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!
Cats!

Thanks to Linauri for betaing!


Chapter Seventeen: One Long Day: New Discoveries


Glorfindel knocked upon Legolas’ door, briefly wondering if he was even awake. After the exhausting night before he might still be sleeping off the last effects of the tea.

When no answer was forthcoming he carefully opened the door and peaked inside. The bed was empty and the blankets still in a rumpled mess. Somewhat concerned, he opened the door wider. There was no telling what the young elf’s emotional state might be. He could be regretting having said anything.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he spotted Legolas sitting cross-legged on the floor near the open balcony doors. He wore a pair of loose breeches and a knee-length, long-sleeved, blue and gold tunic that appeared to have been thrown on at random. His hair hung loose down his back, the sandy-gold cascade brushed until it seemed to glow with Anor’s gentle touch.

A large quantity of beautiful feathers were scattered about where he sat while a pale wooden box lay open nearby. The feathers seemed to be sorted by color. Some of simpler plumage shone with a soft beauty, while others glowed
like iridescent jewels in the early morning light. Glorfindel watched as Legolas picked up a single cobalt blue feather with a downy white base slightly longer than his hand and ran the plume lovingly over his angular cheek. His eyes were closed as he took in the gentle, silky touch, at the moment completely oblivious to his surroundings.

The gesture seemed so innocent and child-like that Glorfindel was momentarily caught off-guard. It was at that moment that he became aware of other things of which he hadn’t noticed upon previous scrutiny. The Mirkwood prince had always held a youthful visage, no doubt due to his Silvan heritage, yet at this moment his features seemed even younger than before with a softer cast to them. His body also moved with the slightly more exaggerated gestures of an elfling. Watching the elf move before him, he could almost believe that this was an entirely different being than whom he sought.

With that thought came a sudden realization, and he was positive that if he could but see the eyes, they would be of a different hue that the twilight color he was familiar with. And yet certainly not that dark shade of the angry elf on the practice field the day before, nor the self-assured icy blue color either. Glorfiondel took a deep breath and then released it. Having an idea and having it confirmed were two separate things. Somehow, and for some reason, this body seemed to house more than one spirit. This seemed explain the sudden mood swings or personality shifts.

As the nimble fingers moved to weave the vibrant plume into his long tresses Glorfindel coughed, seeking to gain the attention of whomever it was sitting before the balcony. It worked. The mysterious elf jumped, the feather slipping though his fingers to fall lightly to the floor. His head quickly turned in Glorfindel’s direction, and he could clearly see the bright summer blue eyes staring up at him in surprise, confirming at least one of his earlier suspicions.

“Who are you?” he asked quickly, before the glinting eyes could start to shift. The younger elf looked confused a moment, then a pleased grin lit up his face, as if pleased to have been asked.

“I’m Elanor.” The voice sounded slightly higher pitched than Legolas’, although the tone and rhythm reminded him briefly of their evening meal several nights before, when Legolas seemed to exhibit an oddly jocular mood. For some strange reason he received the impression that the elf sitting on the hard wooden floor was a very young female, even though he knew Legolas was most definitely male.

The striking eyes shifted momentarily, turning inwards as if listening for something only she could hear, before focusing back on the tall elf in the doorway. “The others don’t know I’m here, so don’t tell,” Elanor whispered conspiringly. She paused, his head tilting in an almost birdlike manner, before speaking again. “Except for Ravan. But he always knows.”

Glorfindel slowly walked towards the elf and crouched down before her, careful not to disturb the feathers laid out upon the floor. The eyes followed him, not seeming the least bit disturbed by his presence. In fact, the smile widened as he came near. This indeed looked much like some sort of bodily possession, but why, and how did it start?

“Are they not pretty?” Elanor asked, picking up the feather she had dropped and ran it through her fingers reverently. “I found them all.”

“Yes, they are quite beautiful,” Glorfindel reassured her, then asked the first question that he could think of. “Elanor, why are you here?”

She shrugged, then began once more braiding the feather into a lock of hair hanging just below her pale ear. “I was bored, and I wanted to see the feathers again.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly fearful, her fingers faltering slightly. “You’re not going to take them away, are you?

“No, I will not take them away,” he reassured her patiently. It had been a long time since Glorfindel had talked to an elf as young as this one appeared to be. It felt disconcerting to look upon this elf he knew as Legolas, to see the same features, the same body, and yet note the obvious youth that told of some new entity dwelling within the familiar figure.

“How old are you?” he asked curiously.

She appeared thoughtful. “I don’t know.”

“How many of you are there?”

She gave him a quizzical look. “One,” she drew out, as if he were slow in thought. He couldn’t help but smile at her inflections.

“No. What I mean to say is that you made mention of someone called Ravan. Are there others like you and he, and how many?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Lots.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Where is Legolas?” he finally asked, hoping to speak with someone older who might have more answers.

“Sleeping.” She finished tying off her hair. “He was really scared last night. The fish dream wasn’t very nice.” She shuddered slightly.

“Fish dream?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “But I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

Elanor frowned, a petulant look forming on her face. “’Cause I’m not!”

“Oh.” He tried a different tactic. “But what of the orc dream he spoke about?”

“He has that one too sometimes.” She began picking up the scattered feathers and lying them carefully back into the waiting box. “I don’t like that dream either. Mórehua does it. He likes to scare us. I don’t like him very much.”

Elanor, Ravan, and now Mórehua. Glorfindel was feeling out of his depth. How many spirits dwelled within this elf?

“I think we should go speak with Master Elrond.”

Elanor looked uncertain. “Why?”

“Because he is a healer,” Glorfindel replied, searching for a suitable excuse that might convince the small child. “And he might be able to stop the dreams.”

“Oh.” She seemed to consider it, then nodded enthusiastically. “Okay.”

She reached out with one hand to finger a stray lock of his long hair. He sat completely still while she did so, looking both uncertain and perplexed.

“It’s so pretty,” she commented, her attention completely drawn to the glinting strands. “Like gold coins in Adar’s treasure house.”

“Thank you,” he told her, finding it curious that this spirit didn’t seem to have the same problem with touch that Legolas did.

Elanor let go of his hair, then reached down and pulled an ebony and indigo feather from the box. This she handed to Glorfindel, who accepted it uncertainly.

“For your hair,” she stated, then closed the box. She picked up the wooden container and scrambled up from her sitting position to place the box in the bottom dresser drawer. Glorfindel stood as well, watching her move, still bemused over the oddness of the situation. It was Legolas’ body, yet now that he knew what to look for, it was obviously not. It was like looking at one of the twins. Slight differences could be seen that told one who they were looking at, yet if you didn’t know any better, you would think it was the same elf.

When she turned back around, she had a shy look on her youthful features that told of a burning question waiting to be freed.

“Yes?” Glorfindel asked curiously, wondering what else the child might want.

“I’m leaving now,” she paused briefly, fidgeting a little with her foot before suddenly bolting forwards and grasping the older elf about the waist in a hug. For a moment Glorfindel stood in shock, the gesture completely unexpected. Before he could react she quickly pulled away, peering at him with a happy grin.

“’Bye, Glory,” she giggled one last time and then was gone. The change was fast, but observable. The youthfulness disappeared, the gangly gestures, the confident stance. The eyes blinked, then bled from mid-day to twilight in the space of a few moments. The youthful vigor left, to be replaced by wariness, that familiar touch of fear, and confusion. His eyes flicked down to the feather in Glorfindel’s hand, then back up to his face before took a hesitant step backwards. Glorfindel tried to appear as non-threatening as possible, but knew it wasn’t working as Legolas began inching towards the open balcony. He was going to bolt.

“Wait! Please!” Legolas paused momentarily, so Glorfindel continued, speaking the first thing that came to his mind and hoping it would suffice. “I spoke with Elanor.”

“So it would seem,” was the softly spoken comment, and he inched another step towards the balcony.

“She seems quite pleasant,” He offered.

“She talks too much,” was the wary reply, as though of one caught in doing something wrong and unsure of what his accomplice may have confessed but not daring to reveal anything himself.

“There is no reason to run. As I told you before, I will not harm you.”

“You saw her. You know. I am possessed.”

“Perhaps,” He reasoned, recalling something that had been pressing at the back of his mind for some days. “Or perhaps not. I knew one like you, back in my first life when I was a Lord in Gondolin. His name was Ruscour, but most called him Atta-iníta. (Two-Minds) He dwelled within the city, and there were indeed those who thought him mad. It seemed he was possessed by another spirit, and many healers sought to discover the cause.

“I spoke with him on a number of occasions, or perhaps I should say both of him. Yet he never seemed to let the duality hinder him. He was considered one of the best woodcarvers in Arda. The animals he created seemed to possess spirits of their own.”

“What became of him?” Legolas asked, his attention now fully on the taller elf.

Glorfindel considered lying, telling the younger elf that he could not remember or that he disappeared with the other refugees when Gondolin fell, but he knew that by doing so he would be doing the Legolas a disservice, for he deserved an honest answer. Besides which, he recalled seeing the wounds marring the troubled elf’s arms, and couldn’t help but note the similarities between this elf and Ruscour, whose spirit most likely still dwelled within the Halls of Mandos. Glorfindel had met him there, during his brief stay, and Ruscour had finally found peace. He also learned some things about his mortal condition that proved very interesting, and perhaps helpful in the case of this younger elf.

“We found him one evening, his wrists slashed by one of his own carving knives.” He noted Legolas unconsciously grip his own arm, where he knew under the sleeve of the shirt a thin line could still be perceived. How close had he come to perishing in the same manner as that Gondolin woodcarver?

“The other spirit had been a darker entity of self-loathing and depression,” Glorfindel continued. “We did not know who did the actual deed, or whether it was a mutual decision. The healers had been trying their best to help, but he died before they could accomplish anything.”

“Could they do anything?” Legolas asked, his voice calm, but Glorfindel could see the fear lurking behind those eyes. Hope was there as well; that the possibility that freedom might actually be within his grasp.

“I did speak to one,” Glorfindel recalled, trying to remember exactly what was said. “He seemed certain that healing could be achieved through some sort of twining of the spirits. But more than that; I met Ruscour himself while waiting within the Halls of Mandos.” Glorfindel shook his head slightly, one hand rising to brush at a stray lock of hair. “My memory of that time isn’t clear. But what I do recall was rather odd, for he spoke of possession, and a sort of not-possession, where a single spirit is split asunder. This was caused by a…disturbance with his mother in his early youth.”

“A single spirit split…” Legolas stepped back, looking appalled at the idea. “I think not! They cannot be a part of me! And I never suffered any from my own naneth!”

Glorfindel shrugged. He doubted the trouble originated from the deceased Mirkwood queen, yet he believed there definitely could be other possible sources. “I am no healer, and my understanding of such things are limited, despite my friendship with Lord Elrond. There is not much I can say on the matter.”

“Did the healer speak of how to be rid of them?” The eagerness was once again evident in his voice.

“Again,” Glorfindel reiterated, “my understanding is limited. I strongly advise you to speak with Lord Elrond. If any can help, he can, and that includes the matter of the scars.”

Legolas frowned at the mention of the scars, a problem not nearly as bothersome as the voices, but still a difficulty. He was very much uncertain as to the idea of speaking to anyone else of his troubles, doubt plainly evident in his wary posture. He still wasn’t totally convinced that there wasn’t something inherently evil with the spirits and the scaring, despite Glorfindel’s reassurances.

Glorfindel sensed this indecisiveness, and pressed further. “When I spoke with Elanor, she seemed agreeable. What of the others?”

“Others?” Anger flashed, distrust blossoming once more. “How many others have you spoken to?”

“None,” he reassured him, hands rising automatically in a placating gesture. “Elanor merely made mention of the existence of others, and I believe I have spoken to them previously without knowledge of doing so.”

“Ah.” The anger dissolved, and the distrust shrank back to a more reasonable level. “Yet, it is my decision, not theirs. It is my body.”

“Agreed. But will you come? I will be there, if you would like. I can assure you, no harm will come to you.”

Legolas hesitated, still uncertain, but finally nodded in acquiescence. As he did so the bright feather in his hair bobbed slightly, catching his eye. With an annoyed scowl, Legolas reached up and yanked the ornament from his hair, dropping it to the floor with a look of long-suffering patience. Glorfindel fought to suppress a grin. He wasn’t about to tell him that the unwanted decoration actually looked quite fetching in his sandy-gold hair, lending the woodelf a wild, almost fey look.

Legolas scowled once more as he took in his long, disheveled tunic, muttering Elanor’s name angrily. “Let me find something more suitable to wear,” he said, and Glorfindel nodded, this time allowing the smile to cross his lips.

“I will wait just outside,” he told him as he retreated from the room to wait.




Review Responses:

Yanic: Certainly, after time. My goal is to have, by the end of this story, my first lovely slash scene. We’ll see if I can actually pull it off.

Karen: Yes, help will be coming. But will it be on time? (evil smile)

Lelann: I’m sorry. It just seemed a good place to pause. :) But not to worry, hopefully you’ll enjoy the next chapter. Finally, the meeting! But with who? (grin)

Eep: Well, I try to update once a week, and so far it’s been on Tuesdays, but my muses have been getting bothersome of late, and I might have to delay a few days coming up until I can whip them into shape. They seem to be having a difficult time actually getting rid of Saeldis. Now I understand it when people say they have a hard time killing off their characters, even the evil ones!

Crookis: If something should happen to me before the end of the story, rest assured, my beta will finish it. I should probably inform her of that actually… (grin)

Zed: I suppose that all depends upon who gets to him first, and when.
As far as number of personalities goes, the average seems to be about three to five, but in cases such as that of Truddi Chase, I believe there were ninety-two identified with the possibility of being more. I’m not certain what the largest number of personalities would be, but ninety-two seems pretty big.
I have actually thought about where else to post, especially with AFF.N being so fritzy lately, but I’m really not sure. Just posting here was a big step for me, and I suppose I don’t know how to post anywhere else, computer-shy as I am. I guess there’s always my LJ. Suggestions?


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