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!
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Chapter 28: Father and Son

Elrond strode briskly down the corridor, his grey robes flying loosely behind him. He was headed towards the courtyard and the commotion he knew awaited him there. Thranduil had arrived, seeking knowledge over the well-being of his son, and according to the messenger he was in a very anxious mood.

It had been nearly two weeks since Legolas had awoken from his attack. Elrond had sent his first missive by bird, urging the Mirkwood king to come quickly to Imladris for his son had been severely injured. After it appeared Legolas would recover, Elrond sent another message, this one by horse that it might intercept Thranduil on the journey he had assumed the elven king had already started upon. He only hoped the message of recovery had reached the party safely, that Thranduil’s fears had been eased somewhat.

Along the way he passed Glorfindel in the halls, also headed towards the tumult in the courtyard. The golden elf was immediately directed to warn Legolas of his father’s approach, and to bring him to his study shortly.

When Elrond finally reached the yard Erestor had already arrived and was in the midst of directing the newcomers. Stablehands methodically took the nervous horses and led them to the stables with the promise of food and care. The Mirkwood guards stood on alert, yet Elrond knew they were most likely eager to leave and trade news with their brethren that already dwelled here, once their more immediate duties were attended to. As his gaze swept over the group, he noted that Telpeur, Thranduil’s eldest, had arrived as well. Elrond had bid the king to include his eldest in this journey, for his news concerning Saeldis might concern Telpeur as well, and was pleased to see his advice was taken.

“Lord Elrond,” Thranduil called out upon catching sight of the Imladrin Lord, and strode quickly over to meet Elrond halfway across the courtyard. He was a tall elf, with features stronger than that of his second son, and long hair a slightly darker shade of sandy gold. Yet it was the eyes that gave Elrond a moment’s pause, something he had never really noticed in previous meetings with the Mirkwood ruler. In Anor’s light they shone a striking blue-green with hints of gold, the some color as Legolas’s eyes when Ravan assumed control. Briefly he wondered if in fact something of Ravan’s personality was drawn from this elf; if he had created Ravan as a father figure to replace the one who had not been around when he was needed the most. It was an intriguing idea, but one that would have to be reflected upon at a later time.

“Let us dispense with formalities, Elrond,” Thranduil was saying. “I wish to know the whereabouts of my son and what has happened to him. Your first message was dire, and although the second gave me hope, my mind is still not at ease.”

“As you wish,” Elrond replied with a nod. “But first, I suggest we retire to some place more…private to talk.”

“Of course,” Thranduil concurred.

“My study awaits.” Elrond gestured with a hand. “Glorfindel has gone to fetch Legolas.”

Thranduil nodded, and then allowed Elrond to lead both him and his son to through the various halls and corridors to his quarters. Both elves were completely oblivious the beautiful surroundings, their minds too intent upon the news received and what it might portend. Elrond’s calm demeanor said nothing of his thoughts, and although he did not show it, it only unsettled the Mirkwood king more.

They entered the large study, Elrond gesturing for them to sit in the highbacked chairs before his desk. Yet instead of rounding the large piece of furniture, he perched on its corner hoping the more relaxed, informal position might help set the Mirkwood king at ease. Thranduil couldn’t help but notice the books and scrolls on healing scattered about the room, many written in a common tongue and dealing with humans. As Elrond was a well-known healer, he hoped it was only the typical study of the Imladrin Lord, although a small whisper in the back of his mind couldn’t help but wonder if such books had anything to do with his son’s mysterious condition.

Elrond’s gaze momentarily shifted from Thranduil to the eldest prince, noting the strong resemblance between father and son. Both held the same squared yet high boned features, a look appearing almost proud without being pretentious. Telpeur also had his father’s eyes, only a slightly less striking shade of blue-green. Again Elrond wondered about the significance between their eyes and that of Ravan, and if there was even anything to be drawn from the similarity.

He looked back at Thranduil, and realized he was stalling. Honestly, he was uncertain where to start; the beginning of the tale stretching quite a far distance into the past. He had tried to start the conversation a dozen times in his head, but it never seemed to come out quite right. He had tried placing himself in Thranduil’s boots: if something of this sort had happened to one of his sons, how would he wish to be told? Yet his mind refused to even consider the horrifying thought.

“Have you ever heard tell of an elf named Ruscour of Gondolin?” Elrond finally asked; his tone careful.

Thranduil looked confused. “Not that I can recall.”

Elrond frowned, but then noticed how Telpeur’s eyes widened slightly. “You have heard of him then?”

The younger elf pulled himself up straighter as both sets of eyes focused on him. “Only in passing. Rillince happened to find some old tomes about Gondolin in the library several years back. It was after he spent some time speaking with Glorfindel during his visit. When a particular subject interests him, he feels everyone should be just as interested and he is determined to share.” The expression on his face showed that despite his irritation at his brother’s exuberance, it couldn’t cloud the obvious fondness he held for his younger sibling. “Ruscour. Also called… Atta-iníta. Am I correct?”

Elrond nodded, then watched as clarity passed over Thranduil’s eyes. “Two minds? I remember hearing some story… What are you trying to tell me, Elrond? What has happened?”

Elrond winced inwardly at the suddenly dangerous tone, and then proceeded to speak, choosing his words with care. “You sent your son to me for reasons of stress and weariness, but unfortunately his condition was far more dire. His mind had long been divided in such a way similar to that of Ruscour; his spirit had split into many separate personalities. This was Legolas’ way of coping with certain things that happened in his youth. Unfortunately it seems the system was finally breaking down.”

“I do not understand,” Thranduil murmured, fighting to grasp the strangeness of what he was being told. He didn’t wish to believe it. However, looking back through his memories of his son, he could indeed pick out moments where it seemed as though more than one elf resided in his body. There were odd mood swings where Legolas was almost affectionate one moment and coldly distant the next. Looking over at Telpeur, he could see his eldest was thinking along the same lines.

“This seems impossible. How can a mind split in such a fashion?” he finally asked, looking back up at the healer.

Elrond’s grey eyes shone with sadness. “Abuse. Trauma so severe the mind refuses to cope with it. It is a way of forgetting, and it seems a way to keep the spirit from fully perishing.”

Thranduil shook his head, still trying to bend his mind around the idea. “But who would hurt my son so?” Strangely it was Telpeur who answered, much to the others’ surprise.

“Master Saeldis,” the elf murmured, frowning darkly as he suddenly remembered things he had long since forgotten. Little words, little looks, his brother walking strangely stiff after a private tutoring session and how he always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. As a youngster himself, he had never thought much on it, ever intent upon his own work and in following his father’s footsteps. His younger brother was a troublemaker, so the evidence pointed, and always up to some sort of mischief. He had been certain the punishments were warranted at the time, but what if he was wrong? What if things had gotten out of control? Yet wouldn’t his father have seen something was amiss?

He did not realize he had spoken aloud until he sensed the others’ eyes upon him once more. Shifting his gaze back towards Elrond, he noticed the confirmation in his eyes, as well as a deeply probing look as if he were trying to deduce something important about the Mirkwood heir.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling a bit unsettled by the sudden scrutiny.

Elrond raised his eyebrows, then waved his hand in a negative gesture. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, but it can wait for a later time. However, you are correct. It was indeed Master Saeldis who caused the trouble. He was also visiting here as an emissary from Mithlond when Legolas arrived, and his renewed presence only made the situation worse.”

“Elrond,” Thranduil spoke up impatiently. “Let us quit dallying around words and cut to the chase. Tell me plainly; what did that orc-spawn do to my son?”

He sighed heavily, but understood the elf’s impatience. “He was abused, beaten, and raped, Thranduil. As an elfling, Legolas was repeatedly told by Saeldis that he was cursed by something evil, and punished for it. From what I have been able to gather, this started when he was very, very young, and lasted up until Saeldis left Mirkwood. We don’t know how many times his mind split, as many of the pieces of his spirit slowly faded from grief and pain under the onslaught.”

He paused upon hearing a slight noise. Looking beyond the two elves seated before him he noted Legolas hesitantly entering the room, followed silently by Glorfindel. They stopped just inside the heavy door, the older elf resting a reassuring hand on the younger’s shoulder. Neither made a sound as they waited where they stood, the door closing noiselessly behind them. Thranduil and Telpeur didn’t appear to have heard them come in, nor did they see the two as their backs were to the door. Telpeur looked ill, his face paling to an alarming whiteness. Thranduil appeared shocked, and looked as if he were trying to find some way to disbelieve Elrond’s words.

“Why did Legolas not tell me of this?” Thranduil’s voice rose angrily, although whom his anger was truly directed at he couldn’t say.

“He did not know, or he did not understand?” Elrond attempted to answer. “I believe he tried to say something, but wasn’t believed. Once his mind split, he did not always know what was going on. The Legolas you usually saw was probably not the same one who was suffering.”

“I cannot believe this was happening and I didn’t see it.” Thranduil murmured softly. The whole thing seemed an impossibility, an attempt at fabrication, although he could think of no reason Elrond would make up something to so strange, and so horrible. Thranduil had grown to think of Elrond as a noble elf, despite differences of past and race, and he was a well respected healer besides. He was speaking the truth, and deep down Thranduil knew it to be so. His own son had suffered right before him, yet without his knowledge. Guilt mauled painfully his heart. How could he have not seen it?

There was a clarity that came with hindsight, and looking back he could see things he hadn’t been aware of, or was too busy to take much note about. The occasional fear in his child when he was forcefully brought back to his tutor, the withdrawn creature that had slowly come to replace his happy child, the swift changes in mood that now seemed too sudden to be natural, the trouble that he always seemed to be in despite the fact that he denied involvement.

“He used to deny his participation with any sort of mischief or trouble, you know?” Thranduil said in a voice filled with sorrow. “He would always blame it on someone named…” He paused, thinking hard, “…Elanor. That was it. Or Mórehua. I had thought it was just an excuse; someone from his imagination that he would try to shift the blame onto.”

If the situation wasn’t so bleak, Elrond might have smiled at the knowledge that it was those two who had been the source of mischief for them all; particularly Elanor. “They do exist,” he said. “Those are the names of two of the personalities in Legolas’s mind.”

Thranduil sighed heavily. “As he grew older, he stopped mentioning them. He also grew more reclusive. He seemed to desire solitude so much that I gave it to him. I never realized he may have needed me more than ever.”

Telpeur reached out and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I never saw anything either,” He said softly. “I was with him, taught by the same mad elf, but was just as blind. Not all this burden is yours to carry.”

Elrond looked up at Legolas, who was silently watching the exchange with considering eyes. He still made no sound, but Elrond could see how his father and brother’s obvious grief affected him by the frown that pulled at the corners of his lips and how his arms had moved to wrap around his chest. Glorfindel’s hand remained on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and Legolas seemed to be imperceptibly leaning into the touch as if for solace and strength.

“You said in the message that my son almost died.” Thranduil said bleakly. “There is more to this tale and I would hear it.”

Elrond nodded, his gaze shifting back towards the Mirkwood king and his heir. “I had mentioned Master Saeldis was visiting us at the time Legolas arrived. I did not know the full history between the two until too late. Glorfindel and I had been making progress in helping your son, and we had our suspicions. We should have seen what was coming, but didn’t realize how mad Saeldis truly was. Or perhaps we did not wish to believe it ourselves. He attacked Legolas in his rooms, and although Saeldis was killed in the confrontation, Legolas was gravely injured. We have told no one the details of this for the events and their results were quite brutal; only myself, Glorfindel, my sons, my advisor, and one of your Mirkwood guards know the full extent of what happened. There will be no charges of murder or kinslaying due to obvious self defense and temporary madness, not to mention an odd little detail; it was in actuality a human spirit who committed the killing blow. Despite these facts, I thought it best to hide the truth, thus adverting any possible suggestion of blame.”

Thranduil nodded at the last, grateful for Elrond’s foresight, yet he was still shocked over the events proceeding it. He had caught the allusion to a human spirit, but didn’t comment. There was already too much to consider, and he needed to hear the rest of what the healer had to say.

“Legolas lay near death for five days before finally succumbing to grief,” Elrond continued. “He and the others passed to the Halls of Mandos, but while there were met by Estê. She healed them of their pain, and then returned them back to us, still separate but with the chance to be made whole given time.”

A silence filled the air, both Thranduil and Telpeur absorbing what they had heard while Elrond waited for any question that might arise. He also watched Legolas whom still seemed to be in thought, possibly conversing with the others listening in his mind. Glorfindel smiled at the healer reassuringly, to which Elrond couldn’t help but return with a brief smile of his own.

“You mentioned a human spirit,” Thranduil finally said. “I do not understand.”

“I do not know the particulars of that one; only that somehow a human spirit was housed within your son’s mind as some sort of protective measure. Oiolaire is gone now, but without his help, they most likely wouldn’t have survived as long as they did.”

Thranduil nodded, still a bit confused but unquestioning. At this moment the details were unimportant. The facts had been laid out, and as long as his son was finally recovering, that was all that mattered. His own involvement, or lack of, would have to be dealt with after he was completely certain of his son’s safety.

“So where is Legolas now?” He asked, realizing some time had passed, and his son had yet to come.

“I am here.” Thranduil spun about in his chair to find Legolas slowly walking towards him. Outwardly he looked well; any physical injury suffered had been healed leaving no sign of his ordeal. Perhaps he was slightly thinner, his face a touch more gaunt, but that was all. Yet there was something more that Thranduil could sense. His posture seemed more open than he had ever noticed before, less guarded and wary. Looking into those twilight eyes he could see nervousness and uncertainty; feelings he was certain were caused by him. There was also the disconcerting sense of something else lurking behind those eyes, and he felt his heart lurch painfully at the final proof of everything he had been told.

He rose from his chair to stand before his son. It wounded him deeply to see Legolas with the knowledge of what had been done while he was unaware. A father was supposed to look after his child, to protect them from harm, and he had failed. How was he to apologize for such negligence? How could he possibly atone?

Legolas looked at his father, noting the expression of guilt and self-condemnation that was etched across his face. He blinked at the strong show of emotion, shifting his gaze to his elder brother who sat watching him with uncertainty and his own remorse. Both expressions eased his mind a touch, for they were better than the pity or aversion he had been expecting. He had heard their admissions of guilt, and upon hearing them speak he knew that while there was some blame to be shared, it wasn’t as grievous as those in his mind had proclaimed. The remorse was genuine, the past couldn’t be fixed, and only the present and the future could be altered. Besides, the weight of such focused anger was a heavy burden, and one he was willing to release.

“Ada,” he whispered, letting Elanor and the youngling assume the forefront of his mind. He then found himself wrapped tightly within the strong arms of his father, a feeling slightly uncomfortable for some of them, but much needed for the younger spirits.

* * *

“So, do you plan on staying?” Thranduil asked his son as they walked through the gardens together. It had been two weeks since he had come to Imladris, and he had found the changes within Legolas to be very encouraging. So different was he from the recalcitrant elf he thought he had known. Granted, he still tended to be quiet and solitary, yet it seemed healthier than his behavior before.

He had also met the others, startled at first by the shifts in eyes and personality. It was difficult for him to grow accustomed to it, for it was a constant reminder of his negligence as a father. It was a pain he could not overcome, and while he wished his son would come home to Mirkwood that he might begin making amends, despite reassurances that such was unnecessary, he also respected Legolas’s mind on the matter. It was his choice to make. Besides, he didn’t feel as if he had any right to command anything from his son. That he still called him father and looked at him as such was more than he could have hoped for.

“Yes,” Legolas replied, glancing over at Thranduil. “Perhaps in a year or so I shall return, to visit at the very least. Elrond has been very helpful, and wishes to continue to watch my progress.”

Thranduil nodded. “Your other siblings will wish to see you again as well. They were very keen to come when they heard you were injured.”

Legolas smiled at their concern. Despite the unwelcoming attitude he had held for so long, they were still family, and loved each other greatly. “It will give Rillince an excuse to come and scour Elrond’s library,” he said. They both chuckled at that, knowing very well the young elf’s thirst for knowledge.

“And it would give Asquilyne a chance to test her meddle against Glorfindel,” Thranduil commented, noting the slight shift in his son’s features when the former balrog slayer’s name was mentioned. He was not blind, and the affection between the two was plain. He only wondered if Legolas was aware of the possible depth of the matter. Thranduil smiled, but said nothing more about it. Fate would run its course as it would.

The rest of the Mirkwood elves would be leaving in two more days, although the guards that had accompanied Legolas would remain in Rivendell with him. Laurerána was happy to stay, particularly given her building relationship with Elrond’s son. The two seemed barely able to keep apart, much to everyone’s amusement. And although there were many female elves who looked upon her with jealous eyes, none were willing to contend with the Mirkwood warrior’s fiery temper, and kept their thoughts to themselves.

Elrond had taken time to speak privately with Telpeur concerning his own time spent with the mad tutor. Much to everyone’s relief it seemed Saeldis’s attentions had been solely fixated upon the second child. Only twice had Telpeur suffered from the tutor’s harsh punishments; lightly wrought strappings for mischief he felt he no doubt deserved. Yet he was subject to none of the brutal torments his younger sibling had suffered. Legolas had been grateful to find no harm had come to his brother, although Telpeur still felt some remorse over the fact that he had been unaware of his sibling’s plight. Only time would heal such feelings, and time was something they all had plenty of.


Review Resonses:

Jasmine: Yup, I made him a good guy. I’ve read a lot of fics where Thranduil is depicted as cold or cruel, and as much as I love those, I couldn’t do it myself. (Which is why I brought in my own character for the bad guy, actually )
And yes, there will be slashy goodness by the end. My first slash scene…(wink)

Karen: Yeah, after your little comments about the twins, I couldn’t just leave them out of the picture. Honestly, I think you’re one of the reasons they’re in the story as much as they are… Thanks for the encouragement!

MorierBlackleaf: Ladybug attack! I wonder if they’re good luck or anything…
Haunt me for the rest of my mortal existence?! Yikes! Although, with the beautiful way you write, would that be such a bad thing… (grin)
I hope this chapter meets with your expectations. I had a dilly of a time writing it! Hmmm… dilly… yup, checked in my dictionary. It works! (broadly grinning)

Yanic: Thanks! Hmmm… I think I’m running out of ways to say thanks… You guys spoil me so much! (grin)

Ertia: Yeah, and while it may be cliché, sometimes time is the best healer. (smile) Thank you!

Lelann: Ooh, gushy! I like that! (grin) Thanks!