By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG (hinting of violence)

Feedback: elf_master752@yahoo.com

Spoilers: Not really.

Disclaimer: Don’t own them, I’ll leave that to the Tolkien family and whoever. I make no profit either. The song "Belong" belongs (that sounds weird) to Chris Rice and his…people. Basically, it’s not mine.

Summary: Song-ficlette. Don’t know the real background, just something I thought up while listening to "Belong" by Chris Rice. Fill in the blanks for yourself of what you think might have happened. Basically, Legolas comes home after some kind of disaster and capture.

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Belong

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"Fading memories ignored,

I crawl across the forest floor,

Pool reflects an orphan child,

Dirty lost alone and wild.

Fatherless and nameless still,

Fallen heart and broken, will,

There ever be a place where I belong?"

Pain, such a small word, yet so burdensome to the body. Both physical and emotional, an ache that squeezes the breath from you. The body may recover from a wound, but a vulnerable heart and mind is so easily scarred.

He couldn’t stand, the agony was to much for him to bear alone. His last desire was to reach the forest. It used to offer so much comfort and assurance in his days among the leafy boughs. So long ago, so much heart ache and fear had he suffered since those happy days. They were but a vague memory now, nothing more than a hope, a dream long forgotten.

The trees, they were still there, the same tall, proud trees. Oh, how he longed for their fresh sent, to fall against them, to hear their song and feel their presence. Pulling himself painfully forward on his torn hands and knees he collapsed before a small pool of clear rainwater. He blinked at the reflection he saw.

How he had changed.

He recoiled, that was not him! It couldn’t be. Sunken cheeks, tear stained and bruised eyes looked back at him. His once vibrant flaxen hair, now limp and dirtied. No! No, no, no! His heart cried, soon followed by his tears, they wouldn’t except him, how could they if he could not stand to look upon himself? As good as an orphan. He didn’t belong here, not like this.

"I cower ‘neath the monster trees,

And try to stand on tired feet,

Gravity knocks me to the ground,

Where I give up,

Tears roll down."

He wrenched himself away from the pool and the ghastly ghost in the waters. With a few last jerking lunges he fell against the trunk of the first of the trees. The trees, they were so much larger, almost monstrous. His heart sunk lower, there was no song, no whisper of comfort, their sweeping boughs seemed to pull from him.

Rejection burned his mind, forcing himself to his feet to run, but gravity seemed to be an enemy of him as well. He fell heavily, his feet refusing to hold him. He couldn’t go on, if the trees rejected him, how could they ever take him back? He gave up, curling tightly in upon himself, choked sobs wracking his starved frame.

"I claw the dust and beg the end,

Curse the day that I began,

To hope there’d be a place where I belong."

He beat his fist against the rough bark of the tree. Why? Why had he ever been placed here? What good had he done but cause others - not to mention himself - pain. It had all been a mistake, a terrible mistake, the Valar had made when placing him here. Why did they have to be so cruel in offering him the false hope of a home? A place where he’d be welcome, always, no mater what he did. Or what was done to him.

"I hear a sound I recognize,

You lift my chin and seek my eyes,

Song of love You sing to me,

I ache to sing it back to Thee."

There was nothing left, what was holding him from releasing himself to the oblivion he had yearned for? He closed his eyes, ready to let himself fade, but a sound stopped him. Music? A melodious hum slowly filling the air.

A hand fell on his shaking shoulder, he jerked, but strangely not afraid. The hand moved to hold his chin, gently forcing him to raise his bowed head.

It could not be, how? Those deep, dark, fiercely loving eyes sought his own, so familiar, yet so distant in his memory.

The melody grew in gentle waves, soothing the hurts of his mind and body. The words were quiet, simple, but struck deep in his wounded soul. Oh, if only he could believe the words, to sing them with the conviction and beauty as he once had so many long ages ago.

"'Father love prepares a place,

Brother Jesus leads the way,

Follow to the place where you belong!'"

Ai! How he ached to sing with the beloved figure who sang them to him with so much strength and assurance.

"How did I miss this wondrous song?

The forest sang it all along,

‘River rinses all your shame

Father offers you His name.

Father Love prepares a home,

Brother Jesus leads you on,

Follow to the place where you belong!'"

The trees! They were singing once more! He could hear them again.

He brought his eyes to stare directly into the captivatingly warm ones of his father. Behind him stood his brother, full of unequaled happiness at finding his youngest sibling at last. Beside him stood a steed of dapple gray, with a silver mane, full and soft as satin.

"My son," His father’s eyes filled with tears of joy, "Oh my son! How I have waited for you. Come, we all have waited."

The arms of King Thranduil cradled his son protectively, carrying the younger to the gray, both immense elation and grief warred with each other at the sight of his thought to be lost son.

"'Father Love prepares a place,

Brother Jesus leads the way,

Follow to the place where you belong,

Follow to the place where you belong.’"

Mounting the horse of iron grey, the king hugged the elf to his chest. There would be no more grief, he would wipe away his son’s tears, and all would be well again. All would be well.