Demons

A/N: I'm not really sure where this one came from, but I find the character of Glorfindel simply fascinating, and really could be a very tragic character. For those that haven't read the Silmarillion, this will not make as much sense as it would if you have read the book, but from reading this you can probably pick up on what happened to Glorfindel, and either way it is full of angst. However, this may not be suited for the more squeamish readers- Glorfindel's memory is very good when it comes to remembering what happened to him.

This has been inspired in large parts by the song Demons by Imagine Dragons, and a small part has been inspired by Supernatural, when Dean tells Sam about Hell, in the episode Heaven and Hell, 4x10. Yes, I am a Supernatural fan as well :)

Reviews are, as always, very, very welcome. I am sorry this has been a little while in coming- the other, long fanfic I am working on, the one that you had a sneak peek of at the end of Just a Friend, is taking its time, and I recently starting working 7-5, Monday to Friday, meaning I have very little time, and am utterly exhausted. I am currently half way through, approximately, and it will hopefully be finished within 2 weeks (no promises though). Until then, there is nothing else I will publish. I promise, though, that it will be finished and published at some point.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to the wonderful Tolkien. I would not presume to own any of it.

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It was so dark.

The clouds were heaving in the night sky, broiling from the east in masses of black shadows. It was hot; he had taken off his long, formal robes and flung them over the balcony, now dressed in his hunting tunic and leggings. There was a knife at his belt, as usual.

He was so tired. It had been a few long days of endless patrols and fighting. A human village nearby had been burnt by orcs, though luckily they had been there in time to save any inside the burning huts.

He shivered, despite the heat. He could remember the flames licking at the small huts, and then suddenly the image in his mind's eye flickered and he was standing on a ledge, looking down on the city as it burned to the ground, the bright flames springing up amidst the black. On that day, people had burned.

He shook his head, trying to clear the images. He could not do this. Not today.

There was the sound of soft footfalls behind him, but he didn't turn from his position leaning on the balcony, looking out over the gardens of Imladris.

"Glorfindel," said the voice in greetings as the other elf leant of the balcony next to him.

"Elrond," he said back quietly.

"The night is cold," murmured Elrond. Glorfindel shook his head.

"Nay, can you not feel the heat?" he said softly. "It is hot, like the midst of summer. The air is thick."

Elrond looked at him with his eyes narrowed, but said nothing of it. "I have had word from Thranduil," he said.

"Aye?" asked Glorfindel, looking over at Elrond. "What does he say?"

"He confirms it," said Elrond. "The Watchful Peace has come to an even bloodier end in Mirkwood, mellon-nin. He writes saying how orcs are constantly attacking their borders, and they are being pushed slowly back. The shadows are lengthening under the trees, though Thranduil and his captains are doing everything they can. They have lost a fair few elves in the battles in the south. Eventually they had to pull back from the southern woods, abandoning the areas surrounding the mountains. The loss was too great for Thranduil to risk it. Even now he has lost two senior captains in the south."

Glorfindel stirred. "What of Legolas?" he asked. Thranduil's son had visited Imladris a few times, and was close friends with Elladan and Elrohir. "Does Thranduil write of him?"

"He does," said Elrond. "Legolas has taken injuries, but most of the elves have in the vicious fighting. Thranduil writes that his son is stretching himself as far as he will go, trying to be at every point of fighting at once. He is leading patrols constantly along the borders, drawing up defense plans on the spot with the other captains. Now they have a smaller border to hold, it is manageable, but still the orcs are testing all their defenses. On the rare occasion Legolas makes it back to the stronghold without being intercepted by a messenger asking for aid, Thranduil has to threaten him, apparently, to make him stay and eat and sleep, to talk to the council. At one point during a brief lull in the fighting, Thranduil had to literally lock Legolas in his room, and then stay in there, to ensure he would sleep and not leave to try and do something else. They are all stretched to the breaking point."

Elrond sighed. "Elladan and Elrohir want to ride out to aid him, but I am hesitant about letting them leave. They are needed here. The attacks will only get worse. The burning of the village will not stand alone. More is coming. Besides," he said with a sigh. "The mountain pass will not be as safe as it was."

Glorfindel nodded. "So the Watchful Peace is truly over," he murmured. "We were fools to think it would last."

Elrond sighed. "We were," he said. "Apparently swathes of the southern parts of Mirkwood have been burnt as well. Whether this is some plan of the Necromancer, or just mindless destruction, Thranduil does not know. So far, the fire has not reached any settlements or entered their borders."

Glorfindel struggled to calm himself down slightly after hearing the word burnt. For a moment all that he could see was a flaming whip high above his head, and fires springing up about his feet. He was jolted back to the present by Elrond speaking, and desperately listened.

"-what to do," said Elrond. "This time, it may be folly to try and drive the darkness out of Mirkwood. Last time Mithrandir only just managed it, and Thranduil says that he has returned in even greater strength than before."

"We cannot do anything, then," said Glorfindel bitterly. "We will have to watch as it all burns."

Elrond looked over at Glorfindel, his brow furrowed at Glorfindel's tight expression on his face. But before he could ask anything, Glorfindel looked over at him.

"It is so dark," he said bitterly. "So very dark tonight."

"Come inside then," said Elrond. "And leave this darkened balcony. There is a fire in the hearth inside."

Glorfindel shook his head. "Not tonight, Elrond," he said as the images of flames roaring over the mountains suddenly flashed in his head. "I am fine out here."

"Mellon-nin," said Elrond softly. "At least come inside. It may be dark out here, but it is lighter in the hall."

Glorfindel sighed, desperately wishing that this wasn't happening tonight. "If you wish," he said, straightening up from the balcony. He sighed softly, turning and walking back into the Hall of Fire. Elrond followed him.

Inside many elves were mingling, some singing softly, others talking quietly to those around them. It was quiet- the impending darkness had dampened the sprits of those in here. Glorfindel looked around the room, his gaze deliberately avoiding the large fire burning at one end of the hall.

A group of men sat in the corner, speaking amongst themselves. Glorfindel was surprised not to see Elladan and Elrohir there, for these men were the Dunedain that they so often rode out with. But Elladan and Elrohir were probably elsewhere, trying to work out how to persuade Elrond to let them go to Mirkwood and aid Legolas.

The older Dunedain were entertaining a few of the younger men with them with stories, and Glorfindel half listened as he leant against the wall, Elrond beside him. His gaze flitted to the fire in the hearth, and suddenly he felt like his eyes would not move from the flames as they spat and flickered, entrancing. Yet he knew fire too well to ever be entranced by it.

And then suddenly he saw the flames again, the flames as the city had fallen. He saw the Courtyard of the King, lit up in red and orange as the orcs swarmed amongst the elves, hewing down anyone in their path. He saw the way the flames made the blood glint and shine, turning it silver and crimson at the same time. He saw it, come over the mountains towards him, the flames leaping high around it.

And with a start, he pulled himself from those memories. He sighed softly, and Elrond looked over at him with concern. But Glorfindel did not notice, for he had heard something in the conversation between the elves and the Dunedain that made him stiffen, listening carefully.

"-and so Lord Glorfindel climbed without fear to meet his foe. The flames leapt up around him, and below the escaped elves of Gondolin, now in ashes behind them, screamed aloud, but he kept climbing, up and up, until he reached it."

One of the younger men was leant forwards, his eyes wide. It was probably his first time in Imladris. "Met what?" he asked in a whisper.

"A Balrog, a demon of Morgoth," said one of the older men. "And Glorfindel showed no fear as he faced it, standing upon the brink…"

Glorfindel could not stop listening as he stood frozen in the hall. They were wrong! They were so very wrong. Elrond, looking over and seeing the stiffness in his body and his friend's wide eyes, placed a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder.

"Mellon-nin?" he asked softly. "What is it?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Not tonight," he murmured, as if to himself. "Ai Valar, not tonight!" He shook free of Elrond's grip and, managing to maintain his composure, walked quickly across the room and out of the hall. He passed the fire burning brightly in the hearth, and for a brief moment he wasn't in the hall but was standing in a falling city, and the fire in the hearth was now the fire of a burning tower high above him as he fought.

Shaking his head slightly, he made it out into the hallway and picked a direction randomly, letting his feet take over as his mind screamed at him to shut it out, to shut it out and to keep quiet and not let it in, because it was all too much tonight. But it was too late because he had let it in and he could see it now and he could see…

Glorfindel drew in a deep breath as he walked swiftly down the corridor, his feet taking him to his own chambers. He couldn't let it in! He couldn't see it all again. Not again.

He had already died once.

He reached his chambers and the door flew open, swinging back and hitting the wall with a resounding crack. But Glorfindel didn't notice, for there was a fire burning in his hearth, and all he could see was the fire and the flames that licked the charred wood, and he could see…

The door swung back to close behind him as Glorfindel moved into his room, his lips parted in an effort to catch his breath. The flames seemed to grow higher, and the room was lit up in red and orange, and it was just like in Gondolin, when those houses had burned, when the people had burned, when his home had been razed to the ground and his King and all he had known were killed.

A sudden rage filled him and Glorfindel grabbed an earthen vase from the side of his bed and threw it, threw it as hard as he could into the fire, because he just couldn't look at it any more, couldn't stand to see the fire burning so brightly, so cheerfully, when he knew all too well exactly how cruel it could be, how harsh and cruel the flames could be. And now they were lying to him. They had taken his home, had taken his life from him, and now they lied to him as well.

Suddenly his legs weren't able to hold him up any more, because the fire was still there, and Glorfindel sank to his knees. He suddenly noticed he was trembling, but it was like he didn't care anymore, he could only feel the heat and the flames, and he could see…

He could see it all, all again. Death had not taken his memories, and he could see it, the first flames rising over the tops of the mountains as the orcs had flown over, like bugs swarming over their next meal. He remembered being there, in the courtyard with Ecthelion and Turgon, when the bells had sounded. And he distinctly remembered his hand finding its way to his sword, and the horrified look he had shared with Ecthelion. And before he had fully realized what was happening, Turgon was on his feet and shouting orders, and Idril was holding Earendil tightly, and Tuor was running for his sword, and about him was all chaos and despair, because they had been found, they had been betrayed, and now they were all going to die.

And he remembered the fighting, the vicious battles that raged in the streets, the very streets of their home. Glorfindel had been with Ecthelion in the courtyard of the Kings, when the two had been fighting back to back. But then they had been split up, torn apart, and the last time Glorfindel had seen Ecthelion was when the flames had lit up the horizon once more, and the cries of Balrog had spit the air. Glorfindel had been with Tuor, trying to get as many people out of the city by Idril's secret passage as possible. Ecthelion had caught his eye and Glorfindel had stopped, torn in two, because he had wanted to be with his friend, had wanted to protect his King and his home, but Glorfindel knew that Tuor, and Earendil, were the most important things he could protect. He didn't know why. He just knew that the seven year old boy who he had watched grow up would become the most important person in the First Age.

And Ecthelion had nodded calmly at him, his sword glinting in the fire that was getting closer and closer, and then the first roars had been heard, and Glorfindel had seen the flames lick around the corner of the streets, getting close and closer to the courtyard, and he had smiled at Ecthelion, and…

And then he had turned and run.

Glorfindel felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, and he gulped, because now he could remember more. He could remember the harrowing flight through the passage, the stifled screams of the children as they fought to keep calm, and above all, he could remember hearing Tuor's deep voice as he controlled it tightly, and his own voice, lighter than Tuor's, but just as calm, ordering the people to keep moving, to keep going forwards.

But his voice had been a lie. He had known it then. The authority, the strength in his voice had not been his, not truly. He supposed it was all a lie, in the end. They had ended up taking the burden and making themselves strong, because to do anything else was to betray them all. To do anything else was to snatch hope away from those who so desperately needed it.

And then Glorfindel remembered, as the breath seemed to stop in his throat, as he knelt with trembling legs in front of the fire, he remembered the sudden rush of flames over the mountains, and the cry of orcs as they had rushed down upon them, because they had been found, and it had all been in vain. And the same despair that had raged up inside him back on those high mountain passes welled up again once more, and he felt choked.

And he remembered seeing the flames and the shadow pass in front of them, and he remembered hearing Idril cry out and gather Earendil tightly to her, and Tuor had cried out as well, and so many others, because it was a Balrog and they were all going to die, they were all going to fall into the abyss below them.

And then he remembered catching Tuor's eye, and seeing all the frightened faces around him looking for something, someone to desperately hold onto, and Glorfindel remembered looking up above him to where the flames of the Balrog circled, and he remembered…

Ai Valar he remembered it all! He remembered how he felt when he had put that first hand on the rock and had climbed, ignoring the blood seeping from the wounds he had already received, until he had reached the pinnacle of rock and stood tall above the abyss.

Ai Valar! Glorfindel gritted his teeth and tried to stop himself crying aloud, because he could remember it, he could remember how he felt when he had stood on that pinnacle of rock with the flames towering over him and the people he had been trying to save beneath him, and he could remember…

And the same feeling rose up in him now, and part of him looked for another vase that he could throw and smash, but nothing would get rid of the fire, nothing would get rid of it, and he was trapped, remembering the feel of flames burning his skin and the whip scorching his flesh as it struck him, and he could remember it all.

And he wanted to scream aloud, and he wanted to curl up and escape, and he just wanted to forget, just forget it all. And suddenly there was something else in his hands, and he didn't know how it had gotten there but his fingers curled around the stem of the goblet. And it was so tempting, so tempting to just throw it in the fire…

And Glorfindel didn't hear the door to his room open, he couldn't hear the soft footfalls over the roar of the flames in his head. He didn't notice anyone else was in the room until a strong hand fell on his shoulder and he heard his name, as if through water.

"Glorfindel."

It seemed to take him forever to try and pull his way back into his room, to leave the pinnacle of rock and find himself kneeling on the floor, with someone else kneeling in front of him. But he hadn't left, not really, because he could still see it all, and he could still fell the strike of the whip on his skin, and hear the clash of swords, like thunderclaps.

Slowly his eyes dragged up and he saw Elrond, his brow furrowed in concern, knelt in front of him, and the fire was blocked from his view, but it didn't matter anymore because he could still see it, he could still see it all.

"Elrond," he murmured. His eyes flickered down and he saw the goblet in his hands and the urge to throw it came over him once more, because he just wanted to throw something, he just wanted to be able to do something. Elrond's hand grasped his shoulder firmly and Glorfindel looked up. "Don't get too close," he murmured. "Don't…"

Elrond looked down and saw the goblet. With gentle hands he took it from Glorfindel and put it back on the side. He pressed a hand to Glorfindel's brow. "You are cold," he murmured softly.

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, it's hot," he said softly. "It's so hot."

Elrond frowned. "Mellon-nin, what is it you see?" he asked. "What troubles you?"

Glorfindel shook his head and did not reply. Elrond sighed.

"Gondolin?" he asked.

There was a long silence. Eventually Glorfindel nodded. "Aye," he said softly. "Gondolin."

Elrond sighed, and grabbed Glorfindel by the shoulders, pulling him up to his feet. Glorfindel swayed and pitched forwards. He would have fallen, his legs buckling beneath him, had Elrond not caught him and pulled him back, lowering him to sit on the bed. Glorfindel sighed deeply.

"The tales are wrong, you know," he murmured as Elrond stood in front of the fire. "They are all wrong."

Elrond nodded. "I know," he said calmly. "I know they are."

"How can you be so calm, then?" cried Glorfindel, his face tight with anger. "How can you…?"

He stopped, and sighed again. "Do you know, Elrond, what I felt when I climbed up those rocks?" His gaze didn't look up from his hands in his lap. "Do you know?"

Elrond frowned. "I don't, mellon-nin, but I can guess."

Glorfindel laughed bitterly. "The songs and tales never get it right," he said softly. "I wasn't without fear, Elrond. I wasn't brave."

"What were you?" asked Elrond.

"Angry." Elrond raised one eyebrow in slight surprise, but Glorfindel continued, looking down at his hands.

"I was angry, Elrond. No, I was beyond angry. I was furious. There was something inside of me, and it just broke, seeing the flames and the fire burn down Gondolin, and I was so angry, Elrond. I was so angry."

Elrond came and sat down on the bed next to Glorfindel, who looked down at his hands as they began to tremble again. "When…" he said softly, his voice catching in his throat. "When I climbed those rocks, and raised my sword, I was filled with rage, Elrond. My home had fallen, my King had fallen, my friends and all those I had sworn to protect were gone, and now Earendil and Tuor and Idril and all of those who were left, the only ones left of my home were in danger." He sighed again. "And I was so angry. I didn't want to let them down."

"And I climbed up, and raised my sword, and I let my rage take over and let it fight back. And I can…I can remember the whip striking my back, or its sword hitting mine. I can remember the fire that sprung up around me, burning me. But at the time I didn't feel it. I didn't feel anything."

Glorfindel looked up. "Do you know how it feels, to not really be inside your own mind?" He laughed bitterly. "Of course you do, Elrond. You were at the Last Alliance. You were even in the War of Wrath."

"I just…" Glorfindel bit his lip. "What is it men call them? Demons, is that right?" He laughed bitterly, without any mirth. "That is it. It was my own demon, in my mind, that fought the Balrog. Not me. The stories are wrong."

"I know," said Elrond softly. "Believe me, I know."

Glorfindel shook his head. "But you have not died, Elrond," he said softly. "You did not die. I did, mellon-nin, and I can remember that as well."

He took a deep shuddering breath. "That…demon fled the moment I began to fall, Elrond, and I was… I was terrified." Without any consent the tears began to run down his cheeks, and his voice broke as he spoke.

"I could suddenly feel it all, Elrond. I could feel all the…the pain, and I could feel myself burning, my sword falling out of my hand." He choked in a breath. "I could feel the air…the air rushing past me, and it caught the flames, and I burned, Elrond, I burned. It hurt, in ways you can't…."

"I fell screaming, Elrond, screaming out as loud as I could for anyone, anything to save me. In that moment, the stories were wrong again. I was so scared."

"And then when the darkness finally welled up, when I finally couldn't hold on any longer, I let go." Glorfindel angrily wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand. "And…and I was so scared to let go, Elrond. I was just scared."

"I was buried, Elrond. I know the story. My grave was built on the mountain pass."

Glorfindel looked up. "And that is not even the worst thing, Elrond," he murmured. "The worst thing is that I can remember, I can remember the…demon inside my head, and I know it's there! I can feel it sometimes, and sometimes it's…"

"It is so hard to hold back," he murmured. "It's dark inside, Elrond. It's so dark inside. There's nowhere I can hide from it, no matter what I do."

Glorfindel looked up and Elrond saw his eyes, that were normally bright blue, and they were dimmed and dark. And as Glorfindel turned his head slightly the flames from the fire caught in his eyes and his eyes burned, like he had done all those years ago. Glorfindel frowned. "What is it, Elrond?"

Elrond shook his head. "Your eyes are dark," he murmured.

Glorfindel let out a short bitter laugh. "It's where my demons hide, mellon-nin. I can't...I can't let it go, no matter how hard I tried. I can't escape this anymore." He sighed.

"And that isn't even the worst part," he murmured. "When I was…when I was on the cliff and fighting, I…liked it. That feeling of power, that nothing could touch me, not even a Balrog? That I could fight against it? In that moment, I liked the demon inside of me. But now…now when I remember it all, all I feel is shame, and anger and guilt, and anything but what I felt on that pinnacle of rock. And I don't know…" Glorfindel gritted his teeth. "I don't know what to do."

He tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched in his throat and he stopped, his jaw tight as he struggled to control himself.

"How I feel? This…Inside…?" Glorfindel shook his head, the tears rolling down his cheeks as his control lessened. "All this…"

"I wish I couldn't feel anything, mellon-nin. I wish I didn't remember a single thing."

Glorfindel fell silent, his jaw clenched. A tear tracked down his cheek, glinting in the light of the fire. The skin beneath it was pale.

Elrond sighed. "I am sorry, mellon-nin. I am sorry that this happened tonight. But why keep your silence? You should have told me. Ai Valar, I should have guessed, maybe. I should have guessed the rising darkness would…" He trailed off. "You should have told me."

"I wanted to hide the truth," said Glorfindel with a weak smile. "I never wanted to bring all of this to you. I am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," said Elrond. "You saved my father, you saved all of them. You didn't let any of them down."

"And yet I died, Elrond," said Glorfindel. "I felt my blood run cold, I felt myself try to gulp in air, my body not letting go, but all I could breath in was fire. I can't…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't escape them."

"Maybe you don't have to."

Glorfindel looked up. "What do you mean, Elrond?" he asked softly.

"Your…demons, as you call them, saved everyone on that mountain pass that fateful night," said Elrond. "They killed that Balrog. And we try to pretend that we don't carry them, that we don't carry demons with us, but it is a lie. We keep them chained up, we stop them from being free, but we all carry them. It is what we decide to do with them that makes us who we are."

Glorfindel sighed deeply. "I suppose," he murmured. He looked up at Elrond. "I will be fine," he murmured with a weak smile. Come morning, I will be alright."

"I know," said Elrond, standing up. "But rest, if you can. Do you want something to help you sleep?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay," he murmured. He suddenly felt so weary, and slumped on his side on the bed. "Hannon le, Elrond," he said softly.

Elrond smiled slightly. "The ones we hail in stories are made into heroes," he said softly. "And all too often, we forget they were simply people too." He turned and left the room, leaving Glorfindel lying on the bed.

Glorfindel sighed. Even now, he could feel the heat, the pain. He could see the flash of the whip, and something deep in his mind, hiding away, reared its head at the flash of anger that went through him.

But even as that happened Glorfindel forced it back down, pushing the darkness back in his head, until his eyes glazed over and he entered the world of elven dreams. A faint smile was on his face as he slept.

Maybe it wasn't so dark inside after all.

The End