Voices In The Dark

Title: Voices In The Dark
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Legolas/OC, Legolas/?
Rating: NC-17 (Just in case)
Warning: NCS, Mentions/Memories of chibusebuse, 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.
And thank you Linauri for pre-readi

Chapter Ten: Little Discoveries


The next two days passed by fairly uneventfully. Legolas himself passed a third night thankfully bereft of dreams after the disturbing nightmare the evening before. He had woken from the horrifying dream in the pre-dawn darkness huddled into a tight ball, body trembling with a feeling more intense than fear. His blankets had been tossed from the large bed in a rumpled heap, and his cheeks were streaked with unchecked tears. This nightmare had seemed more substantial than the orc dream, and had taken him several long moments to be able to shake himself free of its tight clutches. When his mind had finally cleared enough for movement he crept slowly from the bed, stumbling to the washroom like one roughly aged. His back hurt, as if in some sort of psychosomatic response to the pain of the past. Leaning over the washbasin, he splashed the cool water over his face, attempting to relieve himself of the last dregs of memory. Had it really happened? And where was the missing piece of the nightmare that had been thankfully skipped over? Would he have to relive that as well? A foul feeling of corruption had been with him for time remembering, yet now it was coated by a new layer of grime and disgust, one that was going to require more than simple bathing to cleanse away. Dream or memory, the implications were powerful.

So he had steadied himself, pushing the dream away from his immediate thoughts, wiping away the last traces of tears and binding his tangled hair up into some semblance of order before returning to the main room. A change of clothes were pulled out of the wardrobe, a sack of bathing supplies gathered, and a loose, grey robe thrown on over his disheveled sleep-clothes. He had then hurried through the early morning darkness to the heated comfort of the bathhouse, thankful for the fact that it was still too early for any others to be about.

Once in the locked privacy of the steam-filled room he lit several lamps, immersing the room in a soft, hazy glow. He then proceeded to methodically strip off his upper garments and the bandage from his arm, revealing the mass of shiny pink and dark purple scar tissue that comprised over half his back. The scars wrapped around his right side, over his strong shoulder and pectoral before tracing deep ridges down one lithely muscled arm. Next he fumbled with the ties of his pants until he was able to loosen and pull them off, exposing more thick, leathery tissue running across his firm right buttock and down his muscular thigh, ending just above the knee.

After the fire these wounds should have fully healed, disappearing without leaving a mark to tell of the incident, yet the scarring remained, growing thickly over the several years that had followed. Somehow, probably due to his highly solitary nature, he was able to convince the healers he had fully recovered. He despised the horrible marks, and took the leathery scars as a sign of his corruption, as it appeared in patches equivalent to the tough skin of an orc. Thankfully it wasn't debilitating in movement due to his diligent care, only grotesque in appearance.

Legolas had entered the water, its nearly painful heat instantly causing a red flush to cast itself over his skin. Immediately he had attempted to scrub himself clean of the dream whose remnants clung to him as persistently as the scars fused to his flesh. Sand, stone, and harsh soap were used upon his body until the imaginary pain from the lashing had disappeared under a new pain, and the fresher scar along his arm split, crimson drops of blood welling up then vanishing into the ardent water.

*Not only am I corrupted by Morgoth's taint, but by these foul visions as well,* he had thought despairingly, finally resting in the heated pool with his head bowed against the stone. While he felt far from purified, he had known it was futile to make any further attempt at scrubbing away the feeling of foulness. He could scrub off his skin, and it still wouldn't suffice.

"I must truly be mad to think Master Saeldis would ever do such things to me," he murmured to himself, taking in deep breaths to settle himself. "I am cursed with madness, that is all. My mind is making it all up. None of this is real."

Denial was a fiercely strong, familiar emotion, and a worthy defense against thoughts he wished no part of. With those words he concentrated on pushing the dark dreams back away from his mind, unmindful of the now concerned voices suggesting to him that doing so was a bad idea. The voices had previously been still, waiting for the final outcome of his panic. All were aware of the dream/memory, yet each assimilated it in their own way, mostly by some form of denial, as Legolas seemed to be doing. As everyone believed themselves to be a separate entity, completely independent from each other, what happened to one didn't necessarily happen to the other. Only Ravan fully realized the truth: what happened to one, happened to all. This dream had been Oiolaire's memory, one of many horrifying events the small child carried, and yet unable to fade from the resulting pain as the others had. That was why he was in keeping of the strongest memories. Unquestionably Ravan was aware of what would happen should all the memories resurface, and full realization finally hit. Oiolaire couldn't fade, but the rest certainly could. He knew, and he was counting on it.

* * *

"I am curious over your time spent in Mirkwood," Elrond began during the mid-day meal on the second day. He had invited the Mithlond emissary to stay for a light repast following a morning discussing more trade negotiations. Fresh herbed bread, cheese, sliced venison, and a light wine had been brought up from the kitchens to his study, and both elves sat comfortably to partake of the meal. He had hoped to draw Master Saeldis into conversation that might lead to more information regarding his years spent with the Mirkwood prince.

"How long did you dwell there?" he asked, handing the other elf a goblet of light white wine.

"I was born in one of the outlying villages," Saeldis answered, accepting the offered cup. "It was destroyed while I was still young, and I was adopted into another family. They raised me until I finally moved on to work at Thranduil's keep.

"It must have been very difficult losing your parents so young," Elrond sympathized. He understood the terror and uncertainty of losing one's family. He and his brother Elros had been stolen away from their parents and raised by another until their majority. Their mother had flung herself into the cool embrace of the sea, and their father continued to sail the stars far above Arda's surface.

"Yes. It was." Saeldis responded with a frown, reaching for a piece of still steaming bread. He could recall the event as vividly as if it had happened mere days ago instead of centuries. He had watched his parents and elder brother perish in a vicious orc attack, back during the days when Sauron first dwelled in Dol Guldor, before Mithrandir drove him east into the wilds. Hiding in a small, dark cupboard where his mother had concealed him away, he had watched through a tiny crack while the rest of his family was torn apart by the evil creatures and listened to the screams of pain and fear that still haunted his nightmares. He had huddled in shock and horror as his mother and brother were foully used before finally welcoming death at the points of their ill-equipped blades. It was a memory he wished he could forget, but time would not allow him such a reprieve.

"So you became a tutor?" Elrond quarried, pulling the emissary back from his dark thoughts. He had noted the haunted look suffusing Saeldis’ eyes, and knew the memory must have been a terrible one. It was always a tragedy to lose a loved one, and felt it must be even more so to lose one's entire family. At least he had had his twin brother with him during his own dark days.

"Yes," Saeldis replied with a slight nod. "I began as a scribe, then worked my way through the ranks until I was teaching King Thranduil's children. I have always held a fondness for history and figures."

Elrond detected the hint of a wistful tone in the former tutor's usually stern voice. "So you taught all the children?"

"No," Saeldis shook his head, taking a bite of the savory bread and swallowing before continuing. "Only Telpeur. And Legolas; the two eldest."

Elrond noted the wry twist of his lips as Saeldis spoke the second-born's name. There was a definite dislike present on the part of the former tutor, and Elrond wondered whether its origins were founded by the fire, or existed long before the seemingly infamous incident.

"Was it due to the fire that you only taught those two?" he asked curiously.

Now Saeldis definitely scowled, his grey-green eyes glinting in both anger and abhorrence, his meal momentarily forgotten. "I still maintain that that elf is touched by some sort of dark madness, perhaps even possessed by some sort of evil spirit. I did not wish to stay in a place where Legolas was allowed free rein. He did almost kill me, after all."

"Did you inform King Thranduil of this?"

"What would I say? That his son is mad? I think not. He may not have spent much time with his son, but he still cared for him, and wouldn't let any speak ill of his precious children." Elrond could sense a long resentment in his tone, but whether at Legolas or his father, it was hard to say.

"Yet Thranduil obviously became concerned enough to send him here. Will you tell me more of this madness? I wish to help him, if possible."

Saeldis nodded, his eyes now shining with some undefined emotion that hinted at some hidden madness of his own. Elrond noted this with unease, wondering what kind of creature this elf had become to foster such strange hatred all these years, the definite cause of which still remained uncertain.

"An admirable goal," Saeldis said, "but at this juncture I believe futile. The corruption is deep. He speaks to those no one sees, and at times is possessed by foul demons. It has been this way since he was but a small elfling."

"Yet I still must make the attempt. I would be remiss in my vows as a healer did I not try."

"Then I wish you luck in your endeavor," Saeldis said with finality. The rest of their meal resumed in silence, leaving Elrond still in a quandary. What would be the cause of this madness that had been spoken of? Surely some inherent evil was possible, yet he hadn't seen or heard anything that would point a definite finger in that direction. Madness could come in many forms, with many causes. As with all opinions, Elrond took Saeldis’ comments with a grain of salt, knowing there was always two sides to every story. Even the wisest of teachers made mistakes in judgment, although as time progressed he began to wonder more and more of this strange madness the former tutor hinted at.

* * *

Glorfindel's attempts at conversing with the foreign scouts met with little more success. He was pleased to find that they seemed very protective over their prince, but it also meant they were quite recalcitrant when anything was said that might discredit him. He noted with interest that every time he brought up the subject, they would either cast furtive glances at the source of his query, or at Laurerána, their second in command. She stood nearly a full head shorter than her fellows, but made up for her stature in sheer vivacity. A fearsome warrior, and although well trained in the art of knife combat as many of her brethren seemed to be, her skills with a glaive were unmatched by any.

It was as they were finishing sparring for the day that he finally caught up with her, gathering up stray weaponry to place back in the armory for safekeeping. Legolas had disappeared, which no one seemed to take undue notice of. When he commented on it, the other Mirkwood elves just shrugged and went about their business as if such a thing were normal. Glorfindel had considered following to discover where he went off to, but stayed back when he saw the opportunity to talk with Laurerána.

"I would speak with you," he told her, helping gather up several wooden swords and double-bladed glaives. Although not sharp, such weapons in practiced hands could be just as lethal as their metal brethren.

He watched her indigo eyes scan the area briefly, as if looking for others who might be standing nearby. When her eyes fell back to the taller Elda, they held a look of consideration.

"You wish to speak about Legolas, I believe," she said smoothly, yet quietly, reading his thoughts with ease.

He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded. "The others won't say much about him other than the fact that he is a skilled warrior and greatly values his privacy."

"What makes you think I will say any differently?" she asked, her lips quirking upwards slightly. She had watched him quarry the others, and knew it would only be a matter of time before the persistent elf questioned her.

"I have seen the way others look to you for guidance." He told her honestly. "I'm certain Thranduil sent Legolas here so that Elrond might help him with whatever problem has been plaguing him. You have fought alongside Legolas for many years. I believe you may know something that might help us deduce the trouble, whatever it may be."

Laurerána nodded again, before sweeping past the other elf towards the armory. Glorfindel turned and caught up with the shorter elf easily. They didn't speak until they entered the stone building and began placing the weapons on their various assigned racks.

"I know not what the King revealed in his message," she began, her voice low so it wouldn't echo in the large room. "I will admit it was I who consulted with Legolas’ sister initially. The other scouts and I have indeed fought alongside him for a very long time, so we are well used to his...peculiarities." She hung the last sword, then turned to face Glorfindel. He was standing next to the closed door with his sturdy arms crossed over his chest. His expression told her that he was paying close attention to her words, and she hoped that he wouldn't misconstrue what she was about to say.

"His desire for solitude is well known, and none will gainsay him. He is our prince, after all. Those of us with him now are accepted by him because of our silence. I broke that silence in speaking with Asquilyne. Should he discover it was my words that sent him here, I am certain he will cast me from the group. Yet I could not in all good conscience remain silent. Together Asquilyne, King Thranduil, and I decided some time spent in a new environment might help him recover from whatever ails him, particularly since he refuses to speak to any of it." She took a deep breath. "He was becoming dangerous; perhaps not to others, but to himself. Possibly some have called him mad, but I do not believe this is so. You must have noticed when he fights, he changes. It is even more so when he battles the enemy. A battle rage, some would say. Certainly he is not the only elf who has fallen under such wild spells. Yet recently I have begun to notice his fighting has changed even further. He now drops his guard by design. He allows his enemy to strike at him freely, injuring himself purposefully."

Glorfindel frowned, disturbed by the revelations, but didn't speak a word. He hadn't noticed such a dangerous attitude during their sparing matches, but knew that practice and real battle were two very different situations.

Laurerána stepped closer, her well-calloused hand tugging uncertainly at one of her side braids as she did so. "There is another thing I would mention, although the other scouts do not know of this. I have seen strange injuries where none should be, and I fear he is using his own blades against himself."

She watched as Glorfindel's expression changed from concern to shock. Could he truly be suicidal? Thus far the information she told him seemed to point in that direction. Yet what was the cause? That much still remained a mystery.

"Tell Elrond," Laurerána said finally, "but no one else. Perhaps he can help."

"I am sure he will do all he can. We wish nothing more than to help him."

"Thank you." She smiled once again, her sharp features showing her relief plainly. She moved forwards to open the door and leave, but paused before she could do so, the relief melting away once more into uncertainty.

"One last thing."

"Yes?" Glorfindel asked when the silence lengthened.

"I noticed Master Saeldis is here." She finally said, the frown on her face deepening. "As one warrior to another, I would say I do not trust him. Sly of tongue and mad of mind, some would claim, but only in secluded circles. He is too well respected for such talk to be made public. I believe he has held something against Legolas for a long time, but I couldn't say as to what, or explain the reasoning behind my feelings. Elleth's instincts, perhaps."

"Duly noted."

"Thank you." Laurerána opened the door and stepped out into the light, her pale gold hair glinting red momentarily. Glorfindel moved to follow her out, but almost ran into her suddenly still form as she paused. Concerned, he looked about to see what had garnered her attention, but only saw several of the Mirkwood scouts along with Elrohir and Elladan gathered nearby, one of them holding a chainmail ball.

"Lau'!" One of the elves called with a wave and a grin. 'We are off to teach these two how to play stickball!" He pointed to the twins, who had both an eager and uncertain look in their eyes. "Come and join us?"

"Stickball?" Glorfindel asked, amused. It was a sport he hadn't heard of.

"A rough game," Laurerána explained, a nearly feral grin forming on her face. It was a sport she excelled at, her small size providing an advantage both in terms of quickness and underestimation by her opponents. "Useful for exercise and strategy. Two teams, a single ball, and very few rules."

"And the stick part?"

"Merely formality." She raised her voice. "Valar help them, I will play, and promise to go easy their first time! I will be there momentarily!"

She watched as they took off, and Glorfindel couldn't help but notice how her gaze lingered overlong on the Imladrian twins.

"Quite a lively pair," he commented idly, watching her face with interest. "Many an elf has sought to tame them or temper their wild ways."

"More the fool they," she murmured softly under her breath. "for they would pursue folly. One should never seek to change another to suit their own needs. Besides, the sons of Elrond seem quite acceptable the way they are."

Glorfindel couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face. The twins had better be wary, for it seemed they had caught the eye of yet another elf, and he deemed this one bloodthirsty enough to hold her own against all comers.


Review Responses:


Karen: I'm trying! I really am! I can assure you, they will be essential to Legolas's healing. How about that? And about Laurerána, I really didn't expect her to have her eye on them. Honest! She just said 'Oooo, Mine!' and what could I do? I hate it when characters do things without your knowledge... Will you forgive me? Please?

Linauri: Don't forget the pointy rocks! And the birds! (evil grin) Actually, I have his death scene pretty much written out.
Unless I suddenly decide to let him live. He is quite mad, you know. As a hatter.

Crookis: Ah, Secretary. What a wonderful movie! Nice little love story with a kinky twist. Now that you mention it, there are similarities, aren't there... Completely unintentional, I assure you.

Eep: Well, I was advised not to give away the love interest yet, but I think you're on the right track. I have some votes for using two other characters, buts jus just not quite working. (sigh)