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.|. Book of Days .|.
1. Memories Arwen Undòmiel sits in Lòthlorien, standing where the mirror of Galadriel was when Elves still dwelled in the golden woods. Rays of the setting sun seep through the shivering leaves and turn her whitened hair in flowing flames, her pale skin a shade of amber, her eyes glittering gems. A book sits on her lap as she stares in the West, and the quill she used to write down her last memories lies forgotten at her side, swaying gently in the breeze. Elessar her husband has passed. Eldarion her son has come to obtain his rightful place as King of Men. Legolas has sailed to the West, carrying with him the light that shone upon his brow, last of the Elves to walk Middle Earth. With a last sigh she rubs at her eyes with the back of her white hand, drying the moisture gathering at their corners. As she looks up, new tears swell up, and this time she lets them fall, even though only one single drop traces down her cheek, coming to a beautiful end on her chin, where skin becomes air. It dangles there a moment and then falls, leaving a glittering trail behind. Even as it splashes onto the grass she stands, cradling her book to her breast. She walks towards Cerin Amroth with the languor of those who’re ready to leave life behind and there she lays herself, and makes that place her green grave forevermore. Her books she lays at her side, and as she releases her breath in one last sigh and is gone, a gentle breeze comes, and as if by its own volition the book opens itself; its pages tremble and flip to show the world her will one last time. “My story was not mine to tell”, it reads. And the world itself holds its breath as the Valar all come and peer through her last words. “It may seem foolish, but that’s the truth. It may be my story, but it was never mine to tell. Clever pens have been asked to narrate it, and they carefully took every piece of truth away from it and made it a gilded illusion, a fairy tale blossomed in the harshness of reality. But now, now that of all who played part in my story I alone remain, I am finally free to divulge the truth. And even though this parchment, these trees of silver and this breeze will be my only witnesses, I hope what I relate will not be lost and forgotten, but kept in heart and marvelled at by future generations. Today so few know what true love is; the one thing that gives you strength enough to face death and life both with smug grins, that makes you willing to sacrifice anything and everything for that one single creature you hold dearest than your own self. Some say true love is an utopia, a mere illusion. Some say it’s the foundation of life. And it is in this definition of love that my story finds its start. Because what I shall relate is but a tale of love. The greatest love ever, and of how it came to be, is what I’ll relate. It was the purest, and strongest emotion Ilùvatar had ever blessed Eä with, this love. It descended on our world as a ray of dazzling light, piercing the vicious shadows and bonding two together so close that they became one, at least in heart. It was something to venerate and marvel and protect, and yet it was hindered by so many I would often wonder if they were not all jealous, the Valar and the Elves and the Humans, of what Legolas and Estel shared.
Ai, how long it has been since I
last allowed myself to pronounce those names together! It feels good, if not
right, to finally be able to say them so, and with the gravity it deserves.
Legolas and Estel. The Greenleaf and the Elfstone. The Prince of Mirkwood
and the King of Men. He who I adored and he who I married. Star-crossed
lovers in more than one meaning, their love survived the hardest trials;
born in the innocence of human childhood, it blossomed in the shadows of a
darkened world and strengthened in the very fires of Mordor. But something
so wonderful had to be lived in secrecy, savoured in the shadows for the
scorching light would have made naked prey of it, at least in the realm of
Men, were love was sacred only as long as it remained into the mould they
had for it. So, what was born in innocence and light and splendour had to
live its last years in secrecy and shadows, and it was a shame. Every place would be good to start my story as any. The beginning of it is lost faraway in the past though, when Prophecies and Destinies and magical Mirrors of cold water still ruled this World. It was a dark time, even as it was filled with light. So, I’ll forget about it, forget of any prophecy a Lady of the days of old may have seen in her mirror and start my tale from when Legolas and Estel first came to meet. Estel was but a child at the time, unaware still of his true name and lineage. When he became seven of age Elrond my father, who kept the child as his own, sought the fair Prince of Mirkwood to teach the young human the art of war. It was the beginning of days of serenity and great joy. Days in which Estel became skilled not only on how to kill but why he should not do so. Days in which the line between good and evil stopped being blurred in his young eyes to shine bright red in the middle. Days in which the two Princes would play, and sing and train and above all be together and be happy. But Estel grew, and did so quickly, for time does not pass humans by as it does Elves. And soon Legolas found himself teaching a young Man and no more a foolish child. And that Man was fair and noble and strong, and Legolas’s heart was soon lost to him…” * * * * The broken reflection of the moon played over the streaming azure of the river, casting translucent bows of light all across Legolas’s face. He was sitting on the low branch of a huge tree, absurdly at ease on the precarious position, not straining to keep his balance, for Elves do not worry with such things as balancing themselves, being woven of the air itself. Beams of light painted his figure out of the twilight, the shivering shadows of the leaves overhead stood sharp contrast over his white skin, and it was so beautiful it hurt. His eyes were half closed against the twinkling shafts of silver the Bruinen refracted; his feet dangled naked and free inches above the streaming waters. His eyes fell down as he lowered one foot, and he watched concentric ripple chase one another from where his toe touched the water. Countless flickers of starlight came to his irises as the ripples danced and trembled, but his eyes saw nothing, turned inwards as they were. His mind was lost faraway, narrowed to one single point of focus, and that was the cause of the frown that found residence on his pale face. “…Estel…” he sighed, and closed his eyes, and he was suddenly not a part of the forest anymore but something alien that tried to blend with it and did not succeed. Something living and grieving and astoundingly human for one that was not part of that kin. He breathed the name again, and it felt foreign on his lips, spoken with such gravity. He seldom allowed himself to pronounce that name with a weight divulging of his feelings, even when he was alone. But Estel was in his mind and heart constantly, and no one was there to ear him and wonder at his words, if not the trees, which Legolas knew would keep his secret, having known of it for longer than the Elf himself.
“You love him, Legolas.” the Elf
said to the quivering face looking up at him from the Bruinen, or maybe it
was it that spoke to him. As soon as the words were pronounced both Legolas
and the reflection frowned. The Elf couldn’t bear thinking of what such
thing meant, were it true, but what was the reason of the reflection's frown
he was not sure. So the Elf splashed his hand in the water, shattering the
reflection in dozens of quivering fragments, hoping to have shattered
feelings and words with it. It was him. And it wasn’t for the bite of wind, powerless against an Elf such as he. It was because of him. Estel. Legolas reached out to finger his reflection, caressing it softly as if to comfort it and ease its tremors. “Why? Why are you in my mind?” he whispered to himself. “What did you do to me? Why can’t I stop thinking about you…?” Legolas murmured in an exhalation, sliding his wet fingertips across his cheek. He let out a small sigh, and traced a wet line across his mouth. “Why do I love you?” “…Legolas?” The Elf swivelled around, his breath caught, and watched his heavenly torture materialized in front of his eyes. “Estel…” he murmured brokenly, tears gathering in his eyes even as he willed them away and smiled. “I did not expect to meet you here. What are you doing so far from the palace of Elrond? Surely not thinking to train at such a late hour? It is well after Midnight my friend, you’d better have some rest if you wish your mind to be wakeful in the morn.” But Estel shook his head, biting his bottom lip, and the minute gesture alone was enough to make the young Man a powerless child. “I could not sleep.” He admitted quietly, a trace of bitter sadness honing his low tenor. He nodded discreetly to where the Elf sat, and was relieved to see Legolas beckoning him close with a nod of his own. Estel strode forward, and in two steps was in front of Legolas. He stared at the Elf for a moment, watching as his friend and mentor would not meet his eyes, and then stumbled to the ground, graceless, as though deprived of any strength he may have possessed. “I just *couldn't* sleep.” He repeated softly. And then, when the Elf gave no answer, “I never could without you by my side.” Legolas gave a laugh, but it sounded strangled, and even Estel, who was no Elf, recognized it for what it was: a chocked sob. “You’re not a child anymore.” Legolas reminded him gently. “You do not need to cling to my warmth as you did once.” Estel nodded in agreement, turning to watch the water streaming by. “No, I may not need it anymore. I can keep my demons at bay and sleep on my own, because thanks to you there is no shadow or nightmare that I fear anymore. But—” he trailed off, sounding suddenly shy and incredibly young. Legolas turned toward him and watched as he plugged a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. “—even thought I don’t have a reason anymore to need you by my side at night, I want you there. In my bed. In my arms.” Legolas’s sharp intake of a breath was just slightly louder than his normal breathing, but he was sure his heart could be heard thumping from a distance. “Estel…” he said sombrely, a hint of reprimand in his voice. Reprimand the Man would mistake as directed to his childishness, while in truth it was a mere plea. //Don’t play with my heart Estel. You would not ask me to hold you if you knew the feelings I keep for you. Don’t make me hope while I can’t. Don’t take me high, only to shatter my glass wings when you’ll have decided you want me not, if not as a friend.// The blade of grass was discarded, tossed sharply into the water, and the Man turned to gaze at the Elf. “I know. You think it foolish, but just for tonight… just for tonight sleep in my arms as we used to. Hold me like you did when I was a child. I know it is just from this morning that we do not share a room anymore. I know you said that an adult as I boast I am should stop sleeping curled up to you like puppy. But surely one more night will not do any harm…?” Estel’s words faded into expectant silence, and Legolas could do little else but smile. He couldn’t deny Estel. He never could, and deep inside he knew he never would. * * * * * Little I know of what Estel thought that night, of what led him to invite Legolas to his bed, or of what was in his heart when he held the fair creature to him, very well knowing and dreading it was the last time he could do so. But I know well of what was inside Legolas’s heart. It was a feeling that did not belong in his heart as well in any Elf’s, but that both he and I know very well. Grief. He grieved, because although he was in the arms of he whom he loved, the touch he received was brotherly, lukewarm, no different from the caresses a child would make his parent. They warmed him once, those caresses. They were the proof of little Estel’s affection for him. The proof that the little one needed him and would not leave him by either chance or will. But that was not enough anymore. Even though Legolas did not want, yet, anything more than a communion of souls, those touches were swiftly becoming his bane. They would be the end of him, he knew. Not a brother’s caresses, not a lover’s. Estel’s, but not. Wanted, but dreaded. Welcome, yet painful. So he lied to rest in Estel’s arms that night as any other: with tears in his eyes and grief in his heart. Oh, it seemed but yesterday to him that he had first gone to sleep with the honey-smelling burden that was little Estel in his arms. And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he had woken up in the morning light with the strong arms of an adult about him. Held, and not holding anymore. With his face tucked under the Man’s chin, his heart beating against Estel’s as he was cradled; with the Man cocooning his body around him as though to protect the Elf from the very nightmares he himself feared when he was little. And like all the other nights he could not sleep, Estel’s scent tantalizing to his senses, and he would just lie there, gazing at the Man with utmost love. And when he was sure Estel was deep into the human sleep, only then he would dare touch him and let the tears fall, committing the feel of his love to memory. The texture of his skin and hair; his musky scent that held no trace of the honeybees’ treasure anymore; the sound of his sleepy sighs, of his breathing pattern. And if he leaned close enough then the scent of Estel coated him so that he thought he could taste him on his tongue, and suddenly all was well. But as he leaned into him that night, he could not help but touch his lips to Estel’s forehead. It was brief touch, and soft and pure, and yet it caused hundreds more tears to swell up in his eyes. He retreated hastily, seeking to flee from the warm heaven their intertwined bodies created, only to have his wrist grasped in a steel grip. He looked up, and amidst tears he caught glimpse of Estel staring at him, aghast. * * * * * “Legolas…” The Elf was startled, caught unaware. There was no veil shielding his eyes, no mask across his face, and his emotions raged like firestorms across his whole countenance. He tried to get a grasp of those emotions, to tame them and put them to sleep in the cage of his deepest heart, but to no avail. As a last resort he closed his eyes, long black lashes sweeping down onto pallid cheeks, but that resulted in Estel holding him closer, and closer still when the Elf did not react or move, seeming unwilling to breath at all. Tears leaked through his lashes, shining like dewdrops on his face, and Estel took in the ethereal creature and his pain. A strange feeling seeped into his mind, making him lose his grip on reality. “Don’t cry…” he whispered gently, and the last thing he knew he was pressing his lips to Legolas’s cheeks, kissing the saltines there residing away, licking it and rolling it onto his tongue, and raining countless kisses down the gentle sloping curve to the corner of Legolas’s lips. * * * * * And as he watched Legolas cry, his love for the Elf burst into sudden life, coursing through him like molten mithril, and a flaming bloom blossomed into his chest. He grieved at seeing those tears. He felt powerless to stop them. He was angered at he who dared causing Legolas to cry; ashamed at himself for not seeing before the sorrow shining now like stars in the Elf’s eyes. And above all, he grieved because he had no right to try and ease that pain. No right to hold the Elf as he was doing, or to desire him as he suddenly did. But he heed it not, the voices of warnings in his head, and surrendered himself to the sudden love for Legolas that threatened to overwhelm him. He did not resist it anymore, and let it carry him forward, and forward still, until his mouth met Legolas’s and claimed it, marking the Elf as his and letting Legolas mark him as his own as well. It was their end and their beginning. Their hearts did not belong to them anymore, but Legolas’s was now in Estel’s hands, even as the Man’s own heart was willingly given to the Prince. * * * * * “Estel…” He could feel it, Legolas’s heart. It beat madly, like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. It did so against Estel’s own heart, and echoing it as well. It made him smile, the feeling of Legolas so close to him, and suddenly sorrow and anger and grief became bliss. He held Legolas to his chest and buried his nose in the sunlit hair, basking in the Elf's warmth. “…amin mela lle*.” It was soft, barely above a whisper, and Estel did not realize he'd said it until his voice came into his own ears. He smiled at those words, at that truth, but Legolas’s breath was instantly taken away. “Estel…?” “Amin mela lle.”
*Amin mela lle = I love you Was it any good? If you’ve got time, drop me a review and tell me what you think. I’m unsure whether I’ll continue this or not, and would like to know what you people think! ^_^
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