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!
Heavy fog!

On a brief note: please recall what I said in earlier intros about inconsistencies and elven physiology (particularly the fading issue) and mental disorders. Things are getting wierd, and I’m starting to apply my own - slightly more metaphysical - twists to the disorder so that I may be more able to even things out in the end.
And I really don’t recommend the knife thing. (smile)


Chapter Nineteen: One Long Day: Private Thoughts and Touch


He sat on the hillside beneath the overhanging branches of a mighty pine. His knees were drawn up before him, the wind sweeping his long golden hair about his lithe body. Yet Legolas didn’t notice the breeze, his eyes staring unseeing out over the broad expanse of hills and valleys below. Imladris looked small and insignificant from this vantage, instead of the nearly overwhelming presence it had grown to become.

A longbow lay at his side, strung and ready with a full quiver of arrows resting alongside it. This was where he occasionally retreated when the need for some sort of peace filled his senses. The forests teemed with game, and Maira was happy to receive his offerings when his hunts proved successful.

Yet it wasn’t game he truly sought when wandering the hills above and around the elven city. His fingers itched to do battle once again against orcs and goblins, to destroy as many of the dark creatures as he could in hopes that each death would pull him further from the edge of his own personal darkness. Now he realized such a thing was impossible.

He wrapped his arms about his upturned knees, rocking slightly while tears spilled unheeded from his sorrow-filled eyes. He could no longer deny this cursed madness which had caught him within its thorny grasp, despite his words to Elrond of the contrary. Ravan’s words had fallen heavily into his gut, to be slowly and uncomfortably digested into his being.

Denial still wormed its way though his mind, but it was growing weaker as more evidence of his madness presented itself. These spirits were a part of him, or perhaps, he reflected, he was part of them. It was a frightening thought for it left him wondering over the reality of his existence; who he was and his purpose in life. Was he merely a guard, protecting a core spirit, or was he something more? Were his feelings and actions really his, or something dictated by another?

His mind traveled to the existence of Ravan, who seemed to be the actual elf in charge, and the fact that this strong spirit was slowly fading. While admittedly he liked the thought of one less entity invading his thoughts, he could sense the importance of that particular one. What would happen when Ravan was gone? Would they all follow in his footsteps? Would they all fall into that dark void of madness without his guidance? And if Ravan could fade, how many others might have preceded him?

*Too many,* came the thought, and within his inner mind Legolas could visualize a parade of young, heartbreaking spirits who once existed; victims to Saeldis’ rage, lust, and madness until they faded from grief, taking the worst of the memories away with them. Even Ravan, who had seen much, had not been privy to all the abuse. Only Oiolaire and a few dwindling personalities composed of nothing more than moments in time remained to give testament to all that happened. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to destroy them all, and it seemed through the sharing of memories that was what Ravan intended.

“Why?” Legolas murmured, suddenly realizing what Ravan’s full objectives were, but not understanding the purpose behind it.

*What do you think will happen when I die?* Ravan asked, his voice sounding infinitely tired. *Too much of the soul has passed already. The suffering is merely being prolonged. Once we all know, the fading will quicken. But first, all will know of Saeldis’ deeds, and Mórehua will have his revenge.*

*Why do you not tell Elrond?*

*Timing. If we tell him now, he will take Saeldis to trial. We cannot survive the emotional torture that would bring, or risk the chance of him convincing the others of the darkness he perceives within us.*

*Then why didn’t you let Mórehua kill him before?*

*Then it would have shown US to be mad. We have to make sure we are believed first.*

Legolas didn’t really see how that mattered. He sighed heavily, head dropping to his upturned knees as he felt Ravan retreat. What he said did make a certain amount of sense though. He thought of the other spirits, and felt sorrow at the thought of them all dying, especially little Elanor who seemed to have enough strength of will to carry them all through whatever may have happened.

He frowned, recalling young Oiolaire in his mind. Something didn’t seem right about the auburn-haired child. It took Legolas a moment to puzzle it out, picturing the youngling in his mind, but afterwards he could only blink in confusion. Despite the memories he carried, the young spirit wasn’t fading. He should have been, for he carried within him more pain that even Ravan held. Yet he was still there, and as Legolas visualized him in his mind’s eye he knew the child would not fade, for he wasn’t even an elf.

Startled at that realization his eyes shot open. How had a human spirit been formed? It seemed to be another impossibility, for there was no human blood in his family line, at least that he was aware of. How could this be?

*No one is certain how he was formed.* Ravan whispered. *One day he was there. Yet without him we would have died sooner. You must understand, we are unable to divide further; there is not enough of the spirit left to do so without damaging the core.*

Suddenly he was assailed by a barrage of images, more things of which he had no memory yet were nonetheless real. Wounds inflicted by Saeldis’ hand, of being forced to perform fellatio on the older elf, of being locked within the tight confines of a wooden box for hours at a time, of long physically and emotionally brutal lectures concerning his intolerable wickedness.

Legolas cried out, clutching his body tighter under the painful assault. “Please! No more!”

The horrifying images slowly receded, although many now seemed to be indelibly burned into his memory. A brief moment of silence ensued, much to his gratitude. Yet Aenos’ haughty voice quickly broke through the quiet, and Legolas could detect a hint of uneasiness in his distinct tone.

*They lie.*

*What?* Legolas looked startled.

*And even if it did happen, we only got what we deserved.* He could hear the frown in Aenos’s voice.

*How did we deserve this?* Legolas asked, an incredulous look forming on his face.

*Because we are evil, just as the Tutor said.* Aenos insisted.

*But Glorfindel said – *

*Lord Glorfindel is not a healer. He does not know us. What did Lord Elrond say?* He asked, a sly, almost triumphant note in his voice in anticipation of Leoglas’s answer.

“Nothing,” he recalled, voicing his answer aloud. “Only that he wished to help.”

*Exactly. That is what Master Saeldis always insisted. Lord Elrond is only biding his time. King Thranduil trusted Master Saeldis. Are you saying the King was wrong?*

“No,” Legolas whispered.

*So we are as Master Saeldis says,* Aenos pronounced.

*Do not listen to him!* Ravan’s angry voice cut through Aenos’s words.

*I will not be ignored!* Aenos shouted back, and Legolas groaned at the sudden flash of pain that reverberated through his head.

“Everyone be silent! Be SILENT!”

To his relief they all obeyed, leaving him once more in grateful solitude.

The trees whispered behind him, and he turned his attentions upon their gentle presence. They seemed uneasy, and he knew with a grim certainty that it was due to his precarious mental state. He refused to let them see further into his mind for fear of corrupting them with his mercurial thoughts. Hadn’t he been told from a young age that the taint upon the forests of his home had been encouraged by his own foul nature? Yet as the memory passed through his mind, the words belonging to a certain manipulative tutor, he found himself beginning to doubt. He desperately wanted to believe Glorfindel’s assurances that his wasn’t corrupt, that Aenos was wrong in saying that they deserved such harsh punishments. The conflicting views warred within him, leaving him feeling dizzy and uncertain.

With a heavy sigh he stood and gathered his belongings, knowing the peace he had come to seek would continue to elude him.

* * *

Legolas was preparing for bed when a knock sounded at his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so he walked to the door with a touch of his usual apprehension.

“Who is there?” He asked, hand resting lightly on the door handle.

“Glorfindel. May I come inside?”

Legolas opened the door, then stepped back to allow the taller elf entry. In one hand he carried a small ceramic bottle which he held out for Legolas to take.

“What is it?” The younger elf asked, looking curiously at the offering.

“Elrond prepared it for you. It is for the scars. He said that while the oil you made seemed good, this should work better.”

“Ah.” Legolas fingered the bottle, feeling both surprised and grateful at the unexpected gift. “Thank you for bringing this.”

“It was nothing.” Glorfindel replied, offering a bright smile. He watched as Legolas seemed to search his face for something.

“What is it?”

“I don’t understand,” Legolas answered, his brow creasing in confusion.

“What?” Glorfindel blinked.

“Why you are being so kind,” he said, his gaze suddenly piercing.

Glorfindel sighed inwardly, but didn’t allow the frustration to show. “Surely others have sought your friendship? What of your fellow scouts?”


“That is different.” Legolas said roughly, his gaze lifting to focus somewhere over the elder’s shoulder. “It is duty.”

“Surely there is more than that,” he insisted.

“Perhaps,” Legolas considered after a moment’s silent thought, “But they still do not know of the scars, or of the…others dwelling within my mind.”

“So because I know, I should cease to be your friend?” Glorfindel looked indignant. “I think not! I would be shamed to even consider the thought!”

Legolas turned and walked away from the blonde Elda, towards the closed balcony doors.

“Legolas,” he followed the younger elf, remaining a few paces behind. “What do you fear? You hold no evil within you, of that I am certain. You have been terribly hurt, and my only wish is to help. What can I do to earn your trust?”

“Leave me be,” came the soft reply.

“Is that what you truly wish?” Glorfindel asked, his voice softening.

There was no answer, so Glorfindel stepped forwards until he stood only a pace behind the younger elf.

“I have noted some stiffness. Here.” He lightly touched a spot on the center of Legolas’ back where he knew the scarring was particularly tight and thick like leather, and was pleased to note that while the younger elf was tensed, he didn’t flinch at the contact.

“I know you cannot reach this spot easily on your own. Let me help you with this.” Still sensing the fear in the other elf’s stance, he moved over to the weapons rack where a pair of twin blades rested. He knew what he was about to do would be extremely dangerous, perhaps even fatal should Mórehua be inclined to emerge, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get Legolas to see he had nothing to fear from him. He removed one of the sheathed blades while Legolas turned his head to watch with mingled curiosity and uneasiness.

“Take this.” He held the weapon out hilt first, and Legolas carefully reached out to accept it. “Now, if I do anything to hurt you, you may use it on me.”

Legolas’ eyes flashed in surprise, yet he still gripped the hilt tightly. After a moment’s consideration he slowly removed his robe with hesitant movements, leaving him dressed only in a pair of dark sleep-pants. Glorfindel nodded, and then picked up the small bottle, pouring some of the richly scented oil onto his long hands. He warmed it slightly before moving behind Legolas and placing his fingers on the scarred back. The flesh twitched slightly, and the hand clenching the knife tightened further, but other than that no move was made. Breathing an inwards sigh of relief, Glorfindel began carefully massaging the oil into the tight skin.

Legolas slowly let loose a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Glorfindel had strong hands, whose touch could be soft and gentle when need be, despite the calluses formed from years of swordplay. The long fingers slowly worked their way over the scars, and the touch felt odd, yet soothing and warm as well. In truth the hands felt much better over his ruined flesh than his own, and strangely more comforting that Elrond’s clinical fingerings. However he still couldn’t quite overcome the nervousness of having someone touch his body, and his muscles remained tense throughout. It was a new experience he never knew he had missed. He had never willingly accepted the touch of another, for fear they would discover the burns, or something else.

The voices remained silent; quietly approving or silently disapproving depending upon the nature of each, but still silent.

When the hands finally left his back he actually felt vaguely bereft, which surprised him. He had also briefly forgotten about the knife still clutched in his hand. He stared at it, watching as the hand started to shake with some feeling beyond his control. A sense of grief welled through him, the emotions strong and bitter, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

*Not now!* He admonished himself. *Not while Glorfindel is here! I will not be seen as weak!* Yet he couldn’t control the trembling that seemed to creep up his arm.

Glorfindel immediately caught sight of the reaction, and without a thought took Legolas’ hand in his own. The knife he carefully removed and tossed upon the nearby bed. He could sense the bitter despair emanating from within the elf; could see it shining brightly from the twilight eyes. There was also fear of recrimination, and when Legolas tried to pull away, Glorfindel stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Legolas looked at the hand, then followed it upwards until he was looking directly into the cobalt blue eyes of the older elf. The compassion he found there proved to be his undoing.

“Why did he do this to me?” The twilight eyes were wide and pleading, Legolas’ voice breaking on the last word.

“Oh, young one,” Glorfindel gently pulled Legolas to him, fighting back his own tears which threatened upon seeing the pain flooding the elf’s eyes.

“I do not know,” he whispered softly, holding him with gentle arms. “I truly do not know.”


Review Responses:

Thalionwen: Masterful!? (blushing brightly) Well…what can I say to that but a really big thank you. Wow!

Ertia: Thank you! A twisted mind I suppose. (grin) And it’s not over yet…

Eep: Yes, I suppose I do have to have some sort of happy ending. I’m much better with ironic, or even just plain morose, but I think I can do happy. Another challenge! (grin) But before we get to that, more lovely angst on the way! Things can always get worse. I just can’t help it. I love the stuff!

Yanic: Thank you. Actually, I’ve only taken one psychology course, although I wish I’d taken more. I mostly just read a lot, (working in a bookstore has its advantages!) and I find mental health such a fascinating subject. I’m glad to hear my story is on key with the mental issues presented your class, although things are going to start getting real hairy real soon, so I’ll be diverging a bit. After all, humans don’t fade from sexual assault.

Crookis: Thanks! I hope this last Glorfindel/Legolas interaction was suitable? There will be more, don’t worry. (grin)

Elwenlj: Thanks for your wonderful compliments and your suggestion. Masterpiece?! Damn it, I’m blushing again!
I’ll look into that LJ site, and perhaps consider posting there. Actually I just feel so odd considering posting elsewhere. It’s not that I’m adverse to the thought; just pure nerves getting in my way I suppose. (smile)

Trytoobeeornot2be: Well, thank you for following this story, even if you haven’t posted a comment until now. I consider each hit a compliment. (smile) And your appreciation is wonderful.
Thanks for your suggestions. I agree about Fanfiction.net; I’ve heard of too many people getting kicked off that site, and I know this would probably get nixed too if I decide to leave chapter 22 as it is. (oops, did I say too much? (grin)) Yet I suppose I could pare things down a bit. Melorn Chronicles looks like a really nice site. I’d have to think about it. If you’d like to send me a list of possible sites, I’d appreciate it. I’ll still have to work on getting my nerves up about posting elsewhere (just initially posting here took me about a month), but I think I can do it. And if I need help, I know who to ask. Thanks!
To make it easy, my email is nikkilingrose@yahoo.com.

MorierBlackleaf: Yes indeed, it’s slowly becoming G/L. (grin) I’ll admit, when I first started writing this little monster, I wasn’t sure who the pairing would end up being, so I just decided to let whatever happen, happen. Stephen King was right. Just let it go and the plot will come.
Oh, and I now sympathize with you and how hard it was to kill off the bad guy in your story. It’s taken me three weeks now to write the big scene for this piece, and I’m still not really satisfied. I’m afraid Saeldis, as terrible as he is, was starting to grow on me.(sigh) And I tried so hard to keep him at a distance…

Zed: LOL! This whole story feels like I’m balancing on a knife’s edge! But thank you. And it does make sense to have the original with the same name as the cover personality, yes? I mean, if you want no one to know what’s happening, and you’re trying to paint a picture of normalcy, you can’t suddenly say, “Oh, Nikki’s gone. Just call me Fred.” (grin) And I’m glad you like my Elrond as well. He’s actually quite enjoyable to write. Both him and Ravan I’ve modeled after one of my…ah…muses.
As for how old the original Legolas is, I’m thinking around three or four in human years…that seems to make the most sense given that DID happens when the child is abused at a very young age. But not to worry, Glory is not going to have to wait that long. One of the stages of healing and of combining the spirits seems to be making them all as close as possible. The young ones will be aged with the help of the elders. It’s kinda confusing, and the details are a bit obscure, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out in time. Besides, I’m working with elves here, thus am allowed some liberties. (grin) But first things first: to rid themselves of the problem.

Lelann: Thank you so much!