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 storms…

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


Chapter Twenty-three: Afterwards


Glorfindel stood in the doorway watching as Elrond cleaned his hands of the last traces of blood. Looking up, he could see the first traces of Anor’s light shining through one of the large windows. It had been a very long night.

The healer then turned back to the pale form lying unconscious on the bed and placed a single weary hand upon the woodelf’s forehead. After a moment of stillness Elrond heaved a sigh before adjusting the coverlet and turning to face the anxious gaze of his friend.

“I have done all I can,” the dark haired elf spoke quietly. “We were lucky his aim was off, and although there was some muscle damage, he missed all essential organs. I was able to successfully remove the blade and stitch the wound closed. It also appears from the gashes across his back that he was recently beaten. These would be easily recoverable had it not been for the rape. And from the internal scarring this wasn’t the first time. Fortunately the physical damage wasn’t too extensive. Unfortunately, the emotional damage will be considerable. Do you happen to know which spirit took the brunt of the attack?”

Glorfindel shook his head, his heart dropping at the news. “I know not. When I arrived Fánehua was in control. I believe none of them escaped unscathed.”

Elrond looked back towards Legolas. “That is most unfortunate,” he murmured.

“They all spoke.” Glorfindel continued. “One made reference to Legolas being awake. I believe he was referring to the original.”

If possible the frown on Elrond’s face deepened. “Then it is worse than I feared. If he was exposed to this attack he will surely fade and they will all die.” His hand rose to rub at his furrowed brow. “Ravan had said he was asleep and safe. So why did he wake?”

Glorfindel reached into his pouch and pulled out a cup which he had wrapped in a piece of cloth. “Laurerána found this.” He handed the object to Elrond, who received it with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Legolas, or at least one of the spirits, mentioned that he was made to drink something.”

Elrond unwrapped the cup, and after considering it a moment, passed it under his nose. The bitter, pungent smell was easily recognizable.

“Lobané leaf,” he stated, handing the cup back to Glorfindel, “mixed with a tincture of adselroot. The adselroot tends to induce a sense of lassitude, while the lobané causes disorientation. I keep the leaf here in the healing quarters because it is used to reduce bruising. This is not something I would administer orally, especially to one whose mind is already suspect. There is no telling what it might do.”

“Perhaps that also was one of the reasons he was unable to defend himself until it was too late.” Glorfindel said somberly. “Saeldis said he was going to the healing quarters to take care of the cut on his cheek. He must have picked up the herbs, and then left for Legolas’ rooms.”

He walked to the bed and stared down at the pale elf. An angry red scratch marred his cheekbone, vivid against the pallor of his skin. Bruises ringed the pale column of his throat, while another large swelling disfigured one side of his face. His look was not one of peaceful repose, but instead it seemed completely devoid of emotion, as if all the spirits that had animated the body had disappeared.

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, struggling to hold in his sorrow. Events had proceeded so quickly. It seemed only moments since he had comforted the young elf while he wept, then tucked him away to sleep. His heart had thrilled at the building trust Legolas had shown, and wept with him at the torments he had been subject to. Now the world had once again shifted, and it was uncertain what would happen when the elf awoke. If he ever would.

Guilt now ate away at his heart, while his mind replayed all the ways he could have done things differently; from immediately seizing Saeldis in the gardens when the opportunity presented itself, to escorting him personally to the healing rooms. He should have seen, or at least guessed at the evil intent within the elf. He should have known Mórehua wouldn’t have attacked without provocation, and the newly found wounds across his back seemed provocation enough. He should have immediately gone to Legolas’ rooms and waited for him there, since he would have had to appear there eventually. He should have been faster upon reaching Legolas’ rooms…

“I dealt with Saeldis’ remains myself,” he said, grimacing slightly as he recalled the dismembered state of the body. It had been a gruesome task, for he had to make certain each piece was accounted for. The fingers had been sliced off from the hands, the hands from the wrists, and the ears and nose from the head. Even the obviously spent member had been removed and tossed aside. It had looked as if Fánehua was in the process of separating Saeldis’ head from his shoulders when they had walked in.

“Erestor has taken charge of cleaning the room and disposing of the bloodstained linens,” Glorfindel continued. “We are trying to keep word of the incident from getting out.

“Is there any way to heal them?” he asked, turning to look at Elrond. “Please, be honest.”

“I do not know.” Elrond walked over to stand beside his friend, sensing his grief and feeling the same. “To reintegrate the spirits, they needed to share themselves with each other, to know and share their memories, or at least that is what I’ve read. Unfortunately, to do so would endanger them all given the memories they carry, essentially collapsing the fragile structure of disassociation that he build to survive. I believe this is something Ravan was attempting to do. From what he said earlier, he seemed well aware of the risks involved.”

“So he meant to die.”

“Either that, or he was hoping I could do something to help; perhaps even stop the fading.”

Elrond suddenly whirled about and slammed his fist down hard upon a nearby table, causing the resting pitcher to rattle dangerously. The cool façade dropped, revealing a look of anger and desperation. It was the first outburst he had allowed himself since they had found Legolas dying after the attack.

“I couldn’t even help my own wife,” he whispered hoarsely, finally venting his own fears. “How can ever I hope to save him?”

Glorfindel immediately turned; placing a comforting hand on his friend’s bent shoulder. “One step at a time,” he said, his own voice sounding slightly rough to his ears. “I have faith in you.”

Elrond laughed harshly. “That is what I am afraid of.”

He straightened himself, the cool mask pulled back into place. With one hand he reached out and squeezed Glorfindel’s shoulder in return, then with a wry grin he turned to leave.

“What will you do now?” Glorfindel asked the retreating elf.

“I must change out of these bloody robes, and then pen a new letter to Thranduil informing him of what has happened. It seems I was not able to keep very good care of his son.” And with that he left the room.

Glorfindel moved to sit in a chair next to the bed. His head dropped heavily into his hands as exhaustion swept over him. He had been up early the previous morning, and had no time to rest since. Not that he felt he could sleep; his heart ached from what he had seen in that room, and from the sight of Legolas lying comatose before him.

He heard a noise from behind and lifted his head to look. Elrohir, Elladan, and Laurerána stood in the doorway, the latter two clenching each other’s hand for support. Glorfindel pulled himself up straighter as the three approached.

Elrohir’s grey eyes widened in shock upon seeing Legolas’ battered form. He had been sleeping restlessly in his rooms when his brother and Laurerána had entered, both looking pale and visibly shaken. They had related to him what had happened; what they had seen. Yet their telling was nothing compared to the reality of seeing the elf lying comatose on the bed, bruised and broken. The sight reminded him of his own mother after she had been rescued from the orcs, and he turned his head away from the memory.

Instead he looked over at Glorfindel, and the bleak expression he read in the older elf’s eyes made him involuntarily draw a breath. It was a similar look as that of his father when Celebrian was suffering after her attack; perhaps not quite as sharp, but the affection and remorse were definitely there.

He walked over to his mentor’s side, offering his hand in consolation. Glorfindel took it, squeezing it briefly before looking back towards the bed.

“You heard.” He stated simply.

“Yes,” Elrohir replied, watching his brother and his Mirkwood companion walk over to the window. “‘Dan and Lau’ told me what they knew. What did father say? How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Glorfindel shook his head, “But there is always hope.”

Elrohir looked once more at Legolas, noting the expressionless features and pallid skin. His eyes traveled over the bruises, then paused upon catching sight of the exposed flesh of his shoulder. A mass of scars was exposed, pulling and puckering at the skin. He had never seen this injury before, but then, the elf had never let him close enough to become aware of them.

He turned his head back to Glorfindel, raising one eyebrow in perfect mimicry of his father.

“There is much to tell,” the tired elf sighed. “But I do not believe I can tell it just now. Suffice to say, this was not the first attack, although thankfully it was the last. Master Saeldis finally got what he deserved.”

Elladan shuddered slightly from his vantage by the window. He recalled finding the dismembered body, and yet if what he had seen in that room was the result of long waited vengeance, he was at loathe to discover all that had induced it. Legolas hadn’t looked sane when they came upon him, and Elladan couldn’t erase the memory of the sudden shifts in his features, in his eyes, in his voice while he crouched on the bloodstained floor.

“Was he…is he possessed?” he asked hesitantly, trying to understand what he had seen. He looked to Laurerána, and received an uncertain look in response. She wasn’t so sure of what had happened either.

“No,” Glorfindel explained, running a hand over his eyes tiredly. “It may seem strange, but he has what only could be considered a split mind.”

Elrohir looked confused. “Split mind? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“It is rare, and brought on by tragedy in one’s youth. The mind divides to help cope with the problem.”

“I assume this tragedy was caused by the deceased tutor?” Laurerána asked, catching on quickly.

“Aye,” Glorfindel replied. “What you saw was several different pieces of Legolas struggling for control. The one who you saw dismembering the body was the same one who tried to kill himself.”

“So what do we do now?” Elrohir asked solemnly.

“Wait, and hope one of the spirits deigns to wake.”



A/N: After this, things will start to sway more away from science into more metaphysical/spiritual stuff. I humbly apologize to any who might feel slighted by this. Why am I apologizing, I ask myself? Because I have just hit one of those terrible “I suck” writer’s funks where I feel I need to apologize. ‘Tis silly, yes, but I’ll get over it soon. And for any wondering how much longer this story will last, rest assured, the end is coming soon.


Review Responses:

Karen: Thank you. Yeah, that chapter took forever to write. I had the death scene in my head since before I even began writing this, and I ended up writing three different scenes ‘cause I was never satisfied with how it played out. That was the only one that fit with how I wanted the chapter to end. Now, the healing begins…after a bit more tension anyways.

Morier: Oh dear…is that a good ‘oh my’ or a bad ‘oh my’? I’m on pins and needles here. I had this whole scene in my head many months ago, and then I was reading ‘Even the Odds’ and realized one of your death scenes was quite similar, and I’ve been on edge ever since. I tried to change it, (I ended up writing it out three different times) but the story wouldn’t let me, and now I’m afraid you’ll think I copied you, and I absolutely love your work so I’d hate to think you’d be annoyed with me, and now I’m dithering myself into a panic…(deep breath) This is silly. Thank you?

Ash: Oh my. Thank you for catching that. I’ve actually been trying hard to keep such modern euphemisms, metaphors, and slang out of the story, but somehow that slipped through and no one else caught it. I really appreciate this, and I’ve changed it on my copy. If you catch any more, please feel free to point them out. Good critique is always welcome.
I’m also really glad you’re enjoying this story. I can’t promise I won’t let anyone die, but I can assure people of a happy ending. (smile) I hate it when authors kill off main characters as well.

Crookis: Thank you. That works for me! Any comment from you is welcome!

Yanic: LOL! Thank you! Yeah, it was a bit disturbing; I had a hell of a time writing it actually. I’m glad you liked it though. And yes, I can assure you of a happy ending; just one more bump to go. (Lin keeps telling me I shouldn’t be telling people that it will end happily, but hey, why not! (grin))

Dead Winter: Uh-oh…I think I may be in trouble soon… but thank you. I do love good suspense!

Ertia: Thanks, and yeah, I agree. And I hate to say it, but the dismemberment thing I had very little control over. One of my muses took over the keyboard and began to type. I blame Mikhail over that one. (grin) A bit brutal, but effective, and I can’t say I’d not have done the same thing either. And not to worry, Glorfindel may have been a bit late this last time, but he will be in the thick of things very soon…

Zed: Oh, I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it! Yes, you are right though…and I await your sentence with a trepidatious heart. I am sorry.
But don’t worry, I felt it was pretty obvious to those who came in what happened, and although Fánehua’s a bit mad, I doubt any could blame him. And technically, an elf didn’t kill Saeldis, so it wouldn’t be kinslaying, would it? I know, I know, I’m getting nit-picky here, and probably frustrating you further. I’m sorry. It will all work out though. And I would have also liked to make Saeldis suffer more, but I just couldn’t do it. For some strange reason, I have a hard time torturing the bad guys, but delight in tormenting the good. I guess that makes me sadistic?
Fluffiness for Christmas? Now why would I do that? (grin) I suppose it would be a nice thing, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time.