Voices In The Dark

Title: Voices In The Dark

A/N: By this point you should know the drill...
Read as you like, Review as you will.
All are Tolkien’s, but with my little twist.
Love those elves! Happiness is!

Thanks to Linauri for Beta-ing!


Chapter Thirteen: Discovery


Glorfindel walked back to the main house having already finished taking an invigorating swim in the river and leaving before the other elves were ready to depart. He couldn’t seem to keep his attention centered on swimming or his fellow elves after the incident on the archery field, even though the twins seemed to easily immerse themselves in play. He had asked them as they departed the field to speak to no one of the incident, and they had both agreed. Elladan had seemed more disturbed than his twin over Elrohir’s brush with danger, and he suspected it would take him longer than his brother to forgive the suddenly mad woodelf.

He headed towards the bathhouse, more than ready for a relaxing soak in one of the heated pools. It would soothe his muscles, not to mention give him time for reflection upon the day’s events; from the progress of the various warriors under his command to the incident in the archery field.

Glorfindel reached the baths and entered, picking his usual room down at the far end of the wood and stone structure. He slid open the door, then immediately halted as he realized it wasn’t unoccupied as he had originally thought.

An elf sat at one of the benches, his lithe body turned away from the door. His head was bent, causing his dusky golden hair to fall forwards, obscuring his features from view. Yet Glorfindel’s attention was immediately drawn to the horrible scars that swept across the right side of the otherwise well-toned body. Leathery and tough in appearance with patches of shiny pink tissue, they looked to be an uncomfortable burden. He had seen burn scars before, but nothing quite to this extent. He realized the pain must have been terrible, and recalled distantly that he had seen humans die from far less.

His gaze dropped to watch as the long oiled hands gently massaged the damaged flesh along the hip and thigh. Rhythmically they moved, kneading the taut muscle and letting the oil soak into the scarred tissue. There was a strange sensuality in the movements, in the slightly bent position in which the elf sat, in the play of muscle that shone even through the disfiguring injury. Glorfindel felt his heart lurch at the sight, and wondered at it.

As the hands moved he caught sight of a different sort of wound running down the inside of one arm. It appeared of a more recent origin, like a knife slash across the smooth, unblemished flesh of the inner arm. It could only have been a few days old, and Glorfindel sucked in a breath at the realization that it had to have happened while here in Imladris. He had been injured, and from its shape and position, it looked in all probability to have been caused by his own hand.

For a moment it seemed all of the unknown elf’s concentration was bent solely on the task before him, unaware of this silent observer. Then the lovely fingers slowly stilled, as if finally realizing he wasn’t alone any longer. The head lifted, revealing familiar twilight blue eyes staring back at him with a look of ill-concealed terror. The hands on his thigh suddenly clenched whitely while the whole body tensed to either fight or flee. It seemed fleeing was the greater possibility.

“I apologize,” Glorfindel said quickly, immediately seeking to calm the panic that suddenly seemed to infuse the room. “I did not realize any were here.”

He backed up and gently closed the door. After a moment’s hesitation, he moved towards one of the other, assuredly unoccupied, rooms. Indeed he was shocked by what he had seen, but not so much by the injury itself but by this elf’s reaction to his seeing it. Obviously it wasn’t common knowledge, if any truly knew the extent of this old injury. It explained much of Legolas’ reluctance in baring his body to others, and really, he couldn’t blame him. It also explained some of his stand-offishness, as it seemed likely he looked upon the scars as some horrible disfigurement and feared derision, or worse, superfluous sympathy, from others. Of course, he fully realized other factors could be at play, but knew it was a start.

He couldn’t just leave it be now. Who knew what problems this inadvertent discovery might cause? He felt he needed to reassure the elf that he had absolutely nothing to fear from him. He had sensed that this was probably an elf in desperate need of someone to trust, and this seemed a very good place to start.

* * *

Legolas watched as Glorfindel shut the door, unable to hide the panic the elf lord’s presence had brought. His breathing quickened, and he wished to disappear, but could not. He actually felt more grounded than ever, and the voices were eerily silent.

*He knows. He saw the scars and he knows. How could he not see the dark taint. Now he is most likely off to speak to Lord Elrond of my condition.* The thought brought a shudder to his still tensed body, and his panicked mind began to come up with all sorts of dire possibilities should the information be made public. Disgust. Shunning. Banishment. Death.

*Not if I escape first,* he reasoned quickly. *If I quickly return to my rooms and pack my things, I should be gone before any are the wiser.*

His body feeling suddenly steady with a sense of purpose, he rose from the bench and began to towel off the excess oil before dressing. Then he quickly straightened up the bathing room as was habit, leaving it as close to the way he came as was possible. When he was satisfied that all was in order, he took a deep breath and left the bathhouse.

By the time he reached his rooms logic finally kicked in and he stopped. Where would he go? Was he absolutely certain the discovery of his condition would be so ill-received? There was always the possibility that nothing would be said, however along with that came the risk that it might be held over him in some way.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed lost in ‘what if’s’ when he heard a hesitant knock at his door. Cautiously he rose and went to answer it, trepidation following his footsteps. This could be his undoing, he feared, the panic rising once more. It still wasn’t too late to run.

He slowly pulled open the door and discovered Glorfindel standing on the other side. He jumped back, and would have shut the door in the Elda’s face had not the older elf raised his hand to prevent it. They stood there in that way for only a few seconds, but for Legolas it seemed an eternity as cobalt blue eyes inquiringly searched his own. Finally Glorfindel spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“I wish to speak with you, if you do not mind?”

Legolas’ hand twitched on the door, but that was the only response he made. Running was no longer an option, and he recalled sparring against Glorfindel in the practice field. He knew fighting wasn’t an option either.

“May I come inside,” Glorfindel continued, noting the minimal outward response, yet seeing the fear that still suffused Legolas’ eyes. “Or would you rather us go someplace else?”

*Neutral territory,* came a calm, steady voice from inside, and he actually felt relieved at its intervention, however small. *Go to the gardens*

Glorfindel noted the twilight blue eyes waver momentarily, as if his attention was being drawn elsewhere, before refocusing back on his face.

“The gardens,” Legolas finally spoke, his voice calmer than he felt.

“As you’d like,” Glorfindel responded, then gestured for Legolas to lead the way. Hesitantly he did so, sliding past the other elf warily before striding briskly towards the gardens that his own rooms overlooked. Glorfindel moved to walk beside him, far enough not to impede the skittish elf’s large personal space, yet not so far as to allow him to inadvertently flee. Legolas noted this, and could sense the spirit that spoke earlier nod in appreciation even though he himself resented the inability to escape should the need arise.

“I wish to apologize again for disturbing you,” Glorfindel said, casting a look in Legolas’ direction. “I truly did not realize any were there.” The poor elf looked as though he were facing his own execution. He watched the eyes, waiting for that moment of change that would indicate an alteration in spirit.

“I am at fault,” Legolas replied softly, watching the stones pass beneath his feet. “I did not set a sign or lock the door.”

They exited the building and entered the gardens where a cool breeze played with the scents of flowers, combining them into new, exotic fragrances in the gentle heat of the afternoon. Yet neither elf was in a state of mind to enjoy the mingling scents, and the breeze moved on unheeded.

“Aye,” the older elf amended. “But I saw something that perhaps you wished to remain hidden.”

Legolas lifted his head, but did not look at the blonde Elda. *Here it comes* “What will you do?”

“Do?” Glorfindel looked at him, confused. “What would you wish me to do? I suppose I could tell Lord Elrond, as he is a healer, but I feel that would be something best coming from you.”

Legolas finally looked at the other elf, both surprise and puzzlement shining in his eyes, but he remained silent, still waiting for the words that would condemn him.

“I do not understand what you are afraid of,” Glorfindel continued. “It is nothing any would fault you for.”

The path they walked approached a vine enshrouded gazebo surrounded by flowering trees and lush greenery. Carved stone benches provided rest in the comfortable shade, and Glorfindel sat; although Legolas chose to remain standing, his posture stiff and wary, his gaze set somewhere off in the middle-distance. One hand absently fingered the shirtsleeve covering his scarred arm, to which the older elf took as a sign of indecisiveness.

“You have nothing to fear from any of us,” Glorfindel reiterated, trying to persuade the younger elf to relax. He reached out with gentle fingers and touched Legolas’ shoulder. The elf responded by flinching and pulling away, but made no move to attack as he did earlier.

“Does it hurt?” Glorfindel asked, keeping his voice calm and reassuring.

After a few long moments came a hesitant reply. “No.”

“That is well. I have seen similar burn scars before and they can be very debilitating. You have done well in keeping the scar tissue flexible. I am certain Elrond, as a healer, would be pleased.”

“On elves?” Legolas asked, turning his head slightly to finally fix his gaze upon Glorfindel. “Have you seen this on elves?”

Glorfindel tightened his lips before speaking. He knew what the younger elf wanted, but he could give little comfort. “I will not lie to you. Any elf burned this badly and yet survived would still have eventually recovered fully without the scarring. I was referring to humans, and very few survived the trauma to heal, if they survived the actual healing. Those that did were never the same. You should count yourself lucky you are still alive, and commended that you have not let this effect you physically.

“You do not have to do this alone,” Glorfindel continued softly. “Let me help you.”

“Why?” Couldn’t he see that he was turning into one of Morgoth’s creatures? Wasn’t the scaring, which looked so much like orc flesh, proof enough? He didn’t even want to mention the spirits that dwelled within his mind, which had been strangely silent since the two of them came outside.

“Because I wish to,” Glorfindel responded emphatically, seeking to further reassure the younger elf. “I look at you and see a beautiful, strong elf, despite the scars. And truthfully, I do not find them so horrible to look upon.”

“But you do not know me.”

“Then tell me about yourself. Let me be the judge of what I see, and do not be so quick to think others will condemn you before it is so.”

“I do not know what there is to tell.”

Glorfindel shrugged, leaning back against one of the vine covered pillars. “What made you decide to become a scout and warrior? What do you do for enjoyment? Do you play that stickball game the others seem so fond of? Surely there must be something.”

Legolas finally sat down on a nearby bench, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment. This was not what he was expecting. Where was the condemnation? Where was the disgust? His eyes found Glorfindel’s once again, and was startled to see the look of open curiosity and kindness shining with their blue expanse. But could he really trust it?

“I cannot believe you would be interested in such things,” Legolas finally responded. “Surely you have better things to do with your time?”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel replied with a smile, sensing the evasion. He leaned forwards, elbows resting against his knees. “If you wish to leave, you may do so. I am not keeping you here. Just know that if you ever need to talk, I am here, and so is Lord Elrond. You may trust both of us.”

Legolas slowly stood, still waiting for the final stone to fall. He made it to the edge of the gazebo when Glorfindel spoke again and he froze in place, thinking this was finally it.

“You may want to apologize to Elrohir however,” Glorfindel said calmly, not even looking in his direction. “He does not tend to carry grudges, but Elladan can get quite protective over the wellbeing of his brother.”

Legolas nodded slowly, and then continued to walk away, his mind buzzing with unexpected thoughts and realizations. But in front of all the confusion was a sharp, cool feeling of relief. Glorfindel wasn’t going to say anything about the scars. He didn’t even seem to care that they were there! Perhaps he had been mistaken after all. Perhaps they were merely scars caused by an accident, and not the sign of evil he had perceived them to be. After all, wouldn’t Glorfindel know; the mighty balrog slayer who had been to the Halls of Mandos and back?

And yet, he could still sense expressions of caution coming from the entities within. Have a care, they whispered. Only Elanor and Ravan seemed pleased.

Review Responses:

Louise: Thank you, and thanks for continuing to comment. Sometimes it’s just nice to know I haven’t lost people yet.

Ki: Yes, and I really appreciate it! You’re one of my biggest sprinkles! (grin) Or maybe even a cherry. Yup, definitely a cherry. With a long stem you can tie into a knot with your tongue. Okay, I’m leaving now.


Oh, one last thing. Does it seem to anyone else that the tone or writing style appears to change from chapter to chapter? Maybe it’s just me…