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!
Neverland!

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


Chapter 24: Travels In The Mind

Five days had passed, and Legolas showed no signs of waking. The vivid purple and red bruises circling his neck and marring his cheek had barely healed. The abdominal wound still bled sluggishly when the bandages were changed, as well as the tearing caused by the rape itself, and the slashes across his back still appeared red and raw.

Not so much as a twitch of an eyelid or a whisper of quickened breath disturbed the deathlike repose. Coaxing fluids into the unresponsive body proved to be a difficult task, for he was more apt to choke than swallow; the only responsive gesture he showed.

Glorfindel found himself spending much of his time at Legolas’s side. He knew he had other duties to perform, and a dearth of sleep to consider, yet he found he could not concentrate on the tasks and the needed sleep continued to elude him. Instead he would sit and hold the unconscious elf’s hand, calling out the various names in hope that one would hear and answer. The rest of the time he spent praying to the Valar, that they might show mercy and heal the splintered spirit within the battered body. Occasionally one of the twins or Laurerána would come to relieve him, or sit with him. None wanted to leave Legolas alone should he wake, or more fearfully, should he pass away.

It was at the end of the fifth day that Elrond walked in carrying a small brazier in his hands instead of his usual bandages and medicinals. Glorfindel watched curiously as Elrond set this object down near the foot of the bed and pulled a small tinderbox from his robes.

“He does not heal, and will not last much longer if something is not done.” Elrond said in answer to his friend’s silent question. “My sons are on their way. Together we will attempt to enter his mind and call him forth.”

He lit the brazier, slowly fanning the coals to life, before reaching into his robes once more to pull out a small leather pouch. It contained various dried herbs, which he proceeded to sprinkle over the small fire. A heavy, musky scent soon filled the air.

Elrond rose, habitually smoothing down his robes, then moved over to Legolas’s side. One hand he placed over the elf’s forehead and his brow furrowed momentarily in concentration. Then with a heavy sigh he looked to Glorfindel.

“The herbs will help calm and center the mind. I cannot promise anything, and although Elladan and Elrohir are practiced in this, their experience is limited. There is no telling what we may find.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Do you wish me to leave?”

“No. Stay. If something should happen…” Elrond trailed off, reluctant to give voice to the risks they both knew could occur.

“I understand,” Glorfindel merely said softly.

The sound of more footsteps approaching caused his head to turn. Elladan walked solemnly into the room, followed closely by his twin who paused to close the door behind them. Neither spoke as they moved across the room towards the bed. Uncertainty was clear in their footsteps, although it was more from lack of experience than from any true reluctance on their part. Their grandmother had taught them in the usage of their gifts; as it was from her they had inherited such mindseeking abilities. While neither was as strong as the Lady of Lorien, they were able to gain strength from each other until they were quite talented in their own right. Combined with their father’s minor abilities, the triad made a powerful team.

The twins moved to sit on the edge of the bed to either side of Legolas’s still form. Glorfindel had only seen them work together like this once before, on their own mother so many years before. Together they were able to reach her, draw her away from the deep recesses of her mind that she had hidden herself within just after the orc attack. Watching from the outside it was quiet and uneventful, yet the strain had been obvious in the slowly fading expressions of all involved. It had taken time, and even though they were able to reach her, she was still never able to fully recover from the trauma.

Elrohir stared down at the motionless body before him, little knowing that Glorfindel’s thoughts mirrored that of his own and of his brother. The situation was so similar; he couldn’t help but feel a brief pain in his heart at the memory. Yet he pushed it aside to concentrate on the task at hand. Later he could find time to dwell upon the past, when the issue at hand wasn’t so dire. Instead he breathed in deeply, letting the slightly smoky air fill his lungs, and the musky scent soothe his mind. He felt his father settle beside him and looked up.

“Are you ready?” the older elf asked, taking his son’s hand in his own.

“Yes,” Elrohir murmured, then looked towards his brother. He nodded in return, reaching out to grasp his father’s free hand. Taking a deep breath, Elladan placed his right hand on one side of Legolas’s forehead, while Elrohir did the same with his left. Together they closed their eyes, and after a moment of centering, opened their minds and began their work.

Silence grew in the room as Glorfindel watched expectantly from the chair in which he sat. He knew not to expect anything to happen soon, but couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. If they could just get the elf to awaken, they might have a chance, and he was ready to do anything in his power to help him survive. There was so much strength inherent in the various entities, and the potential to be something greater than he was. That strength combined with Ravan’s wisdom, and the childlike innocence that Elanor seemed to imbue was a potent mixture.

And yet all of the personalities were just that; each a single part of the whole picture, and Glorfindel had to admit that while there was a certain attractive quality to each, combined they would make a formidable, and dare he say it, beautifully spirited elf. Yet it might not ever come to that, which pained the blonde Elda greatly. Legolas had lived through so much, been through so much pain, it seemed unfair to have him die without fully experiencing all the joys life had to offer.

Time lengthened. The only visible signs of effort were the heavy creases forming along Elrond’s brow indicating frustration of some sort. The heavy herb scent was starting to get to the waiting elf, causing him to feel drowsy, and he fought the impulse to open a window and let some fresh air circulate inside.

Suddenly there was a slumping of shoulders as first Elrond, and then followed closely by the twins opened their eyes and dropped hands. All three looked tired from their endeavor. Glorfindel grabbed the pitcher of water waiting on the bedside table and began to pour for the others.

“What happened?” he asked urgently, eyes sliding quickly towards Legolas’s body, searching for some sign of change.

“Nothing,” Elrond replied with a bleak expression crossing his features. “His mind is a tangled forest, literally, and I could not find my way free to where he and the others may be dwelling, nor would any answer my calls. I had hoped at least Ravan would have shown himself.”

Glorfindel nodded, a crestfallen look crossing his face, and handed the full cups to the others. “Then there is nothing to be done.”

Elrond opened his mouth to reply, but paused, with a look of consideration.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.

Elrond took a sip of the water, before setting the cup aside. “You have become quite close to Legolas and some of the others during his short time with us,” he said slowly, and Glorfindel felt the gaze of both the twins settle upon him as well.

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied, wondering where this might be going. “We spoke some.”

“They have grown to trust you,” Elrond continued, one dark eyebrow rising. “Perhaps even care for you. You may be able to succeed where I have failed.”

“I?” Glorfindel’s eyes widened in surprise. “What can I do? I would do anything to help, true, but I have no skill for this sort of thing.”

“You are a skilled warrior,” Elrond reassured him. “You have your meditations, and with help my sons may be able to bring you inside of his mind.”

Glorfindel looked uncertain, but nodded in acquiescence. He wasn’t altogether certain he could do this thing, but if there was any chance at all he would willingly try.

“I must warn you however,” Elrond cautioned. “It can be dangerous. If something should happen to him while you are there…”

“I understand,” he replied solemnly, not needing the warning vocalized. There was no time for doubts. “What do I do?”

“Sit down here,” Elrond rose, gesturing to his former seat on the edge of the bed. Glorfindel took it and both Elladan and Elrohir reached over to take his hands. They gave him a reassuring smile as they did so, which he gladly returned. A pair of hands settled on his shoulders, and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Just relax,” he heard Elrond murmur from behind. “Close your eyes, breathe deeply, ground and center. Then clear your mind, just as you would to start one of your meditations.”

He did as Elrond told him, slipping into the familiar breathing exercises with ease. The cloying musk that the brazier continued to produce combined with the low tone of Elrond’s voice seemed to encourage his mind and body to relax. Distantly he was aware of his hands moving until they rested on either side of Legolas’s face. Two points of light beckoned him, drawing him deeper into the darkness while another force seemed to push from behind.

Without warning, a dark forest surrounded him thick with tangled underbrush and tall trees that rose beyond sight. The world was still, with no birdsong, no wind, no sound to disturb the peace. The only movement to be seen were dark shapes in the shadows that shifted away before one could discern their intent. It was an unnatural stillness, not in anticipation but in weariness. It was as if whatever was to happen had already happened, leaving the world tired and drained of energy. He heard a movement from behind and spun around to find the twins watching him, waiting.

“Is this Legolas’s mind?” he asked in wonder, though he already knew it to be so. Elrohir nodded while Elladan looked about warily. It was obvious this place did not sit well with them.

“Where is Elrond?” Glorfindel asked, noticing the healer wasn’t with them.

“He remains outside to watch,” Elrohir replied, eyes darting amongst the underbrush as if looking for something.

“What is it?” He turned to look as well, but saw only odd wisps of fog moving through the shadows of the trees.

“There are shapes,” Elladan spoke up. “They dart through the underbrush, never staying still long enough to focus upon them.”

Glorfindel set his mouth in a hard line. “Let us go.”

Choosing a direction at random he set forth. Surprisingly the undergrowth wasn’t as quick as he had previously thought, and he found he cold pass through the trees relatively unhindered. Elladan and Elrohir followed behind, letting him set the path.

It seemed to work, for he didn’t have to walk long before the trees suddenly open up before him, and a large grassy clearing was revealed. It looked as if a massive storm had recently passed though. The ground was scattered with torn limbs and fallen leaves. Much of the lush grass that had once grown so tall were now lying flat upon the ground, their stalks broken by an unseen hand. An enormous old oak tree grew in the center of the meadow. It looked deeply wounded, its trunk split and splintered. A feeling of desolation and pain radiated from the tree, and Glorfindel took a deep breath to calm the overwhelming feeling of despair that washed over his soul. He kept walking until he stood just beyond the trees and paused, trying to discern whether any life remained.

“Did Elrond get this far?” He asked the twins, and their lack of response caused him to turn. They had not exited the forest, remaining just inside the line of sheltering trees. The expressions upon their faces told him they felt the grief as well.

“We cannot go farther,” Elrohir whispered. “We shall wait here.”

Not understanding, Glorfindel opened his mouth to respond. Yet the sound of a young voice coming from the direction of the tree gave him pause. He turned, his eyes searching for movement, and was rewarded by the sight of one of the shadows beneath the tall tree detaching itself and racing towards him. It was a small elfling dressed in a simple grey tunic with long dark blonde hair flowing loose behind her. As she drew closer, Glorfindel could see tears shining wetly on her face.

“Glory!” she cried, and upon reaching the larger elf she leapt up into his strong arms. Glorfindel caught her, holding her tightly and gently stroking her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder. Loudly she wept, while Glorfindel murmured soft reassurances in hopes of calming the distraught youngling. Finally she lifted her head, sniffling loudly and running the back of her hand across her eyes and nose.

“Are you okay?” he asked, to which she nodded in reply. “Where is Ravan? Why have none of you shown yourself outside?”

“It hurts out there,” she replied, her bright eyes showing her fear. “Besides, Ravan says I shouldn’t.”

That he could understand. In the state the body was currently in, and her obvious lack of understanding over what had happened, it would only confuse her or even harm her.

Elanor pointed towards the tree. “He’s over there, and he’s hurt. So’s the others.” She lowered her head back onto Glorfindel’s now damp shoulder, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want to die.”

He didn’t say anything in response as he walked to the tree. He desperately wanted to reassure her that everything would turn out for the better, but didn’t wish to lie to the child either. As he walked along the matted grass he realized the others were here as well.

A muscular, black haired elf crouched in the grass, his face bent forwards over the body of an elf identical but for his snow white fall of hair. It was Mórehua and Fánehua; their names strangely apt with regards to their appearance. Mórehua lifted his head as Glorfindel passed, clutching Fánehua’s comatose body tighter in his strangely clawed fingers. His midnight blue eyes were bleak, yet bordering on some sort of madness that the blonde elf could not name.

Suppressing a shiver and pulling Elanor tighter to his chest he passed on. Slight movement caused his head to turn, and he saw a small form lying curled up amongst a pile of fallen leaves and branches. It was nearly impossible to make out details; only that the spirit seemed to be fairly young, and recalling his list of names decided that this must be Oiolaire. The youngling appeared to be mumbling something to himself, although Glorfindel could make out no words.

Turning his gaze back towards the tree, he saw another white-blonde elf, this one thinner than the others and with sharper features, huddled against the trunk. His ice-blue eyes were unfocused, staring off into nothing or possibly at visions only he could see.

Nearby sat another elf, one Glorfindel immediately recognized as Legolas. His eyes followed Glorfindel as he approached, the twilight orbs filled with sadness. At his knees lay another: a taller, older looking elf with dark auburn hair. His eyes were closed, yet Glorfindel still recognized him. He had found Ravan.

Yet another elf also sat close by, playing with a small pile of sticks and leaves with a single-minded concentration. He was very young, merely a toddler, with sandy blonde hair and the slightly chubby figure of early age. As Glorfindel approached the child gazed upwards at him. Dark, silvery-blue eyes scrunched up, as if uncertain as to what to make of this new figure, while a frown crossed his full lips. Finally he seemed to come to some sort of internal conclusion, and Glorfindel found himself summarily dismissed as the sticks once more drew the elfling’s attention.

Elanor wiggled to be let down, pulling Glorfindel’s awareness back towards the other elves. Upon being released she ran the rest of the way to her quarry’s side, crouching down beside him and whispering quietly, yet eagerly.

“Glory is here! I told you he’d come. He will make everything better!”

Glorfindel couldn’t help but wince slightly at the fervent hope expressed in her voice.

Ravan’s beautiful teal eyes opened, and one hand lifted to rest upon the elfling’s back reassuringly. “Yes,” he told her. “You were correct. He did come.”

Ravan weakly rose until he was sitting, aided partially by a solemn-eyed Legolas. The older spirit’s eyes found Glorfindel’s and the overwhelming despair he saw there nearly set him back a pace. Yet he composed his features and he walked the last few steps forward until he stood at Ravan’s side.

“I have come to help in any way I can,” Glorfindel told him, crouching down so he was at level with the injured spirit. “Although you would have done better by letting Elrond through.”

“It was not my doing,” came the tired reply. “Elanor granted you invitation.”

Ravan gave the elfling a vaguely annoyed look, which she returned with an indignant frown and grabbed Glorfindel’s hand. Neither elf could help but quirk a smile at the youngling’s obstinacy despite the gravity of the situation.

“Please, come back,” Glorfindel turned to plead with the exhausted spirit. “Saeldis is dead and there is nothing more to fear. You needn’t worry about being charged with murder, or kinslaying. It was obvious what happened, and none would fault you for it.”

“I do not worry,” Ravan replied with a weak smile. “Oiolaire committed the crime. He is human, exempt from the laws of kinslaying; I see his purpose now. Yet none of that really matters.”

“Human?” Glorfindel repeated, momentarily confused, before Ravan’s last words sinking in. “What do you mean that it does not really matter?”

“Look around!” Glorfindel didn’t think it possible for the despair to increase in Ravan’s eyes, yet somehow it did. “Fánehua is already near passing from his own hand, and Mórehua will go mad without him! Oiolaire is praying for whomever sent him here to finally set him free! Aenos’s world was built upon a set of strict beliefs, and now those beliefs have been utterly shattered; he is broken and will not last much longer either. Legolas has been opened to the realities of his life, and is quickly fading from the onslaught. Even Elanor, through all her apparent strength, is feeling the sorrow which drowns the rest of us. Her effervescent cheer is only a mask hiding the shock and distress she feels. Only the young one remains strong, but he will not survive the passing of the rest of us. When the first passes, we all shall follow.”

“There must be something-”

Ravan sighed heavily, his eyes closing once more. “It is too late.”

“I am certain Elrond can fix this!” Glorfindel implored, although truthfully he was unsure whether this was within the healer’s abilities or not. “Give him a chance. You cannot just give in like this!”

“Have we not suffered enough?” came the heartfelt reply, but this time not from Ravan. It was Legolas who spoke. “Yes, Saeldis is dead. Physically he can no longer harm us. But his spirit still haunts us all. What he did…” A shiver raced through Leoglas’s body, and his hand clutched Ravan’s arm tightly. “We cannot forget.”

“Please,” Glorfindel beseeched once more, all his arguments lost in a sea of his own grief, the strength of which surprised even him. He had grown to care for this broken elf more than he ever realized. It seemed strange, for he hadn’t known Legolas long, or even discovered all of who he was.

“Do not leave us so soon,” Glorfindel whispered, pouring his soul into the words and letting the depth of his feelings shine brightly though his cobalt eyes. “I do not wish for you to go.”

Legolas blinked, taken aback by the strength of the request. Elanor could also sense the intensity of emotion Glorfindel felt, and she peered up at him with wonder and adoration plain on her expressive face. Ravan opened his own eyes, curiosity flickering around the edges of his despair. Even Aenos turned, his expression momentarily shifting from vacant to a strange puzzlement.

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it once more when no words would form. He felt a rush of some emotion that seemed completely foreign to him, an emotion akin to the friendship the older elf had once professed, only deeper, pressing at his heart. He wasn’t certain what to make of it, or if it was somehow akin to the grief that also clutched painfully at his soul.

Suddenly, a heartrending cry split the air. Glorfindel jumped, his gaze sweeping around to find its source, and saw Mórehua, eyes closed and head thrown back as he howled his grief to the sky. The world seemed to ripple with his pain. Fánehua had passed, and as they watched his body seemed to shimmer and fade into nothing.

“Glorfindel!” Elrohir’s shout traveled across the clearing. “We must leave now!”

Glorfindel rose, still clutching Elanor’s small hand. Looking down, he saw Ravan slump to the side, one hand grasping frantically at his chest. Legolas caught him across the shoulders before he collapsed fully to the ground, easing him down despite him own obvious pain.

At that moment the world around them seemed to fade away. Glorfindel backed up a step, not wishing to leave yet knowing he couldn’t stay with the world collapsing around him. A heavy creaking sound reached his ears, causing him to look up just as the massive oak that had withstood so much finally split. He had no time to dodge as the heavy weight fell straight towards him.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir shot upwards, gasping for breath as they were violently forced from Legolas’s mind. Immediately Elrond was there, holding them both steady as they sagged down, weak and clutching their heads tightly. His eyes moved towards Glorfindel, who had fallen forward atop Legolas’s still form. Neither moved.

His breath seizing in his throat, Elrond released his sons and reached for his friend. Glorfindel wasn’t breathing, and as he rolled the blonde Elda off Legolas’s body, he realized the younger elf showed no signs of life either.

The End…

Just kidding! (sorry, couldn’t help it! (snicker)) I’ll even try to get the next chapter out before Christmas, just to be nice!


Review Responses:

MorierBlackleaf: Whew, that’s a relief! (grin) Thank you, and I promise whatever you write, I would never accuse you of plagiarizing. I just find it very amusing how we seem to be traveling down similar lines. Ah well. Thank you.

Yanic: Thank you for your confidence. I tend to have a reoccurring insecurity concerning my abilities, although I do try not to afflict it on others. (smile) Thank you for bearing with me. And don’t worry, it will turn out well. I’ve got that much worked out!

Ertia: Yeah, you’re right, and it looks even worse now, doesn’t it? But I had to do it, you know? I was having a hell of a time figuring out how to heal him, but I think I’ve got it figured out now. (grin)

Crookis: Thank you. I think Glorfindel is my favorite LOTR character myself, seconded by Haldir. And I never even liked blondes before now! (smile)

Zed: Well, here’s the problem as I see it. Bad guys are bad, and to make them suffer, well, sometimes they have already suffered plenty which is why they are bad. And if they’re truly evil, wouldn’t being good to them cause them to suffer? I know, convoluted logic. But the good guys…I hate perfect good guys, and to make them suffer, well, it rounds out their character in my mind. You should see this other story I’ve been working on; an original. I’ve taken a perfectly normal young man and slowly turned him into a homicidal sociopath with gender identity disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. If he can rise above it all…then he’ll be a hero! Yeah, yeah, twisted minds and all that.
And I agree about the Winter Solstice. I tend to celebrate that holiday with my friends ‘cause it just seems more natural. Christmas is just so…problematic. The religion, the commercialism, the politics over the religious aspects, the depression, the lack of bloody rain!!!… evil? Not a problem! (grin)