The night was peaceful, calm and quiet. Like every night in Imladris, nothing stirred. The birds were asleep, the mice, if there were any, pattered around without a sound. There were the sounds of crickets, but they were so distant that they were barely audible. Everyone slept in the House of Elrond, all but for one person. Voldan was tossing and turning in his bed; it wasn't that it was uncomfortable; indeed it was quite the opposite. Everything in Rivendell was perfect, the beds weren't lumpy and as soon as your head touched the pillow you were asleep. There could never be any complaints about the food either for even that was cooked to perfection, never over or under-cooked, and always brimming with flavour. It was neither the food nor the bed that was keeping him awake, nor was it the weather of the night that kept his eyes from shutting. It was the feeling he had had earlier that night. It hadn't left him and whenever he tried to think about something else, it came back with a vengeance, always occupying his mind, always crying out for his attention.

He didn't know what it was. The only way he could describe it was as if his heart was filled with a massive surge of lust for a hidden or unknown object. He wanted it so much; he needed it, he craved it, and more than that he craved for the plaguing feeling to leave him be. Something in the East was pulling him towards it, something was calling to him. He would have gone that night to put an end to the seemingly endless desire for the object but for the incessant warning that shouted at him, screamed at him not to go. That screaming was his instinct. He trusted his instinct, as all soldiers did, for it was instinct that kept him alive. If one didn't follow one's instinct then one was in deep shit, as Voldan would say. There had been many times that he had been saved by his instinct and he wasn't about to give up on it now. That was what was keeping him awake; the never ending turmoil inside the lower levels of his gut. It took all of his willpower and then some to stay inside the land of Elrond, for his body and mind were fighting to go to the source of the desire.

He rolled over so he could sleep on the other side, hoping that he could sleep on that side where he could not on the other. It was of no use. He was too awake from the turmoil in his head, his heart and his gut. He had the sudden urge to punch himself in the stomach; maybe that would stop the inner riots. But he knew that doing so would do one thing and one thing only, and that was keep him awake even longer for his abdominal muscles were still strengthening. He cursed his loss of power. If he had his powers then he would have been healed ages ago, but instead snippets of his advanced healing factor, the benefit of being a Brilbanian, kicked-in in fits and starts which was annoying. Maybe that was the source of his sleeplessness. He tried to console himself that it was, yet there was a niggling voice inside his head which told him that it wasn't, that screamed at him to stop being stupid and go to sleep.

The Brilbanian grunted as he got up out of bed. He sprawled out on the floor with his arms below him and started doing some press-ups, breathing in short hard breaths to regulate his breathing as he pushed his body weight off the ground. After every press he kept thinking that he was being stupid and should just go back to bed and sleep, yet he knew he couldn't. That was the start of another argument inside his body. He rolled his eyes at himself and kept pressing. He had lost count at a hundred, he guessed he was at a hundred and twenty five now, yet he couldn't be certain. Which started more turmoil in his head for he started thinking he had only reached one hundred and ten.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

He hissed angrily, then exasperatedly lifted his body up on his arms and swung his legs under him until he was lying on his back. He started performing sit-ups, doing them professionally and quickly. He grunted as he did each one, the newly re-knitted muscles in his stomach screaming out their protests at the exertion he was forcing upon them.

Why was it always him that this happened to? His planet had been raided by the blasted Necromongers; his family had been taken by the same bastards who ransacked his home world. Then years before, he had been taken prisoner and put in the torture chambers of the Neraptives of Vhamjorise in the Khamlimané System. He had endured 6 months of Hell before his best friend Davrun, had come to his rescue. Now, though, he had disappeared off the face of the universe, too. After the sacking of his home, Voldan had gone in search of his friends, found some of them dead, but Alzan and Davrun were missing as was Avriole. He had searched through the rubble, and even checked in the massive craters left behind by whatever weapons of mass destruction the Necro-freaks used to obliterate a planet.

He still wished to this day that he had been there at the time, been there with his own men from his own city and led them against the enemy battalions. Alzan had caught up with him on Helion Prime and told him all about it, told how his division had been a saving grace for much of the battle for they were stout and strong. Voldan knew they wouldn't let him down, he had trained them well, and they were renowned for their bravery and fighting skill. The Nelrarnah Division was ranked as one of the best fighting units in Brilbane. But still they fell. And now this, that bastard upstart little prat, someone who he quite possibly hated more than anyone else in this universe, had severely injured him.

Now, he was unable to leave this realm as he was too hurt. And to make matters worse, he couldn't sleep due to the stupid wanton desire he had in his gut! He flopped down on his back, wishing he hadn't for the sudden movement sent a spasm in his stomach, and sighed. Sweat glistened on his muscled chest, yet he still had no feeling of tiredness, only of the desire to find whatever it was that was keeping him awake. He had no idea how many sit-ups he had done, well over a hundred, he knew that. He guessed he had been going for nearly twenty minutes and in each minute, he was doing about twenty or twenty-five sit-ups. So by doing simple maths he decided that he performed between four and five hundred sit-ups.

He stood and picked up the robe the Elven maid had given him. He could never remember her name; he knew her only as the pretty one. He draped it about his shoulders then walked out of the door and headed towards the bridge. He walked slowly, there was no rush, he just paced, basking in the moonlight, listening to the soft silence of the night, allowing the reflected rays of the moonlight and the soft white lanterns light up the way on the road before him. He felt the breeze sift through his long, light-brown hair. He didn't fasten the robe, and therefore the light wind blew it open, so that from behind he looked like he was wearing a long cape that billowed in the wind. The sweat that had dripped from his chest in rivulets was dried by the breeze and already he had a feeling of peace. His mind was set at ease. The desire was still there, but being outside in the land of Rivendell suddenly bestowed a feeling of protection, as if the land itself could feel his turmoil and sought to calm it.

He reached the bridge. The sound of the water gushing beneath him was loud in his ears, yet oddly relaxing. He stood in the middle of the arched bridge and looked up at the stars. One star in particular caught his eye. It was brighter than the others. He stared skywards for a couple of minutes, then quite suddenly, turned, stripped off his robe and dived headfirst into the rushing river. It was as if he was compelled to do it, the urge had been so sudden and so strong that he had no chance of fighting it. Although he wouldn't have done so anyway, for it was a warm urge, and not the sickening cold urges that come from the lowest regions of the gut which tell you what you must do. When Voldan's head popped up he was in a vast pool, cold yet pleasant, he swam around a bit, letting the cool water ripple throughout his body, cleansing it in a sense. Once he was finished, he pulled himself up on the bank then slept a deep, dreamless, undisturbed sleep.

While back at the bridge, a figure turned away, teeth glowing bright in the night, betraying the large grin it bore, then walked towards his own chamber, his work for the evening done.

Sorry about the wait people mind has decided to freeze recently.