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!
Snow!

Thanks to both Linuari and Ki-fors for beta-ing.

A/N: Happy Holidays to all, and whatever you choose to celebrate, may you all be filled with peace and grace this season!

Chapter 25: The Halls of Waiting

Glorfindel found himself standing at the end of a long stone hall. Carved marble pillars rose to dizzying heights on either side, beautiful in their simplistic design. Before him the great hall stretched on farther than he could see, with various smaller halls and alcoves branching off to either side. There was a salty sweetness to the air, cool and damp. A weeping sound reached his ears, the lamentation filled with despair, and yet granting him strength and hope.

And he wasn’t alone. Figures moved through the rooms, mostly elves with a few men scattered here and there. None of them paid him much attention as he sighed heavily. He knew exactly where he was, and wasn’t pleased. The Halls of Mandos wasn’t a place he’d likely forget.

*Elrond is probably frantic,* he thought, shaking his head in something akin to amusement, then began slowly walking down the center of the vast hall. His eyes quickly scanned the various corridors he passed in search of those that came with him, but was unable to locate Elanor, Ravan, or any of the others.

Suddenly he noticed a tall figure sweeping down the main hall towards him and Glorfindel paused, recognizing the imposing form dressed in raiment of dark blue and silver. The fêanturi’s midnight hued hair swept freely down his back, and his eyes reflected the infinity of a starlit sky. He appeared to Glorfindel as he suspected elves appeared to men: a spirit of infinite grace and beauty given solid form.

Glorfindel dropped down to one knee as Námo approached, remaining so even when the tall fêanturi stopped before him.

“You return,” came the deep, almost chill sounding voice, “but too soon.”

“I followed Legolas, and the others that are him,” Glorfindel answered, finally rising to his feet.

Námo stared at him for several long moments, his dark eyes appearing to sift through the elf’s soul. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but Glorfindel stood straight and proud, letting his newly discovered feelings for the split elf shine in his cobalt eyes. After a brief time which seemed infinitely longer than it was, Námo nodded and turned away.

“Come with me,” he said simply, then began to walk back in the direction from whence he came. Glorfindel followed close behind, not wishing to get lost in the maze of corridors and alcoves.

They passed through many a hall, and Glorfindel reflected that the fortress seemed much the same as when he had been here previously, if a bit larger in room. As more elves passed through these halls, it had to grow to provide more space, although thankfully it didn’t seem too much bigger than before. He couldn’t help but glance curiously into the various rooms and niches as he passed by, recognizing a few elves here and there but gaining the attention of none of them.

Glorfindel suddenly paused before the window of one closed off alcove, immediately identifying the figure inside. It was Master Saeldis, folded in upon himself, rocking gently within the arms of another elf who stroked his hair with tender hands. She had the same build as the former tutor, and the same dark gold hair braided back from a soft face filled with both relief and terrible sadness. Both elves appeared to be silently weeping, unmindful of being observed. Námo stopped when he sensed his charge lagging behind, and after a few moments walked back towards the bewildered elf.

“Saeldis has been reunited with his family,” the fêanturi said, his expression unreadable. “Estê will come to him eventually, when he is ready to accept her healing touch. This is a start, although he still has much to atone for.” He paused for a moment, both observing the mother and child in the alcove beyond. The grief emanating from the room was so strong as to be almost palatable, and Saeldis’ body trembled so hard he looked as though he might shake himself apart.

“The pain did not begin with him.” Námo finally continued solemnly. “Those who obtained guardianship over young Saeldis should never have been allowed to give succor to any child, particularly one as traumatized as that elfling was. Pain begets pain, and grief begets grief. They never learn until it is too late.” Námo lips twisted into a scowl, his delving eyes turning back towards Glorfindel. “This cycle of pain shall end here!” He immediately turned and began to walk back down the corridor. “Come. The others are waiting.” Glorfindel took one last look at the two elves, then continued forward as he was bid.

Soon they came to another alcove, this one with a graceful archway leading out into a beautiful starlit garden. Glorfindel paused, then stepped through as Námo ushered him on. The smell of night blooming flowers was strong and brought comfort to the soul while warm breezes floated by to caress the spiritual body. The black stone of the walkway glittered underfoot like a trail of stars winding through the lush grass and thick foliage. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a little bundle of white came hurtling towards him, and he braced himself for the impact of Elanor leaping once more into his arms like an odd little bird.

“Naneth is here!” Elanor’s exclamation of joy was followed by melodic laughter, and turning towards the sound he found himself in the presence of another of the Valar.

Estê was dressed in silvery-grey raiment, her ankle-length hair the color of thistledown. Her compassionate eyes were a soft grey that seemed to shine in the light of the swollen moon. She sat upon a stone bench, surrounded by a multitude of other elves, all wearing silvery robes of a lighter shade than that of Estê’s. They sat at her feet, or within the silvery tree that bowed over her head, or stood nearby in waiting. Glorfindel recognized many of them: Ravan stood to one side looking in better health than before. Mórehua and Fánehua also waited nearby, one crouched before the standing form of the other. Oiolaire was settled at Estê’s feet, his human visage looking slightly out of place amongst all the other elves. His head rested on the Lady’s knee, with Legolas and Aenos next to him, and the youngling he had seen earlier in the clearing curled in the lap of another lady who sat next to the willowy Valar. She was a beautiful elleth, with silvery tears trickling down from her large, twilight eyes.

*This must be their mother,* Glorfindel realized, seeing the similarity of features she shared with her son. He had never met Queen Laergail, but had heard tell of her beauty which matched that of her name. Yet she looked so sad, as if she had felt every pain her child had suffered, and was still suffering from their grief.

There were many other elves whom Glorfindel did not recognize. Most were children who watched everything with fearful faces, with one elder standing amongst them. Watching them all curiously, he realized they all had the same eyes, only in varying shades of blue.

*They are all pieces of Legolas,* he realized with a start as their gazes turned to him. *I had no idea there were this many…*

Suddenly remembering his manners, he turned back to Estê, and since he was unable to bow properly with Elanor in his arms, he settled with a reverent nod instead.

“Glorfindel,” she responded in her soothingly melodic voice, tilting her head slightly in greeting. “You have come for Legolas, I believe.”

“Yes, Híril,” Glorfindel answered hesitantly. “I had hoped…But I did not realize…”

Her soft smile widened slightly. “That there were so many?”

The blonde Elda looked momentarily abashed.

“So many different personalities; less than a spirit yet more than a thought. Yet there were once more than you see now,” she gestured with a graceful hand for one of the elves to approach; the elder one amongst the children whom he did not know. This one looked almost identical to Legolas’s outer form; only with uncertain eyes a slightly paler shade of twilight.

“Legolas, this is Glorfindel,” she introduced him, and the younger elf bowed slightly in greeting. “This elf is one I spoke with you about.”

“And the other?” Legolas’s voice was soft, his large eyes flickering towards Estê momentarily.

“You will meet him soon.” She turned back to Glorfindel. “As the many pieces of Legolas’s damaged spirit passed to Mandos, Námo granted them to me. I have gathered them up and healed much of their pain. After a time they have bonded together until only this single form represents them all.”

Her hand lifted to rest upon the elf’s shoulder. “He will be returning with you, as will many of the others.”

“You will fully heal them then?” Glorfindel asked. “Put them all back together again?”

“That takes time, and many are not ready for such a step to be taken,” Estê replied, her voice containing amusement touched with sorrow. “Would you have him fully reborn as you were?”

Glorfindel looked to the others, who seemed to be watching this exchange as if they had heard all this before, and knew what the outcome would be. Time moved differently here, he knew, and much of this may have already been discussed before he made his appearance. Not all looked happy, yet all appeared resigned to the shared conclusion. Even Laergail had turned her gaze upon the blonde elda, her expression acquiescent, but her eyes scrutinizing him closely.

“No,” Estê continued with a kindly smile, and Glorfindel turned away from the former Queen’s unnerving stare. “That Námo will not do. They must return, and they will return as they are, yet more hale of spirit. I can ease the memories, and elevate some of the despair. They have been listening to Nienna, and the lamentation of my spouse’s sister has already strengthened them.”

“But how will they-”

“Do not worry. As of this time they are not ready to be made whole. Such healing is possible, but it takes time, even with the assistance of one such as I. This Legolas knows how such final mending is done, and will direct the others when the time comes.

“Yet the younger ones I will keep,” she continued, the smile leaving her face, “the ones who were already a step away from fading before this unfortunate incident. They know very little but pain and fear. They will return, but at a later time.”

“Look!” Elanor gasped excitedly, interrupting the speaking Valar. Her small hand pointed off into the depths of the expansive gardens. Glorfindel turned his head to look, as did the others, and his eyes widened at the sight. Approaching them along a path of lush grass was a tall man dressed in silvery white robes similar to Estê’s own. Even though his body was of a heavier build, he seemed as graceful as any of the Valar, and an ageless youth seemed to radiate from him.

A shout of joy, and they all watched as Oiolaire rose from his place at Estê’s knee and raced towards the approaching figure. As the child ran he seemed to age, his youthful body lengthening and growing until he finally reached the mysterious man as a young man himself. Dropping to one knee before him, he accepted the hand held out to him and placed his cheek upon it reverently.

“Who is that?” Glorfindel whispered.

“One of the gods of men,” Estê answered, and moved to stand next to the confused elf. “He has come to take young Toren home.”

“Toren?” he looked confused. “I do not understand. He is not..? ”

“No. He is his own being; a separate spirit apart from the others. Oiolaire is a name he chose when given this duty. In life he did many terrible things which I will not discuss at this time, and as punishment he was given a choice to help us. He has done well; he has learned compassion, and what it is to be a victim.” The soft smile returned to her lips. “He has been forgiven.”

They watched Oiolaire, now Toren, rise. He turned back to look at the others bowing deeply in farewell before turning away. The human god nodded to Estê, who returned the gesture, and then turned to walk back down the grassy knoll, disappearing into the depths of the moonlit gardens.

“Now, it is time for you to return,” Estê reached over to pick up the elfling still curled upon Laergail’s lap. “Say farewell.”

Laergail kissed her child gently on the brow before releasing him to Estê’s care. The child made a small protest, but quieted upon being handed to Glorfindel. Elanor dropped to the ground, allowing the older elf to more securely hold the smaller elfling. He buried himself into Glorfindel’s shoulder, yet also continued to watch both Estê and his mother with wide eyes.

“Watch over this one;” Estê told him serenely, “he has much learning to do. They all will grow, and grow swiftly. It is up to you, Elrond, and the others waiting to teach them what they need to know. There will still be pain, and grief, but nothing beyond what is within your abilities to deal with.” She leaned in closer, her gentle voice tickling his ear. “I have faith in you.”

She pulled away with a grin, and then turned around and gestured towards the young elflings. “Come with me,” she called, and began to walk away, her voice lifting in a sweet song that seemed to wrap itself around the hearts of all who listened. The younglings rose from wherever they sat and followed, leaving Glorfindel standing with Laergail, Elanor, Ravan, Mórehua, Fánehua, Aenos, and three Legolas’.

Laergail rose from the stone bench and swallowed hard. “Take care of them for me,” she said quietly, her sorrow heartbreaking. “I only wish….” She turned away as her voice broke, and Glorfindel couldn’t help but step forwards, seeking to comfort her somehow.

“They will be in good hands, your Majesty,” he said, and watched her nod in response.

“I know.” She whispered, and then slowly walked away without looking back; following the path Estê had tread until she disappeared as well.

For a moment he wondered what he was supposed to do next, but he had forgotten Námo still standing by the stone arch leading back to the Halls of Waiting.

“Come,” Námo commanded, gesturing for them to pass through the waiting archway.

Glorfindel grasped Elanor’s hand after readjusting the smaller elfling in his arms. The little one seemed to snuggle deeper into the crook of his shoulder, he couldn’t help but smile. He approached the arch, nodding deeply to the imposing fêanturi as he passed by. Then he stepped though, and the world disappeared around him.

* * *

He woke with a tired groan, opening his eyes to the warm colors of the healing chambers. His body felt exhausted and slow, as if he’d just battled a thousand orcs then proceeded to race across half of Arda. His mouth felt as dry as the wastes of Mordor, and turning his head he could see a pitcher of water waiting on the bedside table nearby. Yet he couldn’t seem to gather the strength to reach for it.

“Ilúvatar’s light!” The oath echoed through the room, followed by swiftly approaching footsteps. A healer’s hands touched his chest, his face, and Elrond’s unbelieving visage seemed to float above him. It appeared as if he’d been weeping from the wetness still evident on his cheeks.

“Water,” Glorfindel croaked, and was relieved when Elrond immediately grasped the pitcher and poured some of the cool liquid into a cup. This he began to hand to the exhausted Elda, but upon seeing the hands weakly lift and fall back, he held the cup to the waiting mouth himself.

“You had died,” Elrond told him as he drank heavily. “Both of you.”

Glorfindel stopped drinking and smiled. “They did not want me back so soon.”

Sensing another nearby, he looked over to find Legolas lying beside him. The injured elf still looked as one dead but for the chest gently rising and falling, indicating life returned. Glorfindel looked back at Elrond, who had followed his gaze to the other formally dead elf.

“And with Estê’s blessing I brought back the others,”




Review Responses:

MorierBlackleaf: Now that’s a scary thought… (grin) But yes, I think I’ve figured it out. I’m not planning on going into every little event, that would take years of story time, but I do plan on touching on little things.
I’ve just read the most interesting book called ‘Dante’s Cure’ by Daniel Dorman, M.D.. It’s a true story of a woman suffering from severe schizophrenia written by her psychotherapist, and how she was able to overcome the disorder without the use of drugs, despite the criticism from other doctors. One doctor even tried to insist to her that she had been sexually molested by her father to explain her mental condition, when nothing of the sort happened! The end paints a pretty disturbing view of mental health care system and their reliance on drug treatment as well. Not that drugs shouldn’t be used in certain cases, but I thought the book was very fascinating ‘cause it shows hope that perhaps the disease many actually be curable, after a fashion.
Sorry, got on a ramble. So…when do we get an update for your stories? (…pleading eyes…)

Uppacrick: Boy, ‘wicked elfling’. Hmmm… I’ve been getting that quite a bit lately. I like it! (…enormous grin…)
Thank you for following my story and for taking the time to review. Every response gives my heart a chance to fly.

Dead Winter: Uhm… they’re not all going to fade? Hehe… I hope you liked this chapter. A little happiness before the holidays. I can be nice, when I’m motivated enough. (smile)

Crookis: See? They met again in the afterlife, but I still brought them back. All better now. Well, almost all better anyways. (grin) Hmmm… dying then meeting again in the next life… but maybe without full memory of doing so… I like that! I’ll have to remember that for next time!

Yanic: Did I alleviate your nervousness? (smile) No worries. Now I just have to heal Legolas the rest of the way, and all will be happiness!

Capella: Thank you! Wow, another new reviewer. That must be the trick to getting more reviews: I must start killing off characters more often! Bwa-ha-ha! (grin)

Ertia: Evil certainly, but canceling my presents! Oh dear, oh dear… did this make it better? Am I forgiven? (…looks at you large puppy eyes…)