Voices In The Dark

Title: Voices In The Dark
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Legolas/OC, Legolas/? (I've been advised to wait, and wait I shall...)
Rating: NC-17 (Just in case)
Warning: NCS, Mentions/Memories of child abuse, Self-Harm, WIP
Summery: Thranduil sends one of his sons to Imladris, fearing that the stresses of constant battle against the encroaching darkness may be too much for the young prince. Little does anyone know the prince's true state of mind...
Disclaimer: This wonderful world belongs to Tolkien. I'm just borrowing the characters for a time and adding a few of my own.
Author's note: Reviews will be greatly appreciated. Bear with me; it's my first time. Also, mental health tends to be a nebulous science in some aspects. Any inconsistencies will be attributed to the unknowns of elven physiology. Ha!
*This* denotes thought...or something to that effect.


Chapter Five: Dinner And Aftereffects


"Shall we send up a cat?" Elrohir asked Legolas, the twin's face turning completely serious as they walked down the corridor.

"What?"

"For the rat."

Legolas flushed slightly, recalling the doll. "I don't think that will be necessary. I believe I may have been mistaken."

"Ah." There was a moment of silence as they walked before Elrohir spoke again, another impish grin forming on his face. "All the same, I believe that old, fat tabby down in the kitchens could use some exercise. I shall have to bring her up."

A look of confusion crossed Elladan's face momentarily before his features suddenly broke out into a grin in understanding. Legolas felt as if he were missing some important piece of information and watched the two curiously.

Elrohir leaned in with a conspiring whisper, and Legolas had to force himself not to pull away, an automatic reaction to the close proximity. "Glorfindel's rooms aren't far from here. He doesn't like cats. Says he's allergic, or something of the sort.

"Wait." Legolas paused a moment in mid-step, confused. "I have never heard of an elf being allergic to anything."


"Exactly," Elladan continued. "It's a human thing. Maybe dwarves too. Anyway, he just doesn't like that particular beastie, although it seems to like him very well. Sheds all over his clothes and uses his bed as a scratching post."

"Then why are you going to get the cat?"

Elrohir leaned back and shrugged his shoulders. "Because it's fun to annoy old Glorfindel. Keeps him on his toes. But this is nothing, I assure you. You must have done similar things of your own as an elfling?"

"Not that I can recall," Legolas muttered as they continued to walk down the passage. Pranks meant punishment from his tutor, and he had tried to avoid that as much as possible. Not that it mattered much. There was always something he had done to find fault with, whether he remembered doing it or not.

The twins exchanged an unreadable look. Surely this elf wasn't that much of a straight and narrow. They quickly decided to change the subject to something more engaging.

"So tell us of your home," Elrohir asked, looking at the blonde elf inquisitively.

"Why?"

"I am merely curious," he replied, trying to draw this recalcitrant elf into some sort of conversation. "We've explored the Misty Mountains, and traveled over them to our grandmother’s realm, but never further north."

That would be Lothlorien, Legolas recalled. Their mother had been Celebrian, the daughter of the Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood. His own kin had little contact with that realm in the past, the way being treacherous as it passed though one of the worst areas besieged by orcs and giant spiders, and blocked by the mighty fortress of Dol Guldur.

"What would you like to know?" He asked, unsure of where to start. Mirkwood, once called Greenwood the Great, was a very large realm, comprised of towering pines to the south, and oak and beech forests to the north. Much of it was slowly becoming uninhabitable due to the spreading darkness leaking in from the southern borders.

"Well, it is said your folk dwell in caves." Elladan expounded. "What is that like?"

"Much of the palace is built underground, but we don't all live there. Many of us have dwellings built in the oak and beech trees surrounding the palace. The horses prefer not to stay belowground, so the stables are located on the surface, as well as various outbuildings. They are hidden in a secluded vale that tends to keep outsiders away."

"Ah," Elrohir nodded. "When father told us stories from his visit, I always found it hard to imagine living under Arda's surface like a dwarf."

Legolas merely shrugged. "It's easily fortified and defendable as it stands. And it's not at all stuffy and enclosing as someone who's never been there might assume. I am sure your father must have told you of the vastness of the great hall, and the spaciousness of the guest rooms."

"Aye, he did." Elrohir answered. "But I still find it hard to imagine."

"I suppose I'm used to it, having lived there my entire life, although I admit I do prefer to be out amongst the trees. While I do have rooms at the palace, I rarely stay there. Much of my time is spent on the borders, scouting and fighting."

At that time they came to the doors leading into the dining hall and walked inside. It was a fairly large room with balconies that opened up to catch the outside breezes and a massive stone fireplace at one end for the colder months. Arches wrought with more beautiful filigreed design crossed the ceiling, lending an air of spaciousness and grace to the room. Legolas found he liked the architecture of this place, the intricate and open design suiting him more than grandiose display of wealth that composed his father's hall. A single, long table of a dark polished wood ran down the center of the room with matching chairs placed to either side. This table was already laid out with delightfully aromatic dishes, just waiting for someone to partake of the bountiful meal.

Four elves were already waiting, standing near an open balcony and discussing simple trade matters. Legolas recognized Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel, the latter gesturing animatedly with half a glass of elven wine. A third dark haired elf that Legolas did not know listened patiently, and nodded occasionally in agreement to whatever the blonde Elda said. The fourth elf Legolas recognized very well, for it was the Mithlond emissary, Master Saeldis.

Upon catching sight of his former tutor his stomach gave a little roll of fear. Then suddenly, without any warning, he felt himself being pushed back into the depths of his mind, a silent observer while someone else took control of his actions. It was disconcerting, but there was very little he could do. He felt numb, as if he were elsewhere, but nowhere in particular, floating in a strange sea of semi-awareness.

* * *

Aenos paused where he stood, acquainting himself with the room he suddenly found himself in. It was indeed a lovely dining hall to look at, but it didn't hold his attention for long. King Thranduil's hall was definitely more opulent with its massive pillars and stone-carved alcoves, and more to his liking than this smaller room with its almost delicate design.

He could sense the two elves beside and slightly behind him, not speaking, letting him soak in the beauty of the dining hall. If they sensed a change in their companion, they didn't show it.

*Silly elves,* he thought condescendingly, having overheard their little plan with the cat. *They act like mere elflings, and should have been better disciplined in their youth. Playing pranks on other elves, particularly their elders, is a ridiculous pastime!*

He turned his attention towards where the four older elves stood, and made his way in their direction, straightening his tunic as he did so. He recognized three of the four, and as his elders held high respect for them. They were the ones who were in control, the ones with authority. Master Saeldis he knew very well, and as always felt the deep-seated desire to please him.

They all turned as he approached, smiling in welcome.

"Greetings, Legolas, Elrohir, Elladan." Lord Elrond spoke. He noted the prince's icy blue eyes with curiosity, wondering what it might portend, but dismissed the observation for later. With one hand he gestured towards the dark-haired elf the prince didn't recognize. The stately looking elf wore simple robes so deep a shade of red that they appeared to be nearly black, and his green eyes shone with an astute intelligence.

"You have not yet met Erestor, my chief advisor. Erestor, this is Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood."

"Well met, hîr nín" Aenos bowed, hand to his heart, yet slightly put off by the introduction. While he was used to people mistaking him for Legolas, it still bothered him to no end. After all, he and this other elf they spoke of looked nothing alike. His own features were much more angular, his hair and skin much more fair than that of the sandy-haired elf they referred to. Still, he said nothing over the matter, for he knew it wouldn't help any, and it wasn't wise to contradict his elders.

"Prince Legolas," Erestor bowed in return. "It is good to meet you. How are things progressing in Mirkwood these days?"

"With Imladris's help have been able to successfully push back the packs of orcs harrying the outlying villages," Aenos answered smoothly and politely. "The fight is still a long and hard one, yet we are certain the outcome will be in our favor."

He glanced over at Master Saeldis, and felt a burst of warmth when his former Tutor nodded in agreement.

"That is very good," Erestor smiled. "I'm glad our warriors were able to successfully integrate with your own."

"I believe that both realms are more alike than we like to think," Elrond interjected with a brief wave of his hand. "But enough of this talk. Dinner is waiting and growing cold as we speak. If you'd all like to be seated?"

They all took their places, Elrond sitting at the head of the table as was his due as Lord, with Legolas to his left, and Saeldis to his right as was the right of guests. To the other side of Legolas sat Elrohir and Elladan, respectively, with Erestor then Glorfindel sitting beside Saeldis. Elrond watched the interaction between the former master and pupil, but could sense nothing but politeness coming from each, as if there had never been any stress or disagreement between the two. It seemed rather odd, given Saeldis’ former words regarding Legolas. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but decided to leave the situation alone for the time being. No good would come of bringing up past relations now.

During the meal Elrohir and Elladan detailed their most recent escapade: chasing down a pack of orcs whom had decided to explore the mountains just south of Rivendell. The twins, with a small group of elven warriors, had tricked the orcs into an ambush where they had been slowly picked off one by one.

"And then Elladan jumped into the tree, which was actually something more of a sapling, with five orcs dodging at his heels," Elrohir said with a laugh. "I thought they would have had him that time! The poor tree could scarce hold his weight!"

"It seems to me a rather foolish thing to do," Saeldis commented with a frown. He took a sip of his wine before continuing. "Orcs can be extremely dangerous creatures. I assume you are aware of what orcs can do to elves."

Elrohir paused in his animated conversation, the joviality in both the twin's expressions swiftly disappearing at the almost condescending tone of the Mithlond emissary. Of course they knew what orcs could do to elves, which was why they were so adamant in destroying them. After all, hadn't their own mother been captured and violated by the foul beasts? They had left her alive, but unable to recover from the terrible assault, and she passed into the West rather than succumb to a slow fading of the spirit.

"I apologize for my harsh words," Saeldis immediately amended, realizing how ill-conceived his words sounded. He also didn't like the looks of anger the two young elves suddenly passed in his direction. "I had momentarily forgotten how your family has suffered because of their foul deeds. I, too, have seen the results of their leavings, and only fear for the safety of others."

"We are able warriors," Elladan spoke softly, but firmly, and was finished by his twin. "Your concern is noted, but you needn't worry. All stories aside, we are quite careful in our pursuit."

Glorfindel heard the reply, but his attention was fixed upon the Mirkwood prince, and had been since Master Saeldis first spoke. All through dinner Legolas had been very polite and diplomatic in his speech. His manners were perfect, and he seemed the epitome of a well-bred elven prince. When Elladan and Elrohir had tried to persuade him to tell of his battle exploits, had declined graciously, stating that dinner was no time to tell of such things, to which they just shrugged him off. Now Legolas was staring down at his half-empty plate with a pained look on his face that shone with confusion and fear. It almost appeared as if he were listening to something beyond what the others could hear. Glorfindel caught Elrond's gaze and directed it towards the other elf.

"Legolas?" Elrond asked softly as to not draw unneeded attention to the obviously distressed elf. "Are you well?"

Legolas looked up with a startled expression as if he had forgotten he was in the company of others, his eyes now back to being a shadowy twilight blue. Elrond and Glorfindel looked at him curiously, although no one else had seemed to notice his lapse in concentration.

He wasn't sure what happened, only that he had suddenly been thrown back into the forefront of his mind, the other awareness disappearing in a sudden flurry of fear. The other voices in his mind were crying out in panic, each struggling for control, and as a result he felt his stomach twist queasily. One particular phrase kept repeating itself in his mind. It was the voice from his nightmares. *You know what orcs can do to elves. I will show you what orcs do to elves...*

"I'm sorry," He stammered, fighting hard to remain outwardly calm while inside he was falling apart. Looking down at his hands he found himself surprised that he wasn't sweating from the effort. "I am afraid the journey has exhausted me more than I thought. If I may be excused, I'd like to retire to my rooms."

Elrond nodded, masking his concern under a pleasant facade. "Yes, you may go. If you feel you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. I hope tomorrow you feel better rested."

"Thank you, hîr nín," Legolas replied, rising from the table. The others watched him leave curiously. He could feel the eyes on his back, the invisible pressure making him want to twitch in reaction. He fought the urge to look back, to meet the watching eyes, to note the expression on Master Saeldis’ face. Yet he retreated without that backwards glance, as if all were normal and his only care was for sleep.

Once he made it out of the dining hall, he resisted the temptation to bolt. There was still the chance that other elves wandering the corridors might see him in a state of panic and ask questions. So with firm, deliberate steps, and a look on his face that told of heavy thoughts, he carefully walked to his rooms.

The further from the dining hall he went, the easier his mind became, as if something was attempting to help him by blocking the cries and hushing the voices. Yet the other mocking voice still haunted him as he walked. He couldn't understand the reason why that particular phrase should cause him such fear. Of course he knew what orcs did to elves. Hadn't many elves he had fought with over the years died from their poisoned blades? Hadn't his own mother been killed by the foul beasts while on her way to visit kin in the north? He recalled the covered stretcher bearing his mother's body being carried between the horses of two battle worn elves. Yet that was all he could remember, another blank spot marring his memory of the resulting funeral. He had attended, he knew that much from the stories he overheard; how King Thranduil wept unabashedly over the loss of his beloved wife, how young Asquilyne huddled in the embrace of her older brother Telpeur, how Rillince read aloud a heartrending poem he composed in her memory, how he himself had just stood silent through it all, his appearance cold and hard.

He reached his rooms without incident. Swiftly he grabbed a candle from the small table beside the door and lit it using one of the flickering tapers in the hall. Then he closed the door behind him securely, locking the small bolt in place.

His nimble fingers were starting to shake by the time he lit the last candle, dripping hot wax onto the beautifully inlayed floor. His control was slipping, bringing with it a fuzzy feeling as if his head was stuffed with beech leaves. With care he set the candle down on the nightstand. His travel clothes from earlier were still lying on the floor in a discarded heap, but he left them alone, not feeling up to dealing with them at the moment. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed, bending forward until his elbows touched his knees.

"I don't understand!" Legolas’ voice came out as a harsh whisper, his hands reaching up to clench tightly in his braided hair. "Why is this happening to me?"

He was afraid to speak with any about his feelings, about his strange mental state. How could they understand? He knew they would mock him, and soon see through the clean elven exterior to the dark core that he was certain lay beneath.

*I am evil and not worthy to be in the presence of these fair elves.*

The thoughts came unbidden, their source unknown, yet he knew they were true. Hadn't he been told that since he could remember? And if any denied it, it wasn't in such a way to be believed, for no one truly knew him.

He looked over to where his knives rested serenely on the wooden rack. They seemed to call to him, to urge him to rise and pick them up. To end it all. To end the ever consuming sorrow and futility of life. To end the constant voices calling in his head.

Slowly he fell forwards off the bed onto his knees, bending over until his forehead rested against the cold, hard floor. He felt disconnected, the world around him shadowy and indistinct. There was no ground, no sky, and nothing to hold on to that would give him direction as to which way to turn. He felt utterly lost.

Vaguely he realized a long-bladed knife was clutched tightly in one hand, but with no recollection as to how it came to be there. He didn't even remember having such a blade anywhere near his body. Last he recalled it was lying peacefully on the weapon rack.

Or was it?

*I always carry a blade,* the dark voice from deep inside spoke. *One never knows...*

The sharp blade was drawn in closer until it rested against his pounding heart. He thought it strangely humorous that his heart should beat so heavily when he felt so calm and detached.

*It would be so easy to stop it,* the dark spirit continued. *I could end it all. No more fear. No more pain...*

*Stop!* A different voice called out in an authoritative tone and he winced. He recognized it as being older; the kindly voice of wisdom that had always tried to keep him doing what was fair and correct.

*Yes, stop,* he thought hard, agreeing with the second voice. He didn't really want to die, did he?

The hand that gripped the blade relaxed with an agonizing slowness until it was finally released with a soft clatter. A groan escaped his lips as he rose from the floor, fighting the lethargy that continued to overwhelm his senses. Yet for once the harder he fought the more aware he became, although the fatigue refused to lift. Soon he was kneeling, then standing, albeit swaying from the exertion.

Looking down at the knife he released a brief shudder, knowing that although he'd won this round, it wasn't over yet. *Perhaps I ought to finally tell someone,* Legolas thought grimly. *Elrond is a healer. Perhaps he'll know what is wrong with me and how to get rid of these spirits before they kill me.*

He turned tiredly and began to strip off his clothes in preparation for bed and sleep. As he did so his eye caught the small, black-eyed doll lying forlornly on the ground in the corner beside the door, and with a surprising suddenness he disappeared.

* * *

Oiolaire spied the doll and raced across the room for it, nearly tripping on a pile of clothes lying tossed on the floor. He crouched down and with gentle hands he picked the rag doll up off the ground. The treasured object he held lovingly to his breast, rocking slightly in relief. He always felt calmer with Yávie around.

He lifted his head and looked about, not recognizing his surroundings. *Where am I,* he wondered, starting to get frightened. A frown of frustration crossed his lips, and his pale blue eyes began to fill with tears. This room wasn't his, that much he could tell, although the fact that Yávie was here was slightly reassuring.

He noted the balcony door and ran over to it, his motions quick and jerky. Outside, night was falling, and some of the gardens were lit beautifully with flickering torchlight while tiny fireflies winked merrily amongst the bushes. Yet he still recognized none of it. The trees were as unfamiliar as the door he looked through.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling very lost, alone, and confused. How was he to find a place to hide if he didn't know where anything was? What if someone came to hurt him? What if the Tutor came? He thought he heard his voice earlier, and was relieved to see the Tutor wasn't here. Yet he still could be anywhere, waiting for him.

Slowly he moved to the shadowy corner between the nightstand and the wall and sank down, holding Yávie tightly in his arms. He bent his head down to his knees and huddled there in a tight ball of stillness, hoping with every breath the Tutor wouldn't find him here.

Review Responses

louise_ oblique : Ack! You found me out! (grin) I'll admit I read books on mental health for fun, and Dissociative Identity Disorder is a really fascinating subject!

Crookis: I very much understand the feeling of being dissatisfied with one's work. I wrote several originals of my own that have fallen by the wayside. I still can't believe I'm writing and posting this one! (I've promised myself not to go back and reread previous chapters of this story unless I really have to, else I know I'll find something wrong and curse myself for posting it in the first place!)

Thalionwen: Yeah! I caught another one! (grin) I'm really glad you lthe the story, and thanks so much for your response.