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!
Winter Holidays! (All of them!)

Thanks to both Linuari and Ki-fors for beta-ing. You were both a big help.

Okay guys, this chapter’s a long one, and one of the reasons I was unsure about whether to rate it R or NC17. And //..// denotes memories. Uhm…yeah.

Chapter Twenty-two: One Long Night: Death


He was drowning. Some sort of bitter liquid was being forced down his throat, causing him to choke when he tried to draw in a breath. Panic erupted within him, and he fiercely struggled to move his body away from the flowing liquid. A crushing grip painfully squeezed his jaw, forcing his mouth open and keeping his head immobile. His frightened eyes blinked open, and a dull pounding inside his head caused his vision waver momentarily. He tried lifting his hands to push away whatever was holding him down, only to discover they were bound at the wrists and rendered immobile by whoever was holding him. Darkness crept along the edges of his vision from the lack of air reaching his lungs, yet he could still see Master Saeldis’ face looming overhead, his face set in a fierce scowl. In his hand was a cup, the contents of which were slowly being poured down the younger elf’s unwilling throat.

Finally, just as the darkness began to envelop him once more, the grip on his jaw was released, and he felt Saeldis pull away. Legolas immediately rolled over onto his side, coughing and fighting for the return of air to his starving lungs. Frantically, his mind fought for reason. How long had Master Saeldis been waiting for him in his rooms? How long had he been unconscious? What was in that foul concoction that he had been forced to drink?

He didn’t know how long he remained curled on his side, but when he could finally breathe without coughing the vile liquid from his lungs he rose to a kneeling position, testing the coarse bindings around his wrists that kept his hands bound before him. They were tight, the knot appearing complex, but nothing he felt he couldn’t free himself from given time.

Master Saeldis silently watched Legolas from across the room, his eyes glittering darkly. This cursed creature kneeling on the floor had been the bane of his long existence. This was the reason for the return of the Dark One’s servant. This was the reason his second family had perished. The elf had been born at the same time as Sauron’s return to Dol Guldor, his long, exhausting birth nearly causing the Mirkwood queen to perish as well. Much to Saeldis’ vexation, no one else seemed to see the connection, or sense this dark taint that had corrupted the elfling’s soul, so he immediately took it upon himself to attempt to exorcise the demons he saw lurking within. More than once he had considered it to be easier to just kill the whelp, but thought himself too kind to allow that to happen. He would do as his own father had done, and if beating the darkness out of the elf didn’t work, more drastic measures would be found.

Yet he hadn’t succeeded, and as time passed the demons seemed to take a stronger hold upon the elfling’s spirit. Saeldis had soon found himself subject to temptations he could not control, and eventually in his anger succumbed to his baser desires. Now he realized there was only one recourse left. Death.

The look Saeldis sent the younger elf caused Legolas’ heart to race, and he knew he had to get away now.

Legolas struggled to stand, stumbling against the wardrobe in a sudden bout of imbalance. The room seemed to turn queasily, and he couldn’t manage to keep his feet steady beneath him.

“What did you do?” Legolas cried out, panic lending a broken edge to his voice. The balcony was somewhere behind him. If he could just get there…

Saeldis glanced down at the cup still clenched in his hand with a bemused look. “Something I filched from the healing quarters. This,” he held up the object, “is supposed to relax the body, and this,” he held up a small green leaf too small for Legolas to discern, “tends to have adverse effects on ones mind. Together,” he shrugged, “well, it will not kill you, but the effects are not pleasant either. You were disrespectful, and once more you tried to kill me. Such insolence will not go unpunished. I do believe my limits have finally been reached.”

Legolas closed his eyes against the twisting room, hoping the dizziness would ease with the dark. However his legs still wouldn’t obey his direction, and he found himself sliding backwards to the floor. His breathing deepened as his panic increased and the effects of the drug swiftly became more debilitating.

* * *

A fierce, invisible wind seemed to blow through the clearing, heralding an oncoming storm, and the limbs of the great tree began to toss about dangerously. Dark leaves were torn from the heavy branches to tumble through the air, disappearing upon reaching the forest edge. The long grasses that grew profusely in the wide open space between tree and forest rippled in a long wave, and then almost flattened to the ground with the force of the metaphysical current. Dark grew the sky, angry storm clouds billowing high above in reflection of the turmoil of the mind. A strong sense of dread filled the air, and all the spirits shivered as it touched them with its frigid fingers. This was not natural. Something terrible was starting to happen.

* * *

*Ravan! Mórehua! Please help!* Legolas silently called, while outwardly he began to yell as loud as he could. He scrambled gracelessly towards the balcony by whatever means he could, eyes still tightly closed against the waves of disorientation. Saeldis meant to finally kill him, of that he was certain.

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching was the only warning he had before a heavy blow to the face sent him reeling backwards, cutting off his cry for help. It was followed by a swift kick to the midsection which he had no time to dodge.

“We shall have none of that,” Saeldis growled as he pulled a piece of cloth from one of the pockets of his robes. The gag was forced between Legolas’ teeth, Saeldis slapping him once again when he struggled to pull away. “You used to be a quiet elfling. No matter how corrupt you became, your silence remained, and provided me with hope. A quiet elf is a virtuous elf, after all.”

* * *

Oiolaire watched from the edge of the disturbed forest, momentarily forgotten by the others. From his vantage he could see Ravan crouched at the base of the great tree, holding little Elanor tightly in his protective arms. The elder spirit’s watchful eyes scanned the surroundings seeking the source of the trouble, but were unable to discover an answer. For a moment he struggled to rise from his position, but as Oiolaire watched a sudden weakness seemed to come over Ravan, and he sank back down against the dark base of the tree.

Aenos stood close by the fading spirit, back pressed to the rough trunk as if he could somehow become one with the protective entity. Fear seemed to have the proud spirit tight within its grasp, and he barely moved, pale eyes staring unseeing into the clearing. Mórehua and Fánehua crouched back to back in the tall grasses just beyond the rest of them, one hand of each clutching the other for strength and reassurance. Outwardly they appeared deathly calm, yet Oiolaire knew that to be a mask hiding a deeper terror.

As he watched, Fánehua stumbled a few steps away from his brother, attempting to reach the forest and the barrier it held. However he was forced to stop, curling in on himself in attempt to regain his lost equilibrium.

Oiolaire bit the edge of one finger nervously. He was unaffected by the weakness that currently assailed the rest of the group, and while he could feel the fear, it didn’t consume him. Granted, he still wanted to run and hide somewhere safe, but he knew there was no place to go. Inside the storm was building up strength, and as he watched, several dark wispy shapes fell from the arms of the quaking tree. They cried out weakly as they dropped, landing near the huddled spirits with soft thuds.

Ravan flinched away from them, silvery tears trickling down his cheeks as he watched them slowly rise. He knew these pitiable creatures; they were spirits like the rest of them, only faded from torment until they were nothing more than fragile memories. Given time they would disappear completely.

One of the nearly-faded spirits reached out to touch the cheek of the crouched elf, and Ravan froze. His eyes took on an inward, almost glazed look for a moment, and his entire body began to tremble with some sort of intense emotion. Feeling the tremors, Elanor gasped loudly from her protected position in Ravan’s arms.

“Go ‘way!” She screamed, pulling Ravan’s head away from the cold touch. The frail spirit shied away, and Ravan let loose a long, shuddering breath as his focus returned. For a brief time looked shaken, his features filled with despair, before his usual mask of quiescence settled back over his face.

Suddenly something else dropped from the dark reaches of the oak; something with a more solid shape and form, landing at Ravan’s feet. It took Oiolaire a moment to realize who the small, golden-haired elfling was, and when he did, his panic suddenly increased a hundred-fold. Whatever was disrupting their inner world had shaken the core from its protections, and now the spirit was awake and vulnerable.

The human spirit watched as Legolas sat up, looking about with rapidly blinking eyes. Fear was etched on his young face as he took in the world around him, and he scrambled back to cling to the base of the tree. Fortunately Ravan was close enough to grab him, enfolding him next to Elanor in the safety of his arms. He would keep the elfling safe as long as he possibly could. Yet how much longer would that be?

Several of the tattered spirits remained huddled on the ground, doing nothing more than rocking piteously where they fell. A few others desperately ran towards the surrounding forest, as if they could seek some sort of safety in the tangled growth. Oiolaire watched as they passed, then turned to follow. Inside things were falling apart. But outside…

* * *

Legolas gasped as a sudden memory assaulted him, sweeping through his mind like a poisonous fog. He lost sight of his former tutor in the dark haze, and instead found himself trapped in a heavy darkness.

//The wooden crate was solid, with not even a single errant crack for light to creep through. It was so small the little elfling was forced to sit curled up with his knees drawn to his chest and head bowed. His body hurt from earlier lashings, and something else that his mind veered away from, causing his stomach to twist painfully.

He reached out with one hand until it touched the solid wooden boards. The hand slowly clenched into a fist and, joined by a second, began beating frantically at the walls of his prison. Whimpers of fear escaped his lips, and he fought back a panicked scream that rose in the back of his throat. His breathing grew more labored in the suffocating darkness, for the air seemed too close, and too little to survive upon.

No one was coming. None could hear him. Yet still he continued to pound frantically on the wall. He would surely die here alone. Everyone would forget about him; forget that he even existed…//

Streaks of bright color shot across Legolas’ eyes as the memory left him, leaving him feeling muddle-headed and disoriented. Instinct took over as a strong hand fisted in his long hair and started pulling him backwards along the cold floor. He twisted, ignoring the pain that shot through his abdomen from the earlier blow and reached up to clutch at the unwanted hand. With his nails he scored the flesh, but the hand didn’t loosen in the slightest.

Saeldis paused momentarily and looked down, barely feeling the pain of his now bloodied hand. “Where is the other one,” he asked with a smirk. “The demon.”

Saeldis released his hold and stepped back. Legolas used the brief respite to attempt to rise, yet again he was unsuccessful. Queasiness to the point of nausea assaulted him in waves, making it impossible to stand without falling. Anger flared within him. He would not give up! He WOULD protect them! Once again darkness overtook him, and he felt himself being swept up into another memory.

//Red and orange light flickered about his body as flames ate away at the room. Smoke billowed darkly along the ceiling, and the heat seemed to pucker his skin as he lay there, crumpled in the corner in a strange daze. Slowly turning his head, he could see the overturned brazier with its glowing coals scattered upon the floor. Master Saeldis stood on the opposite side of the room, frantically beating away the dancing flames that had caught the edges of his robes. Within moments he had the fire on his person put out, yet by that point it was too late for the rest of the room. With a snarl the tutor swept towards the door, yet Leoglas could see the fear lurking within the depths of those mad eyes. That fear made him want to laugh, and he released a brief chuckle as the flames crept closer.

Saeldis struggled with the lock, but in his panic could not open it before the hot flames once again began licking at his heels. Still watching, Legolas shifted, then let out a gasp of pain as he aggravated recent injuries. Unfortunately the swift intake of air caused him to breath in a great quantity of smoke, and he began to cough violently.

Saeldis, suddenly reminded of the other occupant to the room, spun around. “You will die here!” he spat, still beating away flames that reached for him with hungry intent.

“So will you,” Legolas gasped out as the flames began licking at his own flesh. Yet he didn’t pull away as his skin grew red from their touch. He would die here, and it would be worth it as long as the other elf died too.//

Suddenly Leoglas was thrown out of the memory into a similar situation, lacking only the fire to interfere. The flash seemed to only have lasted a moment, and as he shook his head to clear it, he abruptly recalled the knives waiting on the weapons rack only a short distance away. Glancing up, he noted Master Saeldis watching him with that indescribable look, a belt slowly being threaded in his hands. The older elf’s intentions were clear – to strangle him with the belt as Mórehua had attempted earlier that evening – and Legolas knew he would have to be quick.

With a desperate lunge he shot towards the rack and the weaponry it held. Despite the dizziness and weakness of limb he was able to reach and grasp wooden frame. One knife rested there and he scooped it up at the same moment as an attack came from behind, a sharp blow to the side of his head knocking him swiftly to the floor. He retained his hold on the knife as he collapsed, his vision graying slightly from the force of the blow.

“I never could find a way of dispelling the darkness from you,” Legolas heard Saeldis say angrily from behind him. “Foul demon-spawn. I should have killed you when you were merely a youngling, and saved us all the aggravation.”

He softly walked around until he was standing just beside Legolas’ head. Crouching down, he grabbed another fistful of hair and lifted the elf’s head until he was looking his nemesis in the eye. Legolas blinked, trying to clear his vision and bring Saeldis’ face into focus. “To think, twice now you have tried to kill me, and twice you failed. You are weak and pathetic. I believe I shall dispose of you as you would have done with me.”

He released the blonde locks, dropping Legolas’ head sharply back to the floor, and reached out to wrap the improvised noose about his victim’s neck.

Yet as Legolas slumped forwards, he pulled his bound hands beneath him to catch himself. In one swift motion he heaved himself up, twisting and lunging towards Saeldis with the blade slashing before him. He aimed for the chest, or at least where he thought the velvet-clad chest should be. Unfortunately the drugs that had been forced upon him earlier were more debilitating than he had anticipated, and his movements more impaired. He missed his target, barely grazing the older elf’s arm with the edge of the sharp blade.

Saeldis’ reflexes were swift, and as Legolas’ hands passed he dropped the belt and grasped the bound wrists, using the momentum to spin him about until Legolas’ back was pressed against his chest, blade held firmly against his cheek.

“Drop the knife,” Saeldis hissed. Legolas twisted to pull away, but the knife dug painfully into his cheek, drawing a bright trickle of blood. A deep sense of shame filled his heart, and his eyes closed as he realized his failure. He was trapped, weak and helpless. His knees sagged as he gave up the effort to stand, and the knife slipped from his fingers to clatter loudly upon the floor.

“That is better.” Legolas was suddenly propelled forwards, landing heavily upon the bed, his hands trapped beneath him.


* * *

Oiolaire approached the barrier between the inner and outer world and paused. He didn’t wish to pass, didn’t want to face what he knew was out there. He had already seen and suffered so much, and although he couldn’t fade, he was still so tired. Yet he was the only one who could do anything. Hadn’t he wanted to get his own revenge? While it wasn’t something he sought as eagerly as others, it was still there in the back of his mind. He was terribly frightened, but thinking back on the others, he knew he had to protect them as he always had, especially now that Legolas had been shaken loose from his protective nest.

Looking down at his small hands he clenched them tightly, and for one brief moment they seemed larger, older. Heaving a sigh, he braced himself and took a step forwards, pushing through the barrier into the outer world. Maybe if he did a good job, he thought hopefully, he could finally be free…

* * *

Legolas felt himself being pushed back, and welcomed the release of control. Yet he couldn’t pull back far enough to hide from what was happening. He assumed it would be Mórehua, or even Fánehua who took over, and was surprised to realize it was Oiolaire instead. A new despair swept over him; the only times the small child spirit appeared was when they needed to hide or when things were so hopeless nothing could be done but suffer.

Oiolaire struggled briefly as he moved into control, realizing his hands were tightly bound beneath him. His body seemed to be trapped by an invisible weight of lethargy, making it difficult to move easily. A physical weight then settled over his back, and a pair of long hands braced themselves on either side of his head.

He couldn’t help but shiver as a warm breath caressed his ear. “Remember, you are the one who caused this,” came the angry whisper. “It is you who bring about your own suffering.”

The weight lifted, the hands moving from either side of his head to trace along his sides. Oiolaire shrank away from the touch, and yet made no further move to resist. He knew what would come next, and also knew fighting was a futile gesture. Saeldis was always in complete control. Yet even so a muffled whimper still escaped his gagged mouth from the anticipation of the pain he knew would soon come.

The hands and the weight disappeared momentarily, but Oiolaire didn’t breathe any easier. Before he could attempt to turn the cruel elf was back, and the end of a leather belt was trailed across his cheek. The unwelcome touch spurred his body to move momentarily, fighting against the weight of the drugs still coursing through his body.

He twisted his head around, and a gleam of silver caught his eye. A knife lay half buried in the coverlet near his body, forgotten by all. He didn’t know how it got there, but he knew he had to get to it. This was the first time such an opportunity had presented itself to him, and it was his only chance to stop this before it was too late.

He started to move his hands to the side, out from beneath his body, so he could reach the partially hidden blade. Yet before he could move them very far Saeldis slipped the improvised noose over his head and began to cinch it tight.

Oiolaire gasped for breath through the gag before his airway was restricted by the slowly contracting belt. For a brief moment another burst of renewed energy coursed through him, fed by his sudden desperation. He struggled frantically, seeing his options slowly dwindling, but couldn’t overcome Saedlis’s weight pressed over his back.

The sound of tearing cloth reached Oiolaire’s ears followed by the feel of a cool hand brushing across his exposed buttocks. His eyes widened in fear as one of Saeldis’ strong hands moved to grip his hips and pain suddenly erupted through his body as he was suddenly impaled upon his former tutor’s hard length. A harsh, strangled moan escaped his throat through the gag as he felt his body tear, split by the cruel elf’s unforgiving brutality.

It was tempting to fall back and let it happen, to let himself drown in the familiar feelings of anguish and despair. He could feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest, every beat seeming to emphasize each agonizing thrust Saeldis made. The belt twining his neck slowly grew tighter, every breath a nearly impossible struggle, and tears filled his eyes from constant stinging pain.

Yet he pushed away the beckoning lethargy, concentrating his attentions through the discomfort on shifting his hands further towards the waiting blade. Luckily, Saeldis remained so focused on his own personal enjoyment of the dominating situation that he didn’t see Oiolaire finally grasp the knife in both hands.

Oiolaire realized he was running out of time as his vision wavered from the lack of air and the darkness crept closer. He would never be able to rise in time, if he could rise at all. The knife, a beacon of hope, was useless. And yet…

In that moment he ceased to struggle, letting his weakened body relax in the semblance of one dead. He was never much one for fighting, but he had grown very adept at hiding. And stillness was one form of hiding he excelled at.

For several long, agonizing moments Saeldis kept a tight hold on the belt, and Oiolaire feared he wouldn’t last much longer before unconsciousness finally claimed him. Yet suddenly Saeldis relaxed his grip, letting the belt loosen ever so slightly. The rhythmic thrusting grew erratic, and within moments Oiolaire felt Saeldis’ release, his foul seed burning it’s way deep inside his aching body.

After a moment of complete stillness, Saeldis pulled away from his victim. That moment was all Oiolaire needed. With a gasping cry of rage mixed with fear and despair he twisted around, using is legs for leverage, and stabbed outwards with the long knife.

There was a moment’s pause when time seemed to stand still. Saeldis gazed down upon Oiolaire with a confused expression etched across his face. The knife was buried deep into his chest until only the hilt remained visible; a lucky strike that had found its way past the ribs straight into the heart. Then with a soft gurgle he began to drop. Oiolare scrambled away, forcing his tired, air-starved limbs to move before the body could land on top of him, then watched as Saeldis rolled onto his side before settling with a gasping breath. Tears fell in silvery tracks down Oiolaire’s cheeks as he realized what he had done; he had killed another being. Painfully he crouched beside the bed, too frightened of what had just happened, of what he had done, to do much else.

Suddenly, with a gut-wrenching shiver, Oiolaire felt himself shoved away. Fánehua emerged in his place, having finally struggled his way to the barrier and beyond. His eyes quickly scanned the room, noting Master Saeldis’ body lying still upon the bed, feeling the various aches his own body had suffered. Oiolaire had suffered.

Trembling in both rage and sudden anguish Fánehua pulled the gag from his lips and the leather belt from his neck. One of his silver knives lay upon the floor where it had been dropped earlier, and he crawled over to pick it up. The binding around his wrists he was able to sever with unsteady hands, nicking the flesh as he did so. Once free of his bonds, he turned back towards the body. The eyes were closed yet the mouth was open as if to catch one last breath of air.

A black rage overcame him, born of pain and desperation. Injuries momentarily forgotten, he leapt for the bed with a bloodcurdling scream of anger. With the knife clutched in one hand he stabbed the body once more, driving the blade deep into the cooling flesh.

Yet it wasn’t enough. He had to be certain the creature was dead. He had come back last time, after the fire. This was just like it was then: waking to find himself in agony from newly inflicted wounds, and Master Saeldis standing nearby, cleaning his hands with an old piece of cloth. Upon seeing the elf, so calm and self-assured, he dove for the brazier and the glowing embers that rested therein, content to destroy them both in the resulting flames as the fire fed upon the stacks of crates that filled the room.

Only it hadn’t worked. The monster had escaped, and while rescue had come for them, the resulting burns had hidden almost all trace of previous injury. Of his defilement they never guessed, and never even thought to look.

With the sharp knife Fánehua began to dismember the body, certain it was the only way to ensure Saeldis’ continued demise. So engrossed was he in his work he didn’t hear the frantic pounding on the door, or even react when it finally broke free of the lock and was shoved open.

Glorfindel stepped inside the room, followed closely by Laurerána and Elladan. He had found them in the gardens, recruiting them to help find the wayward prince. When it was discovered that Saeldis had never returned to his rooms, and Legolas couldn’t be found, Glorfindel had assumed the worst and charged straight here.

He stopped abruptly, momentarily stunned by the scene laid out before him. A crimson pool of blood surrounded the bed, slowly dripping off the coverlet. Upon it lay a body, slowly and methodically being dismembered until it was nearly impossible to tell who it once was. Only the fact that Glorfindel recognized the robes from earlier informed him the Master Saeldis had finally met his demise.

Legolas sat crouched over the form, his arms appearing to have been dipped in crimson ink. Blood soaked through his white shirt, while more stained his long hair and was smeared across one cheek. His dark eyes held a look of near madness, and did not even glance upwards to see who had intruded upon his work.

“Sweet Valar!” A female voice from behind Glorfindel whispered hoarsely, and he was certain if he turned to look, Laurerána’s face would be just as pale as his own, if not more so. He had seen much in both his long lives, but watching the Mirkwood prince soaked in blood, carving apart another elf, was enough to shake any.

“Mórehua?” Glorfindel called out carefully, trying to identify this particular spirit. It looked like Mórehua, but then again, there was no response to the name. He doubted Legolas would actually do this thing on his own, and wracked his mind for another name. Obviously it wasn’t Elanor, or even Ravan unless he’d finally been broken beyond sanity. Not Aenos, and that left Oiolaire and Fánehua.

“Fánehua?” Glorfindel called again, and was rewarded by a lifting of the head. The eyes seemed to have a difficult time focusing on him, and Glorfindel moved a step closer. Something was definitely wrong.

The elf scrambled ungracefully off the bed away from the others, slipping in the pool of congealing blood, yet still clutching the knife in one hand. His eyes were wide, the pupils expanded until they looked black. Glorfindel could now see the extent of his torn clothes as Fánehua moved shakily towards the wall, clutching it like some sort of lifeline. He could hear Elladan behind him let out a soft curse, and Glorfindel felt like doing the same. It seemed obvious. The elf had been raped.

Fánehua sank slowly down to the floor, sliding down the wall and leaving dark red streaks behind. He raised the knife with a trembling hand, pointing it first at Glorfindel, then sweeping it across towards the mutilated corpse.

“He is dead,” Fánehua stated bleakly.

“So I see,” Glorfindel replied, glancing quickly at the body.

“He is finally dead!” He shouted again, and then a ripple seemed to pass through his body, indicating change.

“He made us drink something,” came a slightly different voice, and the blade lowered, but before Glorfindel could identify who spoke, another shudder shook the body.

“Legolas has awakened! We are lost!” Bleak eyes looked at Glorfindel for a moment, then there was a shudder and another shift.

“I was wrong…” His head lowered, one hand rising to rub against his forehead despondently, and leaving more streaks of blood in its wake. Shudder and shift.

“Stop it!” The head rose, breathing quickened. Shudder and shift.

“No more…” The head lowered once more, and the knife dropped with a loud clatter. Shudder and shift.

Glorfindel watched the seemingly uncontrolled shifting with anxious eyes, and then swiftly turned towards the other two waiting elves. Twin looks of shock and horror were mirrored on their faces.

“Elladan!” he commanded. “Go get Elrond. Now!” He watched as the dark haired elf took off at a run, then turned to Laurerána. “Guard the door. I want no one else coming in here.”

She nodded, and then turned towards the door. Although she was intensely worried over the well-being of her long-time comrade, she was grateful to leave the desperate and sickly scene on the bed.

Glorfindel turned back towards the elf crouched in the corner, and taking a deep breath, slowly stepped closer. The switching appeared to have stopped, leaving the elf huddled on the floor, rocking slightly with knees pulled to his chest. He looked up, and Glorfindel recognized Elanor staring at him with summer eyes faded with sorrow and confusion.

“Oh, Elanor,” He said grimly, his heart lurching at her obvious pain. He crouched down in front of the elfling as she watched him, but instead of the fear he expected to see, she held her arms out to him while bright tears tracked down her cheeks.

He took the invitation, gathering her up in his arms despite the blood that covered her body, and rocking her gently. He wished to cry himself. If only he had been quicker. If only he had spoken to the guards sooner. If only he had killed Saeldis when he had the chance. If only…

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into the elfling’s ear, running his hand along the bloodstained hair.

“It hurts,” Elanor sobbed, burying her face in his tunic. “What happened? Dizzy. I don’t feel so good.”

“All will be well,” Glorfindel whispered, speaking the words yet not believing them. How could anything be well after this?

“Help is coming,” he continued, then continued to speak reassuring phrases that might help calm the weeping elfling.

Without warning a harsh tremor shook her body, and she yanked herself violently away from Glorfindel’s comforting arms. Glorfindel immediately released the elf, sensing the change and knowing that while Elanor might welcome the comfort, the others would not.

Dark eyes stared up at him and one hand searched blindly along the floor. When it encountered the knife, he immediately snatched it up and brought it to bear. Glorfindel watched this reaction, his own body on alert for any sudden attack. The look in the wide eyes was not entirely focused, not entirely sane.

Suddenly, instead of attacking outwards as Glorfindel had expected, the knife was swiftly reversed and the blade plunged deeply into his stomach. Glorfindel cried out in shock as Fánehua sagged back against the wall, a curious expression of serenity flowing over his features.

“No!” Glorfindel shouted as he caught the slumped form, easing him to the ground. “You can fight this! You are stronger than this!”

He heard a flurry of robes approaching from behind, and eased back slightly as Elrond crouched down beside him. The healer’s practiced eye swept over the body, then turned towards Glorfindel with a stoic look etched across his face. Yet it was only a mask, and the blonde Elda could see the desperation lurking beneath.

“We need to get him to the healing quarters. Now.”

Glorfindel nodded, knowing even then that it might be too late.






A/N:
As nikkiling has been suddenly bit by the lazy bug after this last chapter, she’s leaving it up to us (her muses) to do the review responses. So, my name’s Nikki, and I’d just like to say a mass Thank You to Karen, Crookis, lelann, Ertia, Yanic, and MorierBlackleaf for your continuing comments. They are an absolute joy to read.

Tammerlyne: Yes, you should see Nikkiling when she reads them. She starts to get all jumpy and flutters her fingers in the air. It’s quite cute actually, especially when she’s at work.

Mikhail: Not that she should be reading at work…but yeah, thanks to all for your comments. Keeps her writing you know, and I’m still waiting for some smut.

Nikki: Mikhail! I would have thought after this last chapter you’d be sitting easy for awhile. Anyway, Lady Warrior? Would you like to say something?

Lady Warrior: I do not wish to have anything to do with this trash, thank you very much.

Nikki: Well, now you know where some of Saeldis’s personality came from. Windsong?

Windsong: I would just say thank you to all who have reviewed throughout this little adventure of Nikkiling’s, and to everyone who stopped in to read and decided to come back for more. As much as we try to tell her she’s a good writer, she never really believed it until you all started leaving such wonderful comments. Thank you very much.

Nikki: And there you have it. I might as well also comment that she doesn’t have Dissociative Identity Disorder, just some really annoying guides/muses. Now, back to the Tavern! Drinks are on Mikhail!

Mikhail: Hey!