Voices In The Dark
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
16,630
Reviews:
193
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
16,630
Reviews:
193
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Nightmare of Memory
Title: Voices In The Dark
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Legolas/OC, Legolas/?
Rating: NC-17 (Just in case)
Warning: NCS, Mentions/Memories of child abuse, Self-Harm, WIP
Summery: Thranduil sends one of his sons to Imladris, fearing that the stresses of constant battle against the encroaching darkness may be too much for the young prince. Little does anyone know the prince's true state of mind...
Disclaimer: This wonderful world belongs to Tolkien. I'm just borrowing the characters for a time and adding a few of my own.
Author's note: Reviews will be greatly appreciated. Bear with me; it's my first time. Also, mental health tends to be a nebulous science in some aspects. Any inconsistencies will be attributed to the unknowns of elven physiology. Ha!
*This* denotes thought...or something to that effect.
Ki-fors: Here's your first 'squeek!' warning. A light 'squeek', but it's only the beginning...
Chapter Nine: Nightmare Of Memory
That night he ate in the hall as he had the evening before. While he would have rather remained in the quiet sanctuary of his rooms, he still felt the need to reassure others of his well-being. He was grateful over the fact that Master Saeldis wasn't in attendance, having sent a note saying he was immersed in paperwork and would have a tray sent up instead. Yet dinner was still a trying affair for it meant keeping up appearances. Back in Mirkwood everyone knew to leave him be, as a result of his obviously solitary nature; here it seemed they wouldn't treat him in the same fashion despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm for social affairs. He felt as if he were constantly being watched, the other elves keeping an eye on him, trying to initiate conversations he had no energy to participate in. If the intrusive spirits didn't drive him mad, this surely would.
Yet for once he was actually content to have Elanor's lively presence with him, for she was able to provide a happy, reassuring façade over an otherwise tired mind. If the others thought him in a strangely jovial, youthful mood, he paid no notice, even when Elrond commented on the possibility of over-consumption of the elven wine. The only annoying factor was that the young elleth seemed to be quite taken with the former Balrog slayer, and at one point almost started calling the bemused elf 'Glory' before Legolas caught her and pulled her back.
When supper was finally over he returned wearily to the peace and solitary comfort of his rooms. After checking to make sure none had entered while he was away, he bolted the doors. He was only half-conscious as he changed into his dark sleep clothes, Elanor having retreated herself to rest from the excitement of the evening, and he fell immediately into the depths of sleep upon his head striking the pillow. Unfortunately a peaceful night's rest was not forthcoming this night, for that was when the real nightmares began.
* * *
He had dropped the bottle of ink, the ceramic jar shattering in a pool of darkness with thousands of spatters resembling tiny glistening eyes staring up at him accusingly from the veined marble floor. Had he truly done it on purpose? Truth be told he couldn't tell. A part of him that feared Master Saeldis swore that he would never do such a thing. Another part, the voice of fury and insolence, would have done it for spite. However it happened, it was done, and he would be punished for it. There was no use in making excuses; in the past it had only made the punishments worse. His tutor always insisted the blame was solidly on the young elfling's shoulders. Nothing was an accident in his unyielding eyes.
Now that lessons were over, and his older brother had been excused to other pursuits, he approached the desk where his tutor sat, carefully placing his teaching implements into a brown leather satchel. He eyed the satchel warily, knowing that instruments of punishment were often found in there as well. Once he reached the front of the desk he stopped and waited for direction.
Master Saeldis looked up with a disapproving frown, his grey-green eyes glinting with barely concealed dislike. The elfling bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to remain still with his hands firmly at his sides and head facing straight ahead.
"Lock the door," Saeldis finally said, leisurely standing. The elfling hurried to obey. Once he securely bolted the door shut he turned back towards the heavy, wooden desk for further orders.
"Insolent little orc-spawn," Saeldis muttered as if to himself, but the elfling's sharp ears could hear him quite clearly. "Always causing trouble. You'd think I'd have beaten Morgoth's taint out of you by now.
"Against the desk and lift your tunic!" He commanded, his voice rising. The elfling quickly obeyed, rushing back across the room and slipping around behind the desk. As much as he longed to drag his feet, to fight and rail against what he knew was coming, it would only delay the inevitable. No help was coming; this he learned early on. Punishments for bad behavior was expected. His breathing quickened in fearful anticipation as he lifted his tunic over his shoulders and leaned over so his upper chest lay across the smooth surface, his cheek pressed against the cold, hard desktop.
"I believe you do this on purpose. You probably enjoy being punished. All dark creatures do." Saeldis pulled a leather strap from his satchel and flicked it twice in the air. The elfling still flinched from the sound of the piece of leather rushing by his pointed ear. He knew he should have been used to it by now; these beatings were a common enough occurrence. The tutor then stepped back and without hesitation began raining down swift blows onto the elfling's thin back. He didn't strike hard enough to break the skin, only to cause the flesh to redden and raise small welts on the exposed back. At first the pain didn't seem too terrible, more of a shock than any real hurt, but as the leather passed over already reddened skin, the pain increased. The elfling bit at his lip to keep from crying out. Making noises wasn't allowed, and would only make the pain worse.
The strapping paused briefly, and he felt the ties to his dark breeches being loosened, then the soft fabric dropping about his legs. Cool air bushed by the newly exposed flesh, and he shivered involuntarily. He could hear Saeldis chuckling darkly before continuing his ministrations on his tender backside. Again the elfling fought against the pain, even though his small hands clenched whitely and tears soon fell unwanted down his cheeks.
After a brief time the beatings stopped again. With relief the elfling thought his punishment was finally over. And yet he wouldn't rise until Master Sealdis bid him to. To do so would only cause the punishment to continue until he could learn to obey.
A cool hand brushed across this buttocks, which only caused the burning welts to ache more. Then Saeldis’ large body leaned up against him, pressing the edge of the desk into the elfling's stomach painfully. Worse, he could feel something hard pressing against his backside through the Tutor's robes.
A hand fisted in his long, sandy-gold hair, yanking his head back forcefully. The strained position made breathing difficult, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response.
"Evil balrog-spawn," the cruel voice spat in his ear. "You are nothing but filth, yet still you do this to me."
Another hand reached around to grab the small testicles hanging from between the elfling's now quivering legs and squeezed painfully. "I should remove these, and make sure your foulness stops here." The elfling bit back a whimper of fear, struggling not to move. He mustn't cry out, mustn't make a noise.
"Yet I won't," Saeldis continued with a malicious chuckle. "At least not today."
The hand in his hair relaxed, then forcefully shoved his face back down onto the firm desk. It wasn't hard enough to cause bruises to form on his face, but hard enough to daze him slightly. He felt the larger elf move away, the cold hand between his legs drop, but he didn't relax yet. He still hadn't been told he could rise, and the rustling of cloth told him his punishment wasn't over. After a few moments he once more felt something hard press against his backside, something flesh-like and warm. Fear hit him in a fresh wave, as thick and heavy as the desk beneath his cheek. He resisted against what he knew was coming, but the strong hand pressed to the back of his neck kept him from moving away. A long, pained sound finally escaped his lips. There would be no escape. At that moment of realization his terror overwhelmed him in a suffocating black cloak and with it his mind was released into nothingness.
* * *
The elfling slowly cleaned up the spilt ink and pottery off the marble with a bucket of water and a rag, both now stained black. He looked up from his work, seeing only the empty room around him. Master Saeldis had long since retired for the evening.
His back hurt with the remembered beating and between his legs he ached, a sharp pain blossoming every time he shifted position. Any blood had already been cleaned away, with only a slightly slippery feeling remaining, burning persistently at his torn body. Yet his mind veered away from that particular injury, becoming aware only of the pain from the lashing he'd received. There was nothing to remember. He wasn't even there at the time. Ravan had made sure of it.
Review Responses:
Crookis: Ooooh, making me go back and read what I've already posted, eh? Not fair! (grin) Anyway, most of the other personalities have spoken to him for a long time, including Ravan, (as mentioned briefly in chapter 4.) although Legolas might not have known exactly who they are or all their names. A partial co-consciousness sort of thing.
Eep: Well, your reviews make my day, so the feelings mutual. Thanks a bunch!
Zed: Terry Pratchett, eh? I haven't read his stuff yet, but have been meaning to. I actually work in a bookstore. So many books, so little time... (sigh)
I really haven't found much fiction dealing with the subject. I've been using the bios 'When Rabbit Howls' (that's where I got the idea of him not being the original) and 'First Person Plural' for many of my ideas, with some medical texts thrown in, and a little 'Broken Child' and 'Sybil' to round things out. The first two books are my favorites.
But your idea about the personalities being the ghosts of dead victims is really cool!
Daeoma: Thank you very much. Indeed, this story gets harder to write with every chapter, especially as various personalities make their motivations more and more clear. I'm still fearfully waiting for someone to write and say, 'I have DID and that's not how it works!' Hence my little author's note/disclaimer at the beginning. (grin)
Linauri: Thanks for the review! That was really nice. Top five? Wow. What have you been reading? (smirk)
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Legolas/OC, Legolas/?
Rating: NC-17 (Just in case)
Warning: NCS, Mentions/Memories of child abuse, Self-Harm, WIP
Summery: Thranduil sends one of his sons to Imladris, fearing that the stresses of constant battle against the encroaching darkness may be too much for the young prince. Little does anyone know the prince's true state of mind...
Disclaimer: This wonderful world belongs to Tolkien. I'm just borrowing the characters for a time and adding a few of my own.
Author's note: Reviews will be greatly appreciated. Bear with me; it's my first time. Also, mental health tends to be a nebulous science in some aspects. Any inconsistencies will be attributed to the unknowns of elven physiology. Ha!
*This* denotes thought...or something to that effect.
Ki-fors: Here's your first 'squeek!' warning. A light 'squeek', but it's only the beginning...
Chapter Nine: Nightmare Of Memory
That night he ate in the hall as he had the evening before. While he would have rather remained in the quiet sanctuary of his rooms, he still felt the need to reassure others of his well-being. He was grateful over the fact that Master Saeldis wasn't in attendance, having sent a note saying he was immersed in paperwork and would have a tray sent up instead. Yet dinner was still a trying affair for it meant keeping up appearances. Back in Mirkwood everyone knew to leave him be, as a result of his obviously solitary nature; here it seemed they wouldn't treat him in the same fashion despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm for social affairs. He felt as if he were constantly being watched, the other elves keeping an eye on him, trying to initiate conversations he had no energy to participate in. If the intrusive spirits didn't drive him mad, this surely would.
Yet for once he was actually content to have Elanor's lively presence with him, for she was able to provide a happy, reassuring façade over an otherwise tired mind. If the others thought him in a strangely jovial, youthful mood, he paid no notice, even when Elrond commented on the possibility of over-consumption of the elven wine. The only annoying factor was that the young elleth seemed to be quite taken with the former Balrog slayer, and at one point almost started calling the bemused elf 'Glory' before Legolas caught her and pulled her back.
When supper was finally over he returned wearily to the peace and solitary comfort of his rooms. After checking to make sure none had entered while he was away, he bolted the doors. He was only half-conscious as he changed into his dark sleep clothes, Elanor having retreated herself to rest from the excitement of the evening, and he fell immediately into the depths of sleep upon his head striking the pillow. Unfortunately a peaceful night's rest was not forthcoming this night, for that was when the real nightmares began.
* * *
He had dropped the bottle of ink, the ceramic jar shattering in a pool of darkness with thousands of spatters resembling tiny glistening eyes staring up at him accusingly from the veined marble floor. Had he truly done it on purpose? Truth be told he couldn't tell. A part of him that feared Master Saeldis swore that he would never do such a thing. Another part, the voice of fury and insolence, would have done it for spite. However it happened, it was done, and he would be punished for it. There was no use in making excuses; in the past it had only made the punishments worse. His tutor always insisted the blame was solidly on the young elfling's shoulders. Nothing was an accident in his unyielding eyes.
Now that lessons were over, and his older brother had been excused to other pursuits, he approached the desk where his tutor sat, carefully placing his teaching implements into a brown leather satchel. He eyed the satchel warily, knowing that instruments of punishment were often found in there as well. Once he reached the front of the desk he stopped and waited for direction.
Master Saeldis looked up with a disapproving frown, his grey-green eyes glinting with barely concealed dislike. The elfling bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to remain still with his hands firmly at his sides and head facing straight ahead.
"Lock the door," Saeldis finally said, leisurely standing. The elfling hurried to obey. Once he securely bolted the door shut he turned back towards the heavy, wooden desk for further orders.
"Insolent little orc-spawn," Saeldis muttered as if to himself, but the elfling's sharp ears could hear him quite clearly. "Always causing trouble. You'd think I'd have beaten Morgoth's taint out of you by now.
"Against the desk and lift your tunic!" He commanded, his voice rising. The elfling quickly obeyed, rushing back across the room and slipping around behind the desk. As much as he longed to drag his feet, to fight and rail against what he knew was coming, it would only delay the inevitable. No help was coming; this he learned early on. Punishments for bad behavior was expected. His breathing quickened in fearful anticipation as he lifted his tunic over his shoulders and leaned over so his upper chest lay across the smooth surface, his cheek pressed against the cold, hard desktop.
"I believe you do this on purpose. You probably enjoy being punished. All dark creatures do." Saeldis pulled a leather strap from his satchel and flicked it twice in the air. The elfling still flinched from the sound of the piece of leather rushing by his pointed ear. He knew he should have been used to it by now; these beatings were a common enough occurrence. The tutor then stepped back and without hesitation began raining down swift blows onto the elfling's thin back. He didn't strike hard enough to break the skin, only to cause the flesh to redden and raise small welts on the exposed back. At first the pain didn't seem too terrible, more of a shock than any real hurt, but as the leather passed over already reddened skin, the pain increased. The elfling bit at his lip to keep from crying out. Making noises wasn't allowed, and would only make the pain worse.
The strapping paused briefly, and he felt the ties to his dark breeches being loosened, then the soft fabric dropping about his legs. Cool air bushed by the newly exposed flesh, and he shivered involuntarily. He could hear Saeldis chuckling darkly before continuing his ministrations on his tender backside. Again the elfling fought against the pain, even though his small hands clenched whitely and tears soon fell unwanted down his cheeks.
After a brief time the beatings stopped again. With relief the elfling thought his punishment was finally over. And yet he wouldn't rise until Master Sealdis bid him to. To do so would only cause the punishment to continue until he could learn to obey.
A cool hand brushed across this buttocks, which only caused the burning welts to ache more. Then Saeldis’ large body leaned up against him, pressing the edge of the desk into the elfling's stomach painfully. Worse, he could feel something hard pressing against his backside through the Tutor's robes.
A hand fisted in his long, sandy-gold hair, yanking his head back forcefully. The strained position made breathing difficult, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response.
"Evil balrog-spawn," the cruel voice spat in his ear. "You are nothing but filth, yet still you do this to me."
Another hand reached around to grab the small testicles hanging from between the elfling's now quivering legs and squeezed painfully. "I should remove these, and make sure your foulness stops here." The elfling bit back a whimper of fear, struggling not to move. He mustn't cry out, mustn't make a noise.
"Yet I won't," Saeldis continued with a malicious chuckle. "At least not today."
The hand in his hair relaxed, then forcefully shoved his face back down onto the firm desk. It wasn't hard enough to cause bruises to form on his face, but hard enough to daze him slightly. He felt the larger elf move away, the cold hand between his legs drop, but he didn't relax yet. He still hadn't been told he could rise, and the rustling of cloth told him his punishment wasn't over. After a few moments he once more felt something hard press against his backside, something flesh-like and warm. Fear hit him in a fresh wave, as thick and heavy as the desk beneath his cheek. He resisted against what he knew was coming, but the strong hand pressed to the back of his neck kept him from moving away. A long, pained sound finally escaped his lips. There would be no escape. At that moment of realization his terror overwhelmed him in a suffocating black cloak and with it his mind was released into nothingness.
* * *
The elfling slowly cleaned up the spilt ink and pottery off the marble with a bucket of water and a rag, both now stained black. He looked up from his work, seeing only the empty room around him. Master Saeldis had long since retired for the evening.
His back hurt with the remembered beating and between his legs he ached, a sharp pain blossoming every time he shifted position. Any blood had already been cleaned away, with only a slightly slippery feeling remaining, burning persistently at his torn body. Yet his mind veered away from that particular injury, becoming aware only of the pain from the lashing he'd received. There was nothing to remember. He wasn't even there at the time. Ravan had made sure of it.
Review Responses:
Crookis: Ooooh, making me go back and read what I've already posted, eh? Not fair! (grin) Anyway, most of the other personalities have spoken to him for a long time, including Ravan, (as mentioned briefly in chapter 4.) although Legolas might not have known exactly who they are or all their names. A partial co-consciousness sort of thing.
Eep: Well, your reviews make my day, so the feelings mutual. Thanks a bunch!
Zed: Terry Pratchett, eh? I haven't read his stuff yet, but have been meaning to. I actually work in a bookstore. So many books, so little time... (sigh)
I really haven't found much fiction dealing with the subject. I've been using the bios 'When Rabbit Howls' (that's where I got the idea of him not being the original) and 'First Person Plural' for many of my ideas, with some medical texts thrown in, and a little 'Broken Child' and 'Sybil' to round things out. The first two books are my favorites.
But your idea about the personalities being the ghosts of dead victims is really cool!
Daeoma: Thank you very much. Indeed, this story gets harder to write with every chapter, especially as various personalities make their motivations more and more clear. I'm still fearfully waiting for someone to write and say, 'I have DID and that's not how it works!' Hence my little author's note/disclaimer at the beginning. (grin)
Linauri: Thanks for the review! That was really nice. Top five? Wow. What have you been reading? (smirk)