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…
………………

There will be a bit of a delay in posting the next chapter, as I’m going on a much needed vacation. But it will hopefully be worth the wait.
Now, on with the show!


Chapter 30: Yávie and Unexpected

It was late autumn, and the air held the sharp taste of winter swiftly approaching. The trees were nearly bare of foliage. Only the most stubborn of leaves still clung to the uppermost boughs, leaving the tall evergreens and scrubby heather to provide color to the brisk landscape. Frost had covered the land in a curtain of delicate lace that morning, but now heavy grey clouds were sweeping in from the west carrying the promise of snow. By the next morning the land would most likely be covered by a pristine white blanket perfect for the young elves of Imladris to scamper about in.

Along the icy Bruinen two elves walked, both enjoying the sound of the river and peace of the sleeping landscape. They walked unheeding of the occasional cold breeze that swept about them, lifting tresses of gold and sable, fluttering their winter robes about them as the passed along the uneven stones.

“Do you expect the patrol to be back tonight or tomorrow?” Elrond asked, stepping lightly over a feathery pine bough the wind had carried over the path.

Glorfindel looked up at the heavily overcast sky. The city of Imladris tended to remain under fairly mild conditions where the weather was concerned, due to the ring of power Elrond wore. While only a few inches of snow might fall within the boundaries of Elrond’s realm, outside the snow might fall to depths as high as a full grown elf. “I would hope by tonight, else they may be spending the night in some rather uncomfortable weather.”

“Elrohir will most likely push them on with the reminder of warmer quarters waiting.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” the blonde elf smiled. “He always had a fondness for the comforts of home, much like another elf I know.”

“Which is why I became a healer and loremaster rather than remain a warrior,” Elrond responded with a grin. A companionable silence followed as they continued on their walk, broken only by the occasional winter bird fluttering about the trees in search of food.

“Legolas is growing increasingly restless,” Glorfindel finally commented, kicking a stray stone off the path to tumble down the riverbank. “How long do you think before he can join in on the patrols?”

“I would rather he wait until spring,” Elrond replied with a slight frown. He was well aware of the woodelf’s impatience in that regard. It was a question that had been brought up quite often in their daily meetings.

“Elladan and Elrohir have been taking him on short trips along the mountains borders.”

Elrond’s frown deepened. “I know.”

“He can already best the twins with his knives.”

“So I have heard.”

“He hates being coddled.”

Elrond threw Glorfindel a look. “Yes, I am aware of that. I am not coddling him; I am merely being a concerned healer.”

Glorfindel snorted wryly. “As you say.”

“He is still having resurgences of memories, not to mention the sudden panic attacks. Do not tell me you do not fear for his safety as well.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel nodded. “I do. But he has survived this long; I believe he can handle himself.”

Elrond sighed heavily, shaking his head in exasperation. “I know. I only worry.”

“As you do for any of your children,” Glorfindel responded with a gentle smile.

“Yes,” Elrond looked over at his friend. “He has become as another son to me.”

“Thus you will always worry.”

“And what of you?” Elrond asked, his voice suddenly sly.

“What of me?” Glorfindel’s face was a mask of indifference so complete it could only be a facade.

“It is more than merely as a friend or as a father to a son that you look upon our Mirkwood guest. I have seen it in your eyes.”

Glorfindel shrugged, still feigning apathy even though he knew his friend could easily see through the expression. “True, I find that I have come to care for him deeply.” He glanced over at the Imladrin Lord. “But there is nothing beyond friendship. I would cause him no harm.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Elrond responded gently. “I would only ask that you remain careful.”

“Always.”

Elrond drew his gaze back along the path. He was about to say something else when he spotted a lone figure beneath one of the evergreens along their path. The elf was sitting cross-legged facing the river, and as they drew closer Elrond could identify him as the object of their conversation. Legolas didn’t even look up as Elrond and Glorfindel approached, his attention fixed upon a small object he clutched in his hands. It appear to be an old ragged doll, much loved by its worn appearance. One of his hands gently stroked the doll’s black hair, methodically smoothing the wayward tresses.

Finally Legolas shifted his gaze towards the two elves, and they immediately recognized the youngest of the spirits peaking through the twilight eyes. The expression on his face was one of curiosity mingled with contentment.

“What do you have there?” Elrond asked, crouching down beside the elf. Glorfindel moved to his other side but remained standing.

The doll was held up so that Elrond might see. “It’s Yávie,” Legolas told him, his voice holding the distinctly youthful tone of the youngest personality. “Ravan says Oiolaire brought her. I found her in my room.”

“She was yours?”

Legolas nodded, bringing the doll back to his chest to hold it tightly. “Naneth made her for me; to keep the monster away.”

“Monster?” Glorfindel crouched down beside the other two, his voice soft with concern. “What sort of monster?”

Legolas shrugged. “The one in my room at night. But it’s gone now.”

Glorfindel shot a glance towards Elrond, whose face appeared thoughtful. Was it only the usual bad dreams that frightened children in their sleep, or possibly something darker? Unfortunately they would probably never know. All of this youngling’s memories were of a time before the other personalities stepped in, and were usually distorted by the usual imaginings of a child. That was not to say what he spoke of wasn’t true, merely that he tended to be vague and imprecise.

“Look!” Legolas suddenly shouted, seemingly unconcerned with his talk of monsters or his elder’s scrutiny. He pointed upwards towards where several fat snowflakes were beginning to drift down out of the leaden sky. “Snow!” His face lit with excitement, and he quickly scrambled to his feet, rushing out from beneath the shelter of the pine to stand amongst the slowly falling flakes.

Laughter burst from his lips as he tilted his face to the sky, delighting in the tickling sensation of the snow brushing across his cheeks and eyelashes. “Me and Naneth and Ada and Telpeur played in the snow last time. Telpeur made a really big snowelf, and I helped.”

Elrond stood, his expression now probing. Here was another problem both he and Glorfindel occasionally encountered with regards to this particular personality. At first they had been uncertain whether to merely let it be, or to correct him on the truth of his memories. Yet they had eventually decided that in order to grow, he would need to understand.

“Last time?” Elrond queried.

“Oh, yes! We…” his voice trailed off, his face suddenly falling as realization hit. “That’s wrong, isn’t it? Last time wasn’t last time.” He slowly sank to the ground, the snow forgotten as he once more clutched the doll to his chest. All the memories he carried were of a time long gone, and he tended to forget that what happened in his memory nine months before actually occurred many years distant. He had been sleeping for so long… Sometimes he wished he could just go back to sleep, and wake when the world was right again.

He felt arms reach around to hold him, and without looking he knew it was Glorfindel by the dusky scent that surrounded the older elf. He turned into the embrace, taking comfort from the gesture as sadness filled his heart.

“I miss my ada,” he whispered, voice catching as he buried his face into Glorfindel’s robes. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of his father. He may have been too busy to spend much time with him, but when he did such moments were treasured.

Elrond knelt down behind Legolas, offering his own comfort by running soothing hands along the younger elf’s back. It was a gesture that might have still caused the other spirits uneasiness, but this one was more open to touch, and in fact sought after it as any young elfling might.

There was a long period of silence before Legolas spoke, lifting his head from Glorfindel’s shoulder and sniffling slightly. “Ravan says I can see him in the spring.” Glorfindel looked towards Elrond, who nodded in response.

“Yes, Ravan is correct,” the darker elf said, his hand moving to wipe away one of the tears that had fallen down the young one’s cheek. “You shall make a visit home for a month or so.”

Legolas smiled, and suddenly the youngling faded back. Noting the slow shift in features, Elrond dropped his hand while Glorfindel loosened his hold on the elf’s body.

“He would not believe Ravan,” Aenos said rolling his icy blue eyes in exasperation. He pulled himself away from both elves to stand in the still gently falling snow. Glancing down he noted the doll clutched in his hand, and a considering look passed over his face.

“Monsters in the dark.” He lifted the ragged object up, shifting it between his hands as if it might release to him some sort of clue towards his understanding of it. Elrond and Glorfindel rose quietly from the cold ground but said nothing, letting this spirit come up with his own answers. Finally Aenos looked at them, his usually haughty face suddenly light with amusement. “I find it interesting how a simple doll can offer such comfort, especially when the monster was so real.”

“Have you never had a beloved object that you looked upon for comfort?” Elrond asked, tilting his head slightly in question. “Perhaps something that reminded you of the love given by your mother or father?”

“No. I knew they cared for me, for us.”

“Well, this doll most likely represents that love. A symbol, you might say, that can sometimes take on an imaginary life of its own, and a promise that although she may not have been there physically, your mother would still be there to protect you from harm.”

Aenos frowned, his lack of understanding plain. “But she was not there. She passed on before I knew her.”

Elrond merely smiled and said nothing. How does one explain such things, such feelings and emotions, to one who does not comprehend? Aenos never had a real childhood to begin with, and his trust in the elders was so complete he likely never needed such a transitionary object in the first place.

Aenos turned away from the others, his hand moving as if to drop the incomprehensible object to the ground. Yet there was a brief hesitation just before the fingers loosened, and his gaze turned inwards, indicating an internal discussion. The two older elves watched quietly, well accustomed to such moments of quiet introspection. Perhaps the other spirits could explain when Elrond could not.

A few moments later the doll was lifted back up so that Aenos might inspect it more closely. His face was full of curiosity as his fingers traced over the tiny black eyes, the wool hair, and the ragged tunic. Then he brought it close to his face and drew in a deep breath as if taking in some obscure scent. His eyebrows suddenly rose, his eyes shifting quickly from the doll to the patiently waiting elves.

“They say it smells of her,” he whispered. “I never knew…” There was a solemnity to his expression, regret and sadness intermingling with an acute longing for something he’d never had. He abruptly turned and walked away down the path, the doll now being held reverently in both hands. Elrond and Glorfindel let him go, watching as he disappeared into the now steadily falling snow. Ravan would look after them and bring Legolas inside before it grew too cold. For now he most likely needed to be alone to consider these new thoughts, and to think over the new memories imparted by the others.

Finally Elrond looked up, his sable hair now liberally dusted with large white flakes. “I believe I am for sitting by the fire with a glass of wine.”

Glorfindel looked at his friend, chuckling as he shook snow from his own golden tresses. “That sounds agreeable.”

Together they slowly walked indoors, leaving the snow to fall peacefully behind them.

* * *

Glorfindel knocked on Legolas’ door, and upon hearing a response to enter, pushed it open. It had been a long day of weapons practice, and he had already made a quick detour to the bathing house before coming here. The dark blue tunic, loose breeches, and calf-length vest he now wore were much cleaner and more comfortable than his gambeson and leathers he wore fighting in.

He knew Legolas had another meeting with Elrond this afternoon, and he entered the room with a touch of trepidation. He never knew what mood Legolas and the others would be in after one of their talks. It had been nearly two years since Saeldis’ death, and integrating all the personalities was proving to be a slow and tedious process. Of course, they had no others to compare it too, so for all they knew, the healing was going very well. None of the cases Elrond had found among the human documents spoke of healing what they perceived as madness. Deemed incurable, many victims were often locked away for their own safety and that of others, sometimes despite the lack of violent tendencies. Others were put to death. They didn’t understand it, thus they feared it. Elrond actually found one document which described the illness as being something one could catch by being around said madmen, which they both knew what a downright fabrication on the writer’s part. Estê had spoken of a complete healing, thus it was possible. Hard work, yes, but possible.

Just the other night Legolas had experienced one of many panic attacks that he had become afflicted with. His stability had been swept away, leaving him with the feeling he had no one and nothing to hold onto; nothing to keep him grounded and in control. The fear of losing his identity had overwhelmed his senses, and he had felt he would soon drift away like dandelion fluff on a soft breeze.

Glorfindel had felt the shaky hand clutching at his sleeve as the distressed elf sought something to ground himself with. Lowering the book he had been reading aloud, he looked over and noted the clear panic in Legolas’s expression. It was something that had been common in the months after the final attack and death, slowly becoming less frequent as time passed. Elrond had said it was most likely a normal reaction, and the panic attacks would eventually cease altogether given enough time.

“Shhh,” Glorfindel sought to comfort the younger elf, dropping the book and bringing him around to hold him loosely in his arms. He kissed the sandy locks tenderly as Legolas pressed himself against the older elf’s side.

“What is wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice softly consoling.

“Please,” Legolas begged, his eyes closed tightly and one hand fisted against his forehead. ‘Who am I?”

“You are Legolas.” Glorfindel gently told the distraught elf. “You are a Prince of Mirkwood, and a dear friend to many.”

“But for how long?” came the whispered reply. “The others are frightened as well. Too many thoughts… I feel I will soon disappear.”

“No, you will not. I won’t let you.” He kept his voice strong and his tone confident as held Legolas tenderly in his embrace. “We will get through this. You won’t be alone.”

After a time the anxiety passed and Legolas had relaxed, eventually drifting off to sleep in the secure warmth of Glorfindel’s strong arms. He had fallen asleep many times in this fashion, leaving Glorfindel to eventually untangle himself from the sleeping elf that he might seek the comfort and rest of his own bed.

Closing the door behind him, he spotted Legolas standing at the balcony, his back to the room. His hair was bound in several intricate braids complete with sparkling beads and a single large blue feather. The use of such decoration was something Elanor had been teaching the others. She was as fascinated with finery and pretty things as any young female elf, and as time passed, she had become more intent to express it. The dark green robes Legolas wore were embroidered with sliver mallorn leaves, and was one of Elanor’s favorite outfits. Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow, curious as to what warranted such fine garb.

Legolas turned, and taller elf suddenly realized this wasn’t the one he had originally assumed. The bright, summer blue eyes spoke of Elanor, yet the careful poise and demure look was not that of the small child who had won his heart. He watched as the mysterious spirit crossed the room towards him, a smile twitching at the edge of her mouth. That this was a female was obvious, but who?

“Do you not recognize me?” She asked, the voice a bit deeper than the childish tone Elanor usually assumed.

Glorfindel considered a moment before answering. “In truth, I am not certain.”

The elf laughed, the voice light and almost seductive. “It is Elanor!” She spun around in a quick circle with her arms spread wide, the resplendent robes swirling about her calves to expose her bare feet. “I am older now. Elrond helped me.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened at the pronouncement. “That is wonderful,” he exclaimed, the happiness plain in his voice. He and Elrond had spoken of this happening. At some point all the young spirits would have to realize they were dwelling within the body of one much older, and thus age accordingly. How this applied with one such as Ravan, who was obviously much older, they could barely guess. And then there was the added complication of the female spirit. One day she would have to become more aware of the male body she was confined within. Elrond remained uncertain as to the particulars of that problem as well.

“Yes, it is.” Her tone abruptly changed, and she walked forwards once more, this time with a predatory gleam in her eye. Feeling suddenly wary, the Glorfindel watched as she came closer. Her posture reminded him vaguely of someone he knew; however the answer eluded him and before he realized it he felt the pressure of the wall at his back. Elanor continued to draw closer until she stood just before him, her body a hairsbreadth away from his own. Although the spirit was female, and her attitude reflected that, her body was that of a very attractive male; something Glorfindel was all too aware of.

“Elanor, what - ,” He was abruptly cut off as a pair of velvety soft lips pressed firmly against his, shocking him into silence. It was innocent as far as kisses went, bred more from inexperience and lack of knowledge than from any true attempt at seduction. Yet he couldn’t help but feel his heart leap in response to the affectionate gesture.

Then she pulled away, a considering look on her handsome face. Glorfindel couldn’t help but lift a hand to his mouth and the lingering warmth she had left behind.

“Elanor,” he finally asked, lowering his hand and pulling his body up straighter. “What brought this on?”

An expression close to a pout crossed her features, and her shoulders fell slightly. “It wasn’t very good was it? I saw Lau’ kiss ‘Dan, and I wished to try it too. The others said I had to wait until I was older.”

“Ah, Laurerána. I see.” Now he recognized the posture Elanor has earlier assumed. The Mirkwood guard was a very dominate, not to mention formidable, elf. That Elanor was picking up her mannerisms would prove to be interesting. That she had chosen him to experiment upon was fascinating as well, for he had long known of her child-like infatuation with him. Now she was obviously older, yet not necessarily any more astute.

As far as he knew, none of the personalities had any sort of experience with close, personal relationships. It was something else he and Elrond had discussed, particularly when the healer realized the full depths of the feelings his friend held for the Mirkwood prince. It was a feeling Glorfindel didn’t wish speak of, yet very few secrets were kept between the two of them. He cared deeply for Legolas, for all of the personalities contained within the lithe warrior’s body, and it was growing into something beyond that of mere friendship. Glorfindel knew it would be best to wait to pursue anything, letting Legolas and the others slowly discover their own feelings in the matter without any added influence. Besides which there was no telling whether Legolas preferred the company males or females, and thus far his preferences seemed indifferent. Then there was the added fact that any sexual relationship could possibly be harmful given his circumstances.

Glorfindel had discovered early on that, at least until recently, Legolas had lived with a very asexual mindset. It was another symptom of the mental and sexual abuse he had lived through; a denial of such feelings as anything but base emotion. He had acknowledged their existence, but nothing more beyond that. The sexual contact he knew was a punishment to be endured rather than a pleasure to enjoy. Now as his mind healed, his body awoke to sensations, emotions, and needs unfamiliar to him. While he slowly came to understand that such things were natural, and learned from others that physical love was about joy, not pain, the woodelf still had trouble confronting the fear he felt. That until now none of the spirits had shown any sign of affection beyond that of a hug seemed telling that he wasn’t ready to delve into such things. It had only been two years since the death of his tormentor, and a lifetime of abuse before that. Time was one thing they all had plenty of. At this time Glorfindel’s main priority was Legolas’s healing; that he would eventually become happy and whole. Even if he never revealed feelings beyond that of mere friendship, Glorfindel knew he would be content with that as long as Legolas was happy.

Elanor blushed, her pale cheeks reddening in embarrassment. The kiss hadn’t turned out quite as she planned. “I thought… I assumed…” She seemed unable to finish her sentence.

“What do the others think?” Glorfindel asked curiously.

“What of them?!” She countered, now staring at him angrily. “Must they know everything? It was merely a kiss!”

“Yes, but a kiss can mean many things,” Glorfindel reasoned. “And you know this. A kiss such as that Elladan and Laurerána exchange has a very different meaning than a kiss on the forehead from an adult to a child.”

“Yes, I know.” She turned and walked back towards the balcony. A settee waited there, and she dropped into it with an angry thud. The older elf couldn’t help but smile. This was the Elanor he knew.

He followed her, crouching down at her knee and looking up into her summer eyes. She immediately turned her head away, seeking to avoid his gaze.

“It was wrong of me,” she said softly. “I am sorry. It wasn’t as enjoyable as ‘Lau made it out to be anyways.”

Chuckling softly, Glorfindel reached up and placed a finger on Elanor’s chin. He turned her head so that she was forced to look at him once more. Her face showed her sorrow plainly. “Kissing isn’t wrong, as long as you understand the feelings behind it. I would only hate to be the source of contention between you and the others. And I found it to be a very sweet kiss indeed.”

She blushed once more. “The others did not mind, I promise.”

She watched as Glorfindel seemed to consider something, his cobalt eyes unfocusing slightly in thought. After several moments of silence, he reached some sort of conclusion and began to rise. Yet instead of pulling away, he leaned forwards, his head lowering to meet her own. Foreheads touched briefly, allowing Elanor to gaze with curious anticipation into his sparkling eyes, before he shifted to allow their lips to meet. It was a kiss of nearly heartbreaking tenderness. His lips moved over her slightly parted ones, savoring the softness and the darkly honeyed taste, nibbling lightly on her lower lip, before slowly pulling away. It was a fairly chaste gesture, yet with the definite promise of something more.

It was then that he realized the eyes which met his were no longer Elanor’s, but the darker glow of Legolas’, and the look on his face was one of both wonder and shock. Glorfindel managed a lopsided grin as this time it was Legolas who brought uncertain, almost trembling fingers to his tingling lips.

“Well,” Glorfindel finally asked when he felt the silence had drawn on long enough. A soft exhalation and a shy smile were all the response he needed.



Review Responses:

Ertia: I’m glad you liked the chappie. I suppose it was more filler than anything, and was this one. All paving the way for, and my beta put it, BAM! (grin)

MorierBlackleaf: Yeah, I took the ending of the game out of experience actually. I wasn’t the one carried, but one of the people desperately trying to get the girl to release the ball before she inadvertently scored for the other team. Coincidently, my team lost. (pout) Ah well. There’s always next time!
Two more chapters left! I don’t know whether to feel anxious or relieved. More alcohol is needed I think… (grin)

Yanic: Thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed this chappie, especially the second part. It’s a precursor to bigger things to come. (grin) Now I need to find some of that alcohol…

Crookis: Thanks! It’s actually a game called ‘Mongolian Football’, which I’ve played before in the SCA. It’s a game played by ladies in full court garb, although men can play if they wish. They just have to wear dresses too. (smirk) The poor boys have no clue how brutal women can be… (evil grin) I merely adjusted it slightly for the story.