Voices In The Dark

Title: Voices In The Dark
Author: Nikkiling
Pairing: Legolas/OC, Legolas/?
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 Eight: What The Dawn Brings


Legolas woke with a start in a strange bed, for a brief moment uncertain as to where he was. The terrible orc dream had returned, leaving him in a shaking and sweaty state of fear and confusion. It was always the same, and always ended with that awful voice whispering in his ear, promising more pain than what he had already suffered through.

He turned his head slightly towards where Anor’s pre-dawn light gently illuminated a pair of balcony windows and the gardens beyond. *Imladris,* he remembered, feeling the grip of fear left by the nightmare slowly release him. He knew the purpose behind the orc dream: it was a warning that said don’t tell, or else. And it worked very well. This time the voice at the end was clearly recognizable, for they were almost the same words Master Saeldis spoke the evening before. A shudder coursed down his spine as the implications made themselves known, and his mind automatically veered away from such obscene thoughts.

Legolas sat up, wincing as a sudden flash of pain shot down his right arm. He sighed heavily, already knowing what he would find upon lifting the sleeve of his dark nightshirt: the other part of the warning. He hadn’t won the strange battle with the darker elf after all.

Pale gauze wrapped his forearm, holding a thick cotton bandage. These were things he always kept on hand for just this purpose. With careful fingers he unwrapped the gauze and lifted the bandage, revealing a forearm covered in thick, leathery burn scars starting about halfway up his flesh. This he ignored, although couldn’t repress the second, tiny shudder at the sight. He turned his arm over to where a long, red gash created by a sharp blade stared up at him accusingly from the pale, smooth flesh. He couldn’t remember doing it, which didn’t surprise him. Rarely could he recall inflicting such wounds. It must have happened sometime during the night. Thinking back he could only remember as far undressing for bed, and even then things before that tended to blur together into a barely recognizable mess of emotions.

With nimble fingers he bound the arm back up, a difficult task one handed, but something in which he had lots of practice. No longer did he find himself worried over such incidents, as there was really little he could do to stop them aside from keeping the other spirits content. That wasn’t to say he liked the situation, but was merely resigned to the fact that they happened, thankful that they very rarely required suturing. Finding plausible explanations for his injuries without worrying others tended to be very difficult, and hiding them was always the best course of action.

After the bandage was back in place he rose from the bed to get dressed, briefly noting that the pile of clothes he had left on the floor the night before was gone. Walking into the bathroom he saw one of his long-bladed knives shining brightly beside the sink, and a pink-stained washcloth hanging on a rack to dry. He grimaced slightly upon seeing them, but was glad the blood had somehow been cleaned up before he finally went to sleep.

After a quick wash he changed out of his nightshirt. A long-sleeved shirt and tunic were his usual garb, which tended to hide both the horrible scarring covering his back and the unusual injuries he tended to acquire. His waist-length, blonde hair he unbound then replaited back from his face; long, calloused fingers weaving the braid while his mind was concentrated elsewhere.

He felt as if he had been essentially set adrift in this strange realm, uncertain as to what was expected of him and not liking the thought of being constantly watched over by an inscrutable elf lord. Unless Elrond had plans for him, he decided it might be best to first explore Rivendell and acquaint himself with its surroundings.

*And seek out the training grounds,* came a familiar whisper in the back of his mind, and he nodded in agreement. Just because he was supposed to be on some sort of relief from duties did not mean he would grow lax in his fighting skills.

When he was ready he left the sanctuary of his room to hunt for the kitchens and food, hoping he could still remember the direction from the evening before. The memory of the way to the dining hall was there, and he would use that to find the kitchens, which he figured should be located nearby.

As it turned out he was able to find them with only one wrong turn, and that easily corrected. He opened a pair of heavy wooden doors to the smell of fresh bread baking in the brick ovens, a pleasant scent that briefly reminded him of home. Peaking inside he discovered he was not the only one up at this early hour.

Lord Glorfindel sat at a heavy wooden table, half-eaten apple in one hand, chatting amiably with one of the kitchen maids who was currently rolling out pastry dough. Before him sat a plate filled with sweet bread dripping with fresh honey, and a cup of cider made from the previous year’s apples. A bowl filled with various ripe fruit newly picked that morning also sat to one side. The golden haired elf glanced over when he heard the door open, and smiled when he noted who it was.

“Legolas!” Glorfindel called, waving the younger elf over. “Up early as well, I see. And did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, hîr nín.” Legolas walked towards where the blonde Elda sat with a touch of hesitance.

“Glorfindel. Merely Glorfindel.” He took a large bite from the juicy red apple he was holding. “There is no need for such formalities here.”

With his other hand he pushed the plate of honeyed bread in Legolas’ direction. “Here. I assume you came looking for something to eat?”

Legolas nodded, slowly sitting down on the bench a few spaces down from where Glorfindel sat, an unconscious gesture signifying his need for personal space.

“Maira makes these,” Glorfindel gestured with the hand holding the apple to the dark-haired elf still rolling out the dough into very thin sheets. He had noted the distance the younger elf set between them, but pretended not to notice. “She is probably the best cook in all of Arda!”

Maira blushed at the compliment, then looked at Legolas with a twinkle in her large grey eyes. “He only says that because I’m the only one who will cater to his strange appetites. Pickled eel for breakfast, for Elbereth’s sake!”


“That and I like to make you blush,” Glorfindel responded with a warm, jovial laugh. They had obviously known each other for a long time. Legolas couldn’t help but smile at the friendly, easy manner between the two elves, even though his own stomach twisted slightly at the thought of pickled eel, at any time.

He reached over and selected a slice of the warm bread. Careful not to drip honey onto the clean table he took a bite. It was indeed very good, with a faint spice to the sweetness that he couldn’t quite place.

“So what are your plans for today?” Glorfindel asked, watching Legolas eat. He noticed that the wood-elf seemed strangely different from the self-assured elf he had watched during last evening’s dinner. More hesitant perhaps, and there was a fluidity to his movements that hadn’t been there before. It was almost as if that elf and this were two different beings, and the thought once more brought a spark of memory to his mind. Yet once again it vanished before he could place it.

Legolas swallowed his piece of bread before replying. “I would like to explore Imladris if I may. Perhaps find the training grounds and practice as well.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That sounds like a fine idea. I was actually headed to the training grounds myself after gaining something to eat here. I can show you the way, and perhaps we can spar a bit as well.” He took another bite from his apple. “I never had much of a chance to do so during my stay in Mirkwood, and I heard many a tale of your skills.”

Legolas found his cheeks warming slightly at the compliment. He knew the stories behind this great elf, and had always greatly respected him from a distance. To have his minor skills reach the ears of this noble elf seemed an unworthy honor. “My skills are probably nothing compared to that of the famed Balrog slayer of Gondolin,” he finally said, finishing the rest of his bread and brushing the stray crumbs from his tunic.

“Yes, but that was many, many centuries ago, and I died in that battle.” He selected another bright red apple from the bowl and tossed it to Legolas, who caught deftly it with one hand. “I haven’t found any more Balrogs to test my mettle against lately.”

He rose from his seat in one fluid movement. “Come, let us go.”

Legolas rose as well, taking a moment to thank Maira for the bread, then turned and followed Glorfindel from the kitchens.

* * *

Legolas returned to his rooms that afternoon after a long day filled with weapon’s practice, then exploring Imladris and its surrounding community with the help of Elrond’s twin sons. Elrohir and Elladan had met up with Legolas and Glorfindel in the training field that morning, and since the blonde Elda had other duties to take care of, the twins took it upon themselves to show the Mirkwood prince about.

While at times he found their endless exuberance a bit much, he had to admit their company was moderately pleasant. Yet he found he also had to strive to keep them at a polite distance, not wishing to get too close. It was exhausting always trying to keep on guard, especially against two elves who seemed so insistent on finding ways to include him in their fun and games. It wasn’t the first time he wished for the solitary sanctuary of the forests of his home, and he knew it wouldn’t be his last.

He opened the door to his rooms and entered, his shoulders lowering slightly as the tensions from the day left his body. Yet he stiffened up once more when he realized someone was waiting for him.

Master Saeldis stood beside the wardrobe looking down at something in his hands. It was the small black-eyed doll he had discovered in his packs the day before. Oiolaire’s doll. He was shifting it about in his hands, a bemused expression on his face, and didn’t even look up as Legolas entered.

“A bit old to be playing with dolls, I would think.”

Legolas tentatively closed the door behind him, but didn’t latch it shut. He didn’t know why his former tutor was in his rooms, and didn’t feel entirely comfortable being alone with him in a closed space. He was uncertain as to why he felt this way, his patchwork memory only revealing time spent in class in the company of his older brother, and a few brief moments alone. He half expected the voices to return, but they stayed ominously silent. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

“Did you need something, Master Saeldis?” He asked, keeping his face carefully neutral. He watched as the emissary dropped the doll onto the floor, grimacing distastefully as he wiped his hands on his pale grey robes.

“It has been a long time since we last spoke,” he said, slowly walking in the younger elf’s direction. “I merely wished to see how you were faring, for I did not get much of a chance yesterday.”

Legolas shifted slightly, but didn’t back away. “I am well, and of good health.”

“Ah.” There was a long, expectant pause before he continued. “Then I assume you have finally been able to banish Morgoth’s grip on your soul without my assistance.”

Legolas hesitated a moment too long before answering, and Saeldis’ eyes lit up with a knowing smile. He couldn’t explain it, but from the first moment he laid eyes upon the second-born child, he was convinced it had been touched by the Dark God. It had been evident since the day the elven prince was born, the same day the demon Sauron had returned to Dol Guldor and the village where Saeldis had been brought up was razed to the ground by foul creatures of Sauron’s make.

“I see.” Saeldis continued. “Yet you still appear fully elven. That is well, although I’ve heard it can take time.”

Legolas shivered and unconsciously clutched at his scarred arm. He had long since feared the change had already started to occur. All one had to do was look at his flesh, and gaze into the chaos of his mind.

As if his thoughts had summoned them, the voices, which had been quiet all day, began to speak, distracting him momentarily from Saeldis’ presence. He tried not to listen, issuing a sharp thought to let him be, but they ignored him, continuing to deliver warning pleas to either leave, hide, or prepare to fight.

Master Saeldis watched the younger elf’s discomfort with amusement, noting how his gaze briefly turned inwards before returning to focus back on him. Yet the eyes didn’t shift from their twilight blue color, which showed some measure of control. He had learned early on that when the eyes darkened, one of the demons had taken over.

“I know you are in there,” Saeldis whispered, stepping closer until he stood only a footstep away. Legolas watched him in a sort of wary confusion, prepared to bolt if need be. He wouldn’t fight his former tutor, but he would run if it came to that.

“You think to hide, but you cannot. I know you,” Master Saeldis hissed, peering directly into the prince’s eyes. “You try anything here, and I will inform Lord Elrond of your foulness. Be assured, he will trust me over you.”

Before Legolas could react the older elf’s hand rose and swiftly struck him open-handed across the face. He rocked backwards with the unexpected blow, his own hand coming up to ward off any further attack. Yet he had no chance to respond beyond that for he suddenly felt himself become swept to the side as another presence pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.

Mórehua brought his free hand down to grasp the long knife hanging from his belt. Then in a smooth motion he drew it and himself up until he was standing erect with the sharp blade aimed at his former tutor’s throat.

“Stay away from us,” he growled, his eyes glinting darkly. He despised the former tutor with a passion that nearly drowned out all else.

“Go ahead,” Saeldis taunted, lifting his head so his neck was exposed. “Kill me, orc spawn. You almost succeeded before. Finish it!”

Mórehua’s gaze shifted slightly as he unwillingly listened to the others. Oh, how he wanted to dispose of this foul creature before him. Certainly he himself might be tainted and evil, slowly turning into the very thing he hated, but to kill this elf would be the culmination of all his pleasures, because he had harmed them worse than any orc had ever done.

Fánehua agreed with him, pressing him to finish it, slowly and painfully. Oiolaire was too frightened to say much, yet he could feel the anticipation rising from the small child. Elanor refused to watch, as dark things tended to disagree with her nature. Yet Aenos, Ravan, and Legolas were pleading with him to stop, that the consequences of these actions would be more dire than was to be bourne.

It would be so easy. A quick flick of the wrist and they would all be free. Legolas, Aenos, and Elanor may not understand what they would be free from, but that didn’t matter.

*And you’ll be branded as a kinslayer,* Ravan argued pointedly, *Never able to enjoy that freedom. Wait. There will be a better time.*

He considered Ravan’s words, and found truth in them. Although he wouldn’t mind his own death once the Tutor was taken, he did have the others to consider. Reluctantly he followed his elder’s advice.

“Leave my room, or the next time we meet I WILL kill you,” Mórehua spat, still frustrated that he wasn’t going to get to dispose of this elf immediately. He meant his words, and looked forwards to meeting again, hopefully without Ravan’s words to pull him back

Master Saeldis slid away towards the door, convinced he had won this round, but not knowing how close he had actually come. “Try it, and it is you who will be dead,” he smiled darkly. “Then everyone will know what you really are.”

He opened the door and without looking back left the room. Mórehua strode over and locked the door before quickly retreating, letting Legolas back into the position of control. Immediately the distraught elf felt his stomach twist, and raced to the washroom as all the food he’d eaten earlier decided to leave his suddenly nauseous belly.

*Sweet Valar! What just happened? I almost killed him!*

*No, I almost killed him. And I would have too if the others hadn’t stopped me.*

*Why? He didn’t do anything!*

*He would have hurt us. Again.*

*I don’t understand.*

*You don’t need to understand now; but you will soon enough.*

* * *

Ravan stood motionless beneath the tree, his posture one of tentative relief. It had been close. Aenos had wanted to take over when the Tutor made himself known, yet Ravan had held him back. Legolas knew the least of what was happening, and needed to be aware of what was going on, how horrible that particular elf was. Aenos and Elanor also knew little of their past. This would have been a good opportunity for them to start to understand. It was essential in their healing that they each be aware of what the others knew at least to some degree.

Yet things got out of control when the Tutor hit them, and Mórehua had taken over in defense. He had struggled to draw the enraged elf back from killing the Tutor, and been thankfully successful. Unfortunately this only ensured more confusion between the others.

New tactics would have to be found, he realized. The tutor was too unstable. It was time for Oiolaire to speak and time for new revelations. Everyone must know what was happening, those inside and those out. Then he could finally rest.

Review Responses:

Arnettra: Thank You! I'm glad you like the slow build-up, 'cause it was completely unintentional. (grin) Every time I attempt to get the characters to do one thing, they do something else! Very annoying!

Eep: Favorites? Oh my, now I'm really blushing. Thank you! Don't worry, I believe the others are indeed too smart to believe everything Master Saeldis says, but he's not finished with things yet...

Zed: Yeah! My first confused response! I suppose some confusion is inevitable. (I've confused myself often enough. ) So I'll try to explain what I can here without giving too much away. So, second question first. I'm attempting a story based on Dissociative Identity Disorder, or Multiple Personality Disorder as it's more commonly known. Very odd problem, and it seems from all I've read, the situations between people can vary greatly but for some key points.
I use the expression 'spirit' loosely, since that would be how it might seem to those who don't know of the disorder. Yet they aren't really spirits, but fragmented personalities. I haven't really explained it in the story since, again, at this point no one understands what is happening. That will come later, as the reason for the fragmenting becomes more apparent. (Soon!) As for Legolas not being the original spirit, or personality, I don't want to give away too much. But it begs the question, who and where IS the original if it's not he?
I hope this helps, at least a little. I'm sorry if I can't be clearer, but if you still have questions, I will try to answer them.
(And the first person to even think 'golem', I'm sending Nikki after them to deal with! This is nothing like that!)

Crookis: Just multiple personalities, although they certainly seem like their own beings, don't they? That's one of the things I find really fascinating about this paularular disorder. It's probably my favorite of all avoidant responses. It so amazing what the mind can do to cope with certain situations. I thought this would be a good way for a young elfling to survive abuse without fading. The spirit can't fade if nothing bad happened, now can it? (grin)

Thalionwen: Yes, this is my first posting of any kind, anywhere. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who gets the shakes. Thank you for your confidence and your words of encouragement. They really help immensely.

Karen: Don't worry, yo not not aggravating me at all. And you shouldn't feel obligated to respond to every chapter; just most of them! (big grin) Now I'm furiously trying to figure out a way to make you happy around what's already plotted out in my head. Hmmmm...

Also, I would just like to say I don't claim to be an expert on the subject of mental health. I just like to read and study a lot, and tend use some of my own imaginary friends for ideas! LOL!