 6/?
Coming Home, Chapter 6
-------------------------------
“No use hiding, I know you’re awake...,”
The voice pulled him to full awareness, against his will. Legolas groaned softly and pushed weakly against whatever cold, and wet, had decided to take up residence on his forehead.
Eventually his eyes focused enough for him to identify the person sitting on the edge of his bed.
“You just don’t give up do you Strider?” Legolas asked, but without the venom his voice had earlier.
“Not often. I was raised by elves. I learned about stubbornness from the masters of the trait.”
Legolas grunted noncommittally, and rolled onto his side, and folded one arm under his head, closing his eyes against the morning light. The dark was so peaceful, and soothing, and the light hurt his suddenly sensitive eyes.
“Do you want me to close the shutters?”
“No.” The light was painful, but he wanted to feel the air. “I’ll be fine, just give me a few minutes, please.”
For the moment any real pain had receded but he was left so drained that it seemed it had gained a temporary respite from his out of control emotions. He knew, however, he was still lacking any real control of them, and acceptance of the inevitable still eluded him. He was just too tired to sustain intense feeling about anything.
He would have to find a way to avoid Aragorn more. He seemed safe enough with Arwen, but
Aragorn knew every button to push and could always find his way past his walls and defenses.
“How are you feeling?” Aragorn asked resting his wrist against Legolas’s forehead, checking his temperature.
“Fine.” was the automatic reply. He sighed heavily at Aragorn’s disgruntled snort, and amended, “Weak and nauseated but better.”
“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I just wasn’t thinking,”
The very real remorse in Aragorn’s voice prompted Legolas to sit up, though his body felt as though it were composed entirely of lead. “It’s ok Estel. You were only trying to stop me from storming about like a toddler denied a sweet. I should apologize to you for my abominable behavior.” His tactics had left a lot to be desired, Legolas knew. He s nee needed to find a way to keep Aragorn from realizing just how troubled he was, but clearly attacking the man he loved was not the answer. He wanted to spare Estel hurt, not cause him more.
“Yes they were, but I understand them, you, better than you may think.” Aragorn paused looking at him meaningfully from the chair he’d pulled close to the bed, “I thought I’d lost you, killed you even. I’ve never seen you go down like that and it scared me badly mellon-nin.”
Legolas bit back the sharp retort that came to his tongue, in spite of his best intentions. It scared him badly? How did Estel think he felt about it? Furthermore it was something Aragorn had better get used to...the idea of him dying that was. What possible use did the blasted man thing denying it and refusing to accept it was going to be? As though denying reality would make it go away.
Realizing that as he woke more fully the irrational anger and desire to flee were also returning to life, Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had to get a grip on this.
“Aragorn, could you please go arrange for something to eat. I am sure you haven’t eaten, and I know that I have not.”
“Yes, of course.”
If Aragorn had any idea that he was being sent arbitrarily away, he showed no sign of it, as he walked out of the room, intent on finding food for his friend. His friend. Legolas snorted softly to himself. Why the hell had he come back here? Sure Aragorn had made use of him, and even
Arwen’s tacit approval and reassurance that Aragorn loved him felt hollow just then. He just wanted to be left alone, in that moment, to die in peace.
Aragorn had been gone for less than a minute when there was a hesitant knock on his door.
He stood up, unsteadily and using a hand on the wall to support himself, he made it to the door and opened it.
If Arwen was surprised by his condition, she hid it well. She swept into the room, full of confidence and grace and lay the baby on his bed.olasolas lifted an eyebrow at her, and she smiled brightly, “I just need to go talk to one of the grooms, and thought you might watch
Elendi for a few moments. I won’t be gone long, and I hate to bother the nurse for just a few minutes.”
Legolas opened his mouth to refuse. He wanted to be alone. He was the only one surprised when what emerged was “Of course.”
She was gone again in a flurry of skirts, and he was alone with the baby. Aragorn’s son. Something that he never would have had, had he not married Arwen. An Heir.
Before his thoughts could wander far down that particular dark path, the baby woke with a soft mewling squeak. Apparently the entire family had conspired to keep him from achieving peace. With a sigh rossrossed to the bed and patted Elendi’s back absently. When the baby began to scream in earnest he picked the writhing bundle up and held him along one long forearm, supporting the tiny head in his hand.
Honestly not sure if he could keep himself upright, much less avoid dropping the baby, he sat down in the chair Aragorn had been occupying when he woke. As soon as he seated himself
Elendi stopped crying, and looked at him with wide, deep blue eyes.
Legolas had the oddest sense that those eyes, set in such a young child, were ancient, and wiser than any he had looked into before. Sitting there, transfixed in the gaze of a newborn baby, he felt something wild and fierce calm and ease. He was still angry, confused, and scared, but he no longer felt the frantic need to lash out, to hurt those he cared for. He no longer felt the insane desire to run from himself. He was far from accepting his lot in life, or rather his lack of one, but ... , at least for the moment, the storm had ceased to rage.
He knew nothing was really resolved, and that he would have to confront his feelings, but for the moment it was enough.
________________________
There are four more chapters, roughly, that are in various stages of completion. I should warn you now that this story does not have a 'happy' ending. Now's a good time to stop reading if you're looking for miraclous intervention.
On a happier note. Feedback. Review the bloody story, pretty please, and thank you very much.
Coming Home, Chapter 6
-------------------------------
“No use hiding, I know you’re awake...,”
The voice pulled him to full awareness, against his will. Legolas groaned softly and pushed weakly against whatever cold, and wet, had decided to take up residence on his forehead.
Eventually his eyes focused enough for him to identify the person sitting on the edge of his bed.
“You just don’t give up do you Strider?” Legolas asked, but without the venom his voice had earlier.
“Not often. I was raised by elves. I learned about stubbornness from the masters of the trait.”
Legolas grunted noncommittally, and rolled onto his side, and folded one arm under his head, closing his eyes against the morning light. The dark was so peaceful, and soothing, and the light hurt his suddenly sensitive eyes.
“Do you want me to close the shutters?”
“No.” The light was painful, but he wanted to feel the air. “I’ll be fine, just give me a few minutes, please.”
For the moment any real pain had receded but he was left so drained that it seemed it had gained a temporary respite from his out of control emotions. He knew, however, he was still lacking any real control of them, and acceptance of the inevitable still eluded him. He was just too tired to sustain intense feeling about anything.
He would have to find a way to avoid Aragorn more. He seemed safe enough with Arwen, but
Aragorn knew every button to push and could always find his way past his walls and defenses.
“How are you feeling?” Aragorn asked resting his wrist against Legolas’s forehead, checking his temperature.
“Fine.” was the automatic reply. He sighed heavily at Aragorn’s disgruntled snort, and amended, “Weak and nauseated but better.”
“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I just wasn’t thinking,”
The very real remorse in Aragorn’s voice prompted Legolas to sit up, though his body felt as though it were composed entirely of lead. “It’s ok Estel. You were only trying to stop me from storming about like a toddler denied a sweet. I should apologize to you for my abominable behavior.” His tactics had left a lot to be desired, Legolas knew. He s nee needed to find a way to keep Aragorn from realizing just how troubled he was, but clearly attacking the man he loved was not the answer. He wanted to spare Estel hurt, not cause him more.
“Yes they were, but I understand them, you, better than you may think.” Aragorn paused looking at him meaningfully from the chair he’d pulled close to the bed, “I thought I’d lost you, killed you even. I’ve never seen you go down like that and it scared me badly mellon-nin.”
Legolas bit back the sharp retort that came to his tongue, in spite of his best intentions. It scared him badly? How did Estel think he felt about it? Furthermore it was something Aragorn had better get used to...the idea of him dying that was. What possible use did the blasted man thing denying it and refusing to accept it was going to be? As though denying reality would make it go away.
Realizing that as he woke more fully the irrational anger and desire to flee were also returning to life, Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had to get a grip on this.
“Aragorn, could you please go arrange for something to eat. I am sure you haven’t eaten, and I know that I have not.”
“Yes, of course.”
If Aragorn had any idea that he was being sent arbitrarily away, he showed no sign of it, as he walked out of the room, intent on finding food for his friend. His friend. Legolas snorted softly to himself. Why the hell had he come back here? Sure Aragorn had made use of him, and even
Arwen’s tacit approval and reassurance that Aragorn loved him felt hollow just then. He just wanted to be left alone, in that moment, to die in peace.
Aragorn had been gone for less than a minute when there was a hesitant knock on his door.
He stood up, unsteadily and using a hand on the wall to support himself, he made it to the door and opened it.
If Arwen was surprised by his condition, she hid it well. She swept into the room, full of confidence and grace and lay the baby on his bed.olasolas lifted an eyebrow at her, and she smiled brightly, “I just need to go talk to one of the grooms, and thought you might watch
Elendi for a few moments. I won’t be gone long, and I hate to bother the nurse for just a few minutes.”
Legolas opened his mouth to refuse. He wanted to be alone. He was the only one surprised when what emerged was “Of course.”
She was gone again in a flurry of skirts, and he was alone with the baby. Aragorn’s son. Something that he never would have had, had he not married Arwen. An Heir.
Before his thoughts could wander far down that particular dark path, the baby woke with a soft mewling squeak. Apparently the entire family had conspired to keep him from achieving peace. With a sigh rossrossed to the bed and patted Elendi’s back absently. When the baby began to scream in earnest he picked the writhing bundle up and held him along one long forearm, supporting the tiny head in his hand.
Honestly not sure if he could keep himself upright, much less avoid dropping the baby, he sat down in the chair Aragorn had been occupying when he woke. As soon as he seated himself
Elendi stopped crying, and looked at him with wide, deep blue eyes.
Legolas had the oddest sense that those eyes, set in such a young child, were ancient, and wiser than any he had looked into before. Sitting there, transfixed in the gaze of a newborn baby, he felt something wild and fierce calm and ease. He was still angry, confused, and scared, but he no longer felt the frantic need to lash out, to hurt those he cared for. He no longer felt the insane desire to run from himself. He was far from accepting his lot in life, or rather his lack of one, but ... , at least for the moment, the storm had ceased to rage.
He knew nothing was really resolved, and that he would have to confront his feelings, but for the moment it was enough.
________________________
There are four more chapters, roughly, that are in various stages of completion. I should warn you now that this story does not have a 'happy' ending. Now's a good time to stop reading if you're looking for miraclous intervention.
On a happier note. Feedback. Review the bloody story, pretty please, and thank you very much.