Even in Death by Rosalyn Angel

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Story notes: ... egads. ^_^ B E W A R E! This is a SEQUEL to my fic "Anywhere," and I'm very frightened it's going to ruin the original! I had this in mind after finishing "Anywhere," as some may be able to tell from the cryptic ending of it (the last line, "Farewell," got people to send me e-mails basically saying: "What happened? Aren't they together now? Why did Haldir say bye?"). So, I said to myself: "Self, why are you leaving these poor people in the dark? Why did you end it so cruelly there? Are you really that sadistic?... yes, self, I know I am; but that's not the point."

I'm just really struggling with making this story as good as, or perhaps better than, the original. I would hate for it to ruin anyone's views or thoughts on the first one, so I'm really iffy on posting this up; but so many people asked me what had happened. And I thought I could slip that by you guys in the ending; but no! All of you are just too smart for me. ^_^

Again this is in Legolas' POV, set after "Anywhere." (I strongly urge you to read that first, if you haven't, or else you might be like: ". . . what's going on?" It can be found on www.fanfiction.net under my pen name of Rosalyn Angel since this story would be posted up with it as a second chapter of sorts, or at www.libraryofmoria.com; it is also scattered across the internet in various places. Bwahah!) This also deals with my view of the *agony* of Mandos' Halls and the absolution it brings at the end. It's... *very strange*, darker than the original (I like to think so, at least)! Be warned: if you were content/happy with the ending of "Anywhere," you might not want to read this. I wouldn't want to ruin your view on it!

Once more- *is afraid of writing sequels in general* o_o;; *prays it'll be all right*
Farewell.

Is he here? Can I stretch out and touch him r11; is he within my reach now? Have I not waited long enough? Is he next to me now, even though I cannot see? Is he looking at me at this moment, with his dark silver eyes; will he allow me to meet his gaze forever now? Will we look at each other and hold each other's hands r11; I have waited long. I have done what needs to be done. I am tired; why am I here? Is he .. .

I do not understand.

There is nothing but darkness around me. I have no hands to grasp his, I have no eyes to see his. I have not a breath or a heart beat; I just am. There is nothing here besides my mind, my thoughts and my memories. I neither walk nor float; I do nothing but think. I have no other sensations: I can no longer run through the golden forest, feeling my feet dash across the fallen leaves; I can no longer smell the sweet sap of the trees; I can no longer hear the birds' songs in the clear morning air r11; I am alone, with absolutely nothing around me, not even my own body.

Do I fear this? Yes. I fear this. I wonder, how long will I linger here? Have I done something wrong, some ill-begotten thing, for me to deserve to be put here? I have done nothing r11;

Come with me.

I died. I followed him. Where did I lose my way? Is he not supposed to be next to me now? This is worse than before; worse than my ghost of him looking away from me! Now I see nothing but my own mind, my own dreadful twisted mind; and I have no one to turn to but myself. I cannot even gaze upon his face, though dull and lifeless it was, to be reassured that he was somewhere r11; perhaps waiting for me? Maybe he is still somewhere, waiting for me to find him. When I do, he will smirk and say I took long enough; then he will open his arms and kiss me. I will feel weak and vulnerable to his touch, but he will hold me up and whisper of pretty things; and I will cry and say I missed him and speak about how I longed for his hands and that I love him...

I cannot move. I can do nothing but think. He may as well be right next to me and I would not know; I would not be able to reach out and feel his silver hair slip through my fingers, his hand clasping mine r11; this is worse than before; take me back; I want to go back! It hurts... can no body hear me? Nay, I have no voice; I cannot sing or call his name r11; take me back!

"What brings you here to the Wood?"

I have memories to cling to. They flit across my mind, and there I can see them; I can hear and smell and touch them there. But only if I remember: most things are blurred or missing from times passing by too much, and I cannot recall them clearly; people's faces are absent from their hazy bodies as they move in a dance across my mind. Only he can I remember every detail, every movement; and it is agony. My mind tortures me with these memories and with the nothingness that surrounds me: I have no control over how they proceed and when they are shown to me, like scenes in a play being acted out with ghastly performers.

He is there, but I cannot touch him: only this past version of myself may do so. It is like watching my love caress and kiss another r11; so alien do I feel to it all! I see, hear, feel, smell nothing; but there is this other able to do all I crave, with my face and smile and walk, luring him in the way I did .. . yet we are connected somehow, and teasing pieces of my life brush across my mind r11; it is ineffable; I am confused and frustrated. I want to scream: "Get away from him! Haldir, can you not see that I am here? That is not me: it is a memory of me. Love, I am lost and alone! Why did you leave me here? Why was I brought here, already faded and with nothing left but my past?" But I have no voice: I cannot be heard.

Is he angry at me? Have I done something wrong? All those nights when he stared at me, was it in hate? The cool indifference of those eyes, and the fire they held as they were turned on me, were they animosities? Did he intentionally leave me here, to suffer within my own mind, to rot and wither away further?

No, no r11; he would not do such a thing! These thoughts cannot be my own! They flood my head not of my own accord, dark whispers of dark things, trying to convince and lull me with wrong answers.

Let me go.

A plea r11; a plea it was. Did I make him suffer like I am now? It was my fault he was made to linger; I held him back for my own self-pity. Or did he choose to stay behind? Then why did he wish of me that? I could not hold him back with my own hands; he could have simply vanished, out of my sight, and rest wherever he choose to. But yet he did not: so it was my doing; I made him stay. He is angry at me! He told me to let him go, but I did not do so. I am selfish and immature, needy and dependent r11;

Let me go!

He hates me! He is yelling at me; his voice has twisted itself into some horrible bellowing thing. The memories in my mind blur and mash together, grinding into each other until they are inseparable and indistinguishable. I cannot see my precious images of his silver form any longer; all are crude and dark images of what they once were: trees are bent and leafless, people are blackened and muttering among themselves of evil news, the ground is distorted and sways this way and that, the sky is rumbling and screaming r11; he is screaming! He sounds to be in pain; his voice seems so close, echoing and crying out and enveloping all:

Let me go!

I grow frantic: stop! I say. I am sorry! I did not wish to hurt you! If I knew it pained so much . ..

He wanted to end it; he resorted to all possibilities. If I would not let go, he would take me with him; then he would abandon me as a punishment. He hates me, he must; I was so unknowingly cruel r11; will he forgive me? He must know I am sorry, he must!

No... no, it is all right: these notions are not true. They are fabrications of fell things. I must not listen, I must not heed...

He hates me...




I want to quiver, tremble, whimper, close my ears and my eyes. I am not allowed these comforts: I am forced in my bodyless state to endure the harsh recollections, the disfigured and crooked visions. They take the inklings of evil from every place and bring them out fully, laid out across my mind. This is a wretched place. I try not to think much: the awful pondering of him might return. I want to just stop it all and not exist; anything would be better than this, better than the warped image of his eyes in hatred and his hands reaching to wrench and strangle.

There has to be a better explanation. He would not do this to me... would he? No, no, he would not! There is another reason, some sound reason, some loving reason; his voice was too kind when he said come with me: it was an offer, a way to a lovely dreaming place with him at my side and me at his. I calm myself, sooth my mind, and think.

He always looked away when I tried to meet his gaze. Was that shame on my behalf? Nay, his demeanor at brief intervals was full of longing. Longing for something r11; for me? Was he suffering like I was at that exact moment? Longing for the one he could no longer have, to touch my face and trace the curves of my neck and shoulders? Was it too much to meet my gaze r11; did he feel he would collapse?

Was he sad? For himself, for me? For us both, for the lost memories to be made... for leaving me behind in the world? Did that pain him, when I dragged my feet and cast my eyes to the floor; did he pity me then? Did he wish to end my ache...

The darkened memories twist again, wavering.

His eyes! I remember now: they stared into mine at night, not with loathing, but with hope and that same sad longing; he saw me and my pain r11; and yes, he had his own; but me, mine r11; he saw and knew how much I miss him...

Let me go.

The screaming dies down to a soft whisper, not muttering but a cool brush of air, caressing like a lover; it is almost as if it promises me: everything will be all right. The memories slowly begin to fade, flickering and grasping for the ruthless control they held before. But the caress of his voice stays strong.

He wanted me to let him go, not because he hated me for keeping him there, but because he saw me hurting and wished for me peace; he knew if I moved on, I might have happiness. He knew this and he tried to reach me so, but I had foolishly not understood! I could not have let him go anyway: I love him beyond measure.

Come with me.

A solution! A beautiful solution: he would not have left me to suffer thus. He offered his hand to find happiness elsewhere, perhaps in another life somehow; be it a thousand days until we rest together, or a thousand years. A farewell until then: he knew what would happen here, he experienced it briefly before I unconsciously called him back out of my yearning. He knew we would be separated, beloved Haldir! I understand! A small thing of hope, but to desperately cling to it: that is worth bearing the cruelty of this place r11; these Halls. Yes, that is where I am: the Halls! He must be here, also like me: isolated and sorting through his thoughts!

The memories disappear all together. I am left in darkness, complete and utter darkness; but this does not bother me. For the long time I have stayed here, I feel content. I understand now: he loves me. He wants me to be free. And soon, maybe soon, maybe later, maybe now... I will see him again.

A silver figure flutters far away, into my vision: I can see now through real eyes and hear with real ears; I no longer rely on mere remembrances. The figure pauses and turns: I can barely outline it, but I know it is he. Without a sound, surrounded by blackness, he walks, feet skimming nothing but a bottomless floor. Yet he moves straight toward me; and I see him clearer and clearer: thin silver strands of hair swaying as he tilts his head; long pale face soft and welcoming; firm lips leisurely turned up in a smile; easy strides with graceful legs and crossed arms, as if to say: it took you long enough, love.

He reaches me and I want to cry: the tears burn at the rims of my eyes. I feel so happy; he is there, right before me! After all these long years, all of this brutal pain, he is there and I love him...

His hand draws toward me; and then I am no more.




A young Elf, of but a hundred years or so yet appearing in his early twenties, kicks his booted foot into the ground and sends a flurry of pale golden leaves up into the air, making them twirl in the flickering sunlight that peers through the forest canopy. Stories have told of this place, of its beauty and magnificence; but to him they are stories told for children's ears, for the forest is no longer as majestic as it was once. Its Queen left it, they say; it misses her dearly and it began to decay in her leaving. The grey bark is a little rougher and a little darker, and the branches are a little more gnarled. But the leaves remain golden, covering the ground and hanging onto their trees on a life's whim, before they snap off and spin to join their brothers.

He runs a long hand through his waist-length hair, the same hue as the leaves and braided in a civilian manner. Though he is a mere soldier in the Lord Celeborn's (who now lives in a place he titles East Lorien) arsenal, all of his friends tell him he has a type of air that demands to be obeyed: he is to be promoted soon to a higher status, though not one of great importance. The days are peaceful, but there are still stray Orcs about. He has felled many, a considerable count, and is recognized for it. Though his true power only shines when one sees him: he holds his head high and proud, like royalty, but yet he is kind and forgiving; and his smile softens his normally impassive face.

Long has he heard of the old realm of Lothlorien from his parents, civilians like him; and of the Nine Walkers that saved the world hundreds of years ago. The story intrigues him, but one stands out among the rest: an Elf prince of Mirkwood, who died mysteriously one night. The young Elf is curious about the Prince and feels drawn to the Wood of Lorien. He considers it respect for his own kin and appreciation for what was once glorious. Whatever is it, he is there now, under the golden sunlit canopy; and he walks with his slim hands folded behind his back, enjoying the peace and quiet of a deserted forest.

There is a rustle to his right and he spins, hands clasping the bow on his back and an arrow from his quiver. The arrow is set faster than the eye can follow and he pulls the string taut, darting bright blue eyes around the columns of trees, searching for any signs of possible danger. His breath quickens in anticipation for battle, his palms gripping fiercely onto his weapons, his fair face drawn into a concentrating frown. He hears another clamor behind him and turns quickly. A form is suddenly in front of him r11; he lets go of his arrow with a shout of surprise, and it swiftly sticks into the ground at the stranger's feet with a twang.

"Ai!" the stranger yelps in a boyishly low voice, sounding the same age as the first. "I gave you warning of my coming, yet you shot at me still!"

The Elf feels a flare of defiance in his chest at the indirect insult. He swings his bow onto his back and bends to yank his arrow from the dirt, sliding it into his quiver with the rest. "You did not speak! I took you for an Orc!"

"An Orc?" the other sputters, crossing his arms. "I was merely approaching you as an Elf should on another: quietly yet distinctively. It is you who are eager to loose arrows! What brings you here, to my secret place?"

It is then when the young Elf looks up and meets the eyes of the stranger; he becomes transfixed at the image and freezes in his place.

Blue meets with silver, and their hands reach out to shake in a warm first greeting.


fin
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