This Is How A Heart Breaks (AU)
Mar 27, 2018 4:05:37 GMT -5
Post by LEGOLAS on Mar 27, 2018 4:05:37 GMT -5
In the land of Mirkwood there was a small elfling that was born on a cold winter’s night. An ellon, blonde and fair like his father, though obviously weaker. Still covered in fluids and still only minutes born, the child would not scream and looked almost dead. The mother of said child passed onto the Halls of Mandos, leaving the father in despair. Do everything you can to save my heir, the father would say, leaving the room to grieve alone.
After hours of the healers trying to fix the little ellon, they finally went to the father, King Thranduil. ”My Lord, the Prince was born too early and we believe is has a weak heart. He will never be able to -“ The healer was cut off by the wrath of Thranduil. He will BE ABLE to fight and be a warrior! I will NOT have my son so weak and fragile that he will be useless! The healer shook his head and simply said, ”You have no choice. If you make him overdo it, he will die.”
*******************
Legolas sat in his room, looking outside of his window. He watched as the people of Mirkwood walked back and forth, going in and out, enjoying life. The frail and pale elf rubbed his tired eyes then, slowly walking back towards his bed. It was pointless, really. Why did he make himself suffer so by watching everyone be happy? Perhaps it was the only way to get some sort of life inside of him. The Woodland Prince was frail, paler than alabaster, with blue tinted on his lips. Some say you could see the veins all throughout his body. Some said that you could count the bones in his ribs if he were to take off his tunic. Some said that the Woodland Prince died a long time ago and the line of Oropher was dead.
Of course, that rumor was false. Legolas was still alive, fighting to keep on living. It was hard though, when everyday he was getting hit around by his father. Useless; that was what he was called. He was useless because he couldn’t be a warrior, useless because he couldn’t be part of the council, useless because he couldn’t guard the boarders, and useless because he would never be a King. The healers often came by, mentioning how the son of Thranduil will most likely not make it even to one hundred years of age.
Today though, was his conception day. He actually turned one hundred. The only gift he had received that morning was a beating from his father, having the older elf frustrated because Legolas was unable to get dressed and get out of bed so early, but now he was dressed, just unable to walk that much. His heart would skip beats, sometimes not even beating, causing him to cough and gasp for air.
So here he was, alone on his day of birth, sitting on his bed. Perhaps it would go by quick. Perhaps a guard would check in on him? Perhaps.. no. He needed to get out; to be free. He needed to be what his father wished. The elf, with as much strength as he could, pushed himself out of bed, only to fall back on it and breathe hard. Well, this was certainly going to be harder than he thought. With closed eyes, he honestly waited for death to take him from this miserable place.
TAURIEL
After hours of the healers trying to fix the little ellon, they finally went to the father, King Thranduil. ”My Lord, the Prince was born too early and we believe is has a weak heart. He will never be able to -“ The healer was cut off by the wrath of Thranduil. He will BE ABLE to fight and be a warrior! I will NOT have my son so weak and fragile that he will be useless! The healer shook his head and simply said, ”You have no choice. If you make him overdo it, he will die.”
*******************
Legolas sat in his room, looking outside of his window. He watched as the people of Mirkwood walked back and forth, going in and out, enjoying life. The frail and pale elf rubbed his tired eyes then, slowly walking back towards his bed. It was pointless, really. Why did he make himself suffer so by watching everyone be happy? Perhaps it was the only way to get some sort of life inside of him. The Woodland Prince was frail, paler than alabaster, with blue tinted on his lips. Some say you could see the veins all throughout his body. Some said that you could count the bones in his ribs if he were to take off his tunic. Some said that the Woodland Prince died a long time ago and the line of Oropher was dead.
Of course, that rumor was false. Legolas was still alive, fighting to keep on living. It was hard though, when everyday he was getting hit around by his father. Useless; that was what he was called. He was useless because he couldn’t be a warrior, useless because he couldn’t be part of the council, useless because he couldn’t guard the boarders, and useless because he would never be a King. The healers often came by, mentioning how the son of Thranduil will most likely not make it even to one hundred years of age.
Today though, was his conception day. He actually turned one hundred. The only gift he had received that morning was a beating from his father, having the older elf frustrated because Legolas was unable to get dressed and get out of bed so early, but now he was dressed, just unable to walk that much. His heart would skip beats, sometimes not even beating, causing him to cough and gasp for air.
So here he was, alone on his day of birth, sitting on his bed. Perhaps it would go by quick. Perhaps a guard would check in on him? Perhaps.. no. He needed to get out; to be free. He needed to be what his father wished. The elf, with as much strength as he could, pushed himself out of bed, only to fall back on it and breathe hard. Well, this was certainly going to be harder than he thought. With closed eyes, he honestly waited for death to take him from this miserable place.
TAURIEL