A/N: Yay! New story! Hope you all like it! Unlike the other story, "The Wounds a Heart Can Bear", this is a WIP. So please don't come after me with a mob if updates aren't fast coming. There will be periods when I'll be supplying fast, and some where there's either a mental block or lack of inspiration. These things happen.
I hope the first chapter is long enough for you!
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings isn't mine. Legolas isn't mine. The world sux.
Hello. I see you've managed to find my story. I consider that amazing, seeing as there are possibly over a million poems, journals, fanfictions and random articles out there that are all being read by nearly everyone on the face of this earth. If you didn't know, that's a lot of people and a lot of words being thrown out there, so I applaud you for finding this.
This is my story. I may sound extremely mellow and depressing at the moment, but all I'm doing is stating a fact. There's really no need to get excited over it. I could pretend to be bouncy and preppy and all that jazz, but that's really not who I am. I'm going to tell you this my way, with my sarcasm and my sense of humor. And if my sense doesn't match yours…then that's too bad, and you can go to the site that has a bunch of hopping, squealing fangirls (really, I don't know how you can squeal on the internet…) and join them.
If you're like me, a quiet, deep, dark and mysterious woman, then come on in and stay awhile. Get comfortable. I've got a story to tell. I've also got beverages, if you want them. No? All right.
I guess there's really no place to start but the beginning….
You may call me crazy; you may call me totally phsyco. That's all right. Everyone does. But I swear that it's true. I'm not a liar; I normally don't do it. What's the point of telling false tales if you're only going to get found out anyway? And by then you'd be in a lot more trouble than you would be if you had simply told the truth from the start. No, lying's not for me, so I'm not going to do it now.
Before I get to the extremely weird part, I'll introduce my life, just to set some background to start with. I don't want to thrust this at you; you'll never catch it if you don't have solid footing. Let's start with the basics:
My name is Kyla. Don't start telling me how weird a name that is; I know. You never see anybody walking around with the name Kyla. But I wanted something different, something exotic, so I changed it. My real name, my original name, is Mortisha. Would you like a name like that? No. I thought not. I'm not part of the Adams family or anything, so I don't need the name Mortisha. (For all you Mortishas out there, I pity you, unless you actually favor the name. To each her own.)
Anyway, that's my name. Kyla Edana. My last name is at least something I like that was given to me at birth. It means 'zealous' or 'fiery' in some other language. I'm not sure which. I looked it up on the internet once. It doesn't exactly fit me (except on rare occasions normally including nearly seven bottles of beer) but I'm not complaining.
I live in San Diego. I didn't move there by choice, it just happened that way. I'm currently sharing a small two-bedroom apartment with another girl named Fran. We both share the rent as well. Although, in the time frame of my story, I didn't have a job and was falling behind on my half of the rent. Fran says to everyone who cared to listen that I was fired, but I prefer the term "quit". You try working in a Wal-Mart. See where that gets you mentally and emotionally.
Fran just doesn't get that. Put on high-pitched, annoying voice: "Kyla, why don't you get a job? I'm not going to pay this rent all on my own. You wanna live on the streets? I can kick you out, you know."
God, that girl can get to me sometimes. Basically, while Fran went to work as a local newspaper reporter at around eight a.m., I slept until eleven, then "rose from the dead" and set to work searching for a job in either the paper or on the internet. That's another thing that bugged me. Fran threatened my computer privileges when she was extremely ticked off about my whole getting a job and everything. I can't live without my machine. That's fact.
Because, to tell you the truth, I didn't just look for jobs. I surfed, I updated, I reviewed, and I searched for updates. I'm the member of more sites than I can count. I thrive off of information, whether fictional or not.
And, occasionally, I looked at whatever Fran's been doing on her own desktop. I look at the sites she has listed and check them out. Don't call it prying or anything, simply call me curious. And don't start talking about dead cats or anything having to do with curiosity. Stupidity was the one that killed the cat. Curiosity was just framed.
This girl was a complete nutter. She was the member of Tolkien sites and Lord of the Rings crap, also sites that had the theme of only one of the cast or characters. Mostly this "Legolas" dude. There were bright and sparkly WebPages with the words "Greenleaf" and "Fair prince" all over, with flashy colors and guestbooks with the same squealy fangirls I abhor. Ugh. How could she like these sites, let alone become the member of one? Double ugh.
I've heard of the movies, of course, and Fran has the books, but I never really wanted to read/watch them at all. They looked extremely boring. That's not the way I am. More than once Fran's crashed on the couch and yelled for me to come into the living room to watch with her. Watch what? The "Lord of the Rings" of course. The first time I refused, then kept refusing as she kept badgering me about it. Now I don't even respond.
It's unhealthy, the way she's obsessed over it. So obsessed that I've even found sites she's the member to, even submitted to, that's reserved only for the sake of Legolas fanfiction! It should be illegal to be that dedicated to one subject or person, especially if that person is fictional. And she's the member of a few Orlando Bloom sites, and the members there are just as obsessed. If poor Mr. Bloom ever caught sight of what the girls were writing about him, he'd run for the hills screaming at the top of his pretty lungs. Hell, they even have him hooked with another guy. Complete whackos, if you ask me.
I guess that's all I have to say on the background. Ah, yes, almost forgot; my family hates and/or refuses to talk to me for the rest of my life. It's because of what happened to my little brother….it's the reason I became withdrawn and bitter, the reason I'm now some depressed goth. But I won't tell you what happened to my bro right now. It'll come up later. I always hate bringing it up…it's too painful. So let's just move on.
I hope I haven't bored you yet, for the exciting part's about to come. I'll simply tell you what happened: Legolas got transported into my living room.
No, wait! Don't go! It may sound stupid, but really, it happened! Just give me a chance to tell you how it happened. I would appreciate it if you would simply listen, give me a chance. Sit down; I don't want to be afraid of you running off in the middle of my story. Yes, easy now. Good. Now I'll continue.
It was a normal day. Honestly, it was. Cheesy beginning, but it's all I got. Anyway, I woke up at my usual eleven o' clock in the morning, I walked into my same kitchen with the same cruddy mess all over the counter, made the same coffee in the same coffee maker, and sat down at the same rickety table. "Same" is such a boring word, don't you think? One syllable, one meaning: usual, boring crap that never changes.
I grabbed the paper and sifted through the job listings, as I did every morning, sipping at my coffee at the same time. There's that word again. Same. Heck, I hardly read the descriptions thoroughly anymore. I just glance over it and head for the comics. It might not get me anywhere, but that's life, or mine, at least.
After my coffee's done, I slap the paper onto the counter along with the remains of the newspapers from the entire week, making the pile on the counter an even bigger mess, and trudge into the other room, where the computer sits in the corner. I turn it on, and get to "work". I began the usual stuff: updating, checking, writing. Over and over again, in a cycle. It keeps me occupied; once I'm bored of one thing I move to another. That's how it goes. I didn't suspect anything to be different that day.
Of course, I've heard of magic and illusions and other crap like that, but I never believed in it. Who does? Everybody, even children, know that magicians are relying on clever manipulations of light and solid form. It's not real magic. But I got a taste of real magic that day, you could say.
How do you expect a person to appear when they've been transported from one world to the next? Right side up, right? On their feet? Not the case today.
First I became aware of an odd sensation of energy that left the hair on my arms standing on end. It felt as if all the particles of magnetic force were being invisibly drawn towards the center of the room. The lights dimmed; the computer screen flickered. I had no idea what was going on, and, frankly, I was terrified to say the least. The objects in the room began vibrating—yes, vibrating, I could hear them all rattling—and papers began flying. It was like an indoor vortex. By now I had dived for the floor and was covering my head in my arms, hoping the event would soon pass.
It did with a brilliant flash of light, and the papers fluttered to the floor, the lights came back on only to fizz out, and the computer gave an ominous sizzle. There was a loud bang and a crash, and I thought I heard the cry of someone that'd been hurt. Of course, after something like that happens to someone, they're not going to just hop up, brush themselves off, and say, "Well, back to life!" No duh they're not.
I sure wasn't. I'm not sure how long I stayed prone on the floor, but it seemed like an eternity to me. Finally, I uncovered my head and sat up, carefully peering around at the now cluttered room. Other than the huge and totally unexpected mess, everything seemed normal. My heart rate gradually slowed down and I began to relax. In my relief, I didn't bother trying to think of how that could have happened.
Relief then turned to fear as I saw another form beginning to rise from the sea of papers and worthless junk. I sat, immobilized, as the lean shape of a man straightened and slowly, cautiously, it seemed, began to raise itself up onto outstretched arms. My first thought was: How the hell did he get in here? I would have grabbed something to throw at him had he not then raised his head, revealing his features.
"Oh, shit," I whispered incredulously, unconsciously backing against the wall. I could have recognized that face anywhere: it was all over Fran's walls, her notebooks, her diary (not that I had read it…), and her websites. The features that the entire world of fangirls dreamed about was on the face of this man—or elf, I should say.
Yup, you guessed it. The person sitting in front of me was none other than Mr. Legolas Greenleaf himself. How is one supposed to react to what they thought was a fictional character suddenly appearing in the middle of the room by an unknown freak of nature? What was I supposed to do? Kick him out? Invite him to sit down and have a glass of milk and cookies? Was I supposed to move, for one? Because I had felt like I was carved from stone. All I could do was stare.
He apparently hadn't noticed me yet. He was gazing around at the room with a look of confusion and slight apprehension. He also seemed a bit dazed and disoriented. Well, I couldn't blame him. Transporting from one world to the next must be dizzying! Of course, I've never done it, so how would I know?
When he turned his head, I saw the bright red mark of a wound on the left side of his forehead, just above his temple. Blood was running down the side of his face. Really, I found out what had happened later. He had appeared hovering nearly four feet above the floor, horizontally, and when he fell, his head had been clipped on the corner of a table. Not a very comfortable way of being transported, but hey, it's a way to get around, I guess.
When I saw the wound, a motherly instinct rose within me. After all, I'd been that way with my little brother, before he…And I'd learned all of my skills from a course taken in high school. I had had the highest scores in the class. I knew that an injury like that could fester if it wasn't taken care of properly.
That was what roused me into motion. I slowly got to my knees, brushing aside bits of paper as I rose. The slight noise caught his attention, and his head whipped around, his sapphire eyes meeting mine. Jeez, I've never seen anyone so scared. He stared at me like I was the walking dead or something. There was an…instinctual aura around him, and he was tense, as if he would bolt like a deer if I made any movement whatsoever.
Truthfully, I pitied him. It must have scared the crap out of him to be suddenly sent to a world unfamiliar, not to mention extremely overwhelming. For that reason, I slowly got to my feet, holding my hands out in a reassuring manner. He stood in an instant, that very movement made graceful by his natural elegance, his slim body still tense and his eyes flicking the interior of the room, as if searching for a way to escape.
"Shh…Don't run, it's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered, at the same time taking a step forward. He didn't move, only watched me with bright, deep, sapphire eyes. I felt like I was approaching a frightened horse, the way we both acted. I carefully took another step towards him. He still didn't move. Perhaps he was unsure whether to accept me or run away from me. The uncertainty kept him rooted, however, and, encouraged, I came a bit closer.
I had heard tales (too many, if you ask me) from Fran about the character of Legolas. I'd heard so many things having to do with his bravery and courage, his skills and his drop-dead gorgeous looks. Right now, except for the drop-dead gorgeous looks, he fitted none of those descriptions. What I saw in front of me was not a god, as so many fangirls referred to him as; what I saw was a poor creature that was confused, hurt, scared and looking to be in desperate need of tenderness.
Odd enough, but I wanted to be the one to give it to him.
When I was about three feet away from him, I reached out with my hand, carefully, hoping not to scare him away. Before my fingertips could even graze his arm, he flinched back. I jumped at the sudden movement, lightning quick as it was, and snapped my hand back in surprise. We gazed at each other for a long moment, neither of us moving.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I repeated softly, hoping my voice would soothe him. He didn't respond, only stared. Again, I reached out, but this time he let me touch his arm. He hardly moved as I slid it upwards to rest on his shoulder. When my palm rested on his slim shoulder, I realized that there were slight quavers shaking his body. He was trembling. Damn, this poor guy must have been freaked.
"Calm down, it's alright," I whispered, gently turning his head to gaze at the wound on the side of his head. He closed his eyes as he let me maneuver his position to see the cut easier, and he deepened his breathing, obviously trying to do as I said and ease his nerves.
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice almost too soft to be audible. Despite the shaking in his body, his voice was steady, flat.
"You're…" I paused, wondering what to tell him. First of all, I didn't know whether to believe that he was really Legolas or not. I mean, he looked like the guy pasted on the walls of Fran's room, but was it really him? And how the hell did he appear in my apartment? Since when did God want to screw me over like this? I was only Kyla, the girl that had no job, had no life. Why would this happen to someone like me? There were billions of other people on this earth; why weren't they messed with?
Then again, maybe because nothing was happening in my life, God decided to send me this little gift: my very own Legolas. Sure, he was in need of a bit of repair, and he obviously was frightened beyond what would be believed to be emotionally healthy, but he was still at my mercy. My mercy…that sounds so ugly, when I really am a compassionate person. So let's say he was under my care.
And because I wanted him to trust me and relax, I wasn't about to give him the first impression of me as a liar.
"You're in San Diego, California," I replied calmly. A look of confusion passed over "Legolas'" face (remember, I didn't know whether to believe it was really him or not) and he opened his eyes.
"I've never heard of that place…" he murmured, glancing around the room again. "Is it near Harad? I've never really explored that territory." Now it was my turn to be confused. What the hell was Harad?
"Um…I don't think it's near Harad," I said carefully, releasing his face once I'd gotten a good estimation of the extent of the damage for his injury. "But…can you come with me to the kitchen? I can help you clean up your wound."
It was an abrupt change of subject, and I knew that. I didn't know what the heck he was talking about, so I changed the subject. It's like a defense mechanism, you could say. He nodded anyway, though, and I brushed past him to the door, stepping over the odd bits and ends that had ended up on the floor through his arrival. Now really wasn't the time to think on what had happened. Now was the time to help him with his injury and get him a bit more settled before speaking on the matter. He followed me to the door, but then stopped before he stepped over the threshold, his wary eyes taking in what he could see from the doorway.
I halted when I realized he wasn't following me anymore. "There's nothing to be afraid of," I called back, and I could just feel the itch over my eyebrow that wanted me to raise it in a sarcastic gesture.
He didn't reply, only let his gaze sweep over the hallway from where he was standing. I bit back an impatient sigh. "I know you're frightened, but you can trust me, Legolas." The name slipped out by mistake. I hadn't meant to do it.
His eyes flew to me instantly, and they widened in what seemed to be astonishment and disbelief mingled with fear and caution. "How…how did you…?" he spluttered, clearly struggling to form a coherent sentence. I shook my head, allowing a sigh past my lips.
"It's a long story that you'll find out later," I said, holding out my hand in a beckoning motion. "But come with me. That injury isn't going to get better with you just standing there." He nodded and stepped through the door, following me down the hall. He stared at everything we passed, not touching anything but the carpet he tread over. He seemed not to recognize anything, not even the lamps, and there was honest curiosity and wonder in his eyes when I flicked the switch to turn on the kitchen lights overhead.
I observed him carefully as he stood in the center of the kitchen, visually drinking everything in. I pretended to be busy with gathering the necessary items from one of the cabinets, but I was really looking at him the entire time from the corner of my eye. What else was I to think but that the being standing in the middle of my kitchen was Legolas? There really was no other logical answer. I had no idea how he came to be in my apartment, or why, or even what I was supposed to do now.
I guessed one step at a time, like my brother used to say.
Shaking my head to rid it of painful memories, I overturned the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and let it soak into the cloth I held in my left hand. Once there was enough of the substance in the fabric, I turned to Legolas, who had been currently staring at the coffee maker like it was a cobra with wings and two hoofed feet.
"Hey," I said to get his attention. He turned to me, and I showed him the cloth before pressing it to his head. I didn't want to startle him with anything; this was clearly unusual (such a lovely word!) and frightening for him and I didn't want to make it any worse.
Legolas flinched and hissed softly as the cloth came in contact with his wound. I winced slightly in sympathy as I began cleaning the cut as gently as I could. He soon forgot about the pain and wrinkled his nose distastefully as the strong smell of the hydrogen peroxide penetrated his senses.
"What is that?" he asked. Despite his uneasiness of the situation, he clearly was still in possession of his sense of curiosity.
"Hydrogen peroxide," I replied. "It's for medicinal purposes. It cleans out any bacteria that may be festering within a cut." He obviously had never heard of it, for the look on his face, but he held back any other questions he had.
I finished cleaning the wound and wiped the blood from the side of his face before placing a patch over the injury. He gingerly touched the bandaged cut with his fingertips, then dropped his hand. I began cleaning up the supplies I had used and put them away in the cupboard.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "By the way, you haven't yet told me your name." I turned to look at him and met his eyes. Like twin pools of sapphire, I mused, sparkling and…deep with experience.
I'm not exactly sure what occurred within the next few seconds, but it seemed as if something clicked deep in my mind. My vision darkened, and I suddenly felt…wiser, older, as if I were a thousand years old, yet at the same time still young and vigorous. I felt as if time had slowed down, nearly come to an abrupt halt and continue on at a snail's pace. My senses were thrown outward, and everything was sharper. But most of all, I caught snatches of conversations I couldn't follow, some of them even in languages I couldn't understand or name, and the feelings that were garnered by the flitting voices going through my head.
And as sudden as it had come, it stopped. I swayed a bit and grabbed the edge of the counter for support. Legolas was still standing in the same place, still watching me, and he didn't seem surprised at all at my behavior. I had no idea what had just occurred, and the fact that he seemed to know made me blink. I could read it in his gaze…he knew.
"My…my name's Kyla," I managed to gasp, composing myself enough to release the counter and stand on my own. Legolas smiled for the first time; it was small and brief, but it seemed to light his face for the moment. Whoa, why did he suddenly look so good?
"Kyla," he repeated, as if testing the word. He stepped forward, his movements like liquid, and took my hand. He bowed while gently placing his lips on its knuckles. I felt my eyebrows rise. No man had ever bowed to me before, let alone kiss my hand.
"'Tis a pleasure meeting you, Kyla," he said as he straightened. "I believe you are already aware of my identity, so I will spare you the introduction." I couldn't say anything, only nod dumbly.
Well, if I was stuck with this guy (or elf) for unknown reasons, at least he's a complete gentleman! I felt blessed. All the guys I had been with either treated me as a piece of their property or simply disrespectfully, as if it was their right just because I was their girlfriend. This was a nice change.
Damn, I must have been the luckiest gal in the world! My very own Lego-sue!
Well, should I keep going? Reviews most welcome! Tell me what you think; constructive criticism, praises, I can handle. But NO flaming, please! Thank you! -grin-