abraxaslogs | [closed] when my depression works the graveyard shift

His nightmares are all variations on the same theme. Vines tangle around his limbs, meld with his skin, strangle him, while something lurches nearer and nearer. He doesn't know what it is; he just knows he should be afraid of it. Sometimes he's left to die alone, and sometimes there are others caught in the writhing thicket of vines, familiar faces shaped around screams as their flesh splits into mouths lined with thorny teeth. Masks watch impassively in a circle that draws tighter and tighter.

When Wilhelm hurtles awake, the darkness is still and silent. But it has a weight to it that suffocates him, and he has to thrash free of the blankets twisted around his legs. It takes him a moment to lock into reality: he's not in the pit anymore, but a room at an inn in Hayle. Elrond lies in the next bed over. Moonlight spills through the window.

He stumbles over to it and, fumbling with the latch, pushes the window open. Cool night air splashes his face. Like someone who has just almost drowned, he gulps it into his lungs. When he doesn't have to struggle so much to breath, he melts onto the floor with his back curled against the wall and his knees folded to his chest.

Well, fuck. Turns out that sweet dreams potion doesn't work if you skimp on the dose.

[ nightmares are not the norm for elves. it is not that they always hold pleasant dreams, but they tend to sleep little in the night. after all, that is when starlight is best and the elves love to dance and sing under it. they have never forgotten the first light in their lives.

that does not mean they never have them. they are less the pulsing, adrenaline-fueled terrors that stalk others through, but a sickly sense that permeates throughout their thoughts. elrond does not toss and turn, but sleep eludes him, leaving his thoughts dark and heavy. a heaviness that he had thought he had left behind as a child.

he stirs at the sound of wilhelm's back, hitting the wall, bright eyes finding him quickly. his alertness is less of a herald in times of peace, but the quickness of a soldier. ]

What happened?

[Wilhelm startles to discover Elrond's eyes piercing the darkness and peering at him. But soon the initial jolt settles into something softer, aching toward the inherent comfort of not having to be alone. That's how it was down there too, when he clung to the familiarity of his roommate like a life raft.]

Nothing, don't worry. [A hasty answer to blunt the sharp edges of Elrond's alert state. He shakes his head, rubbing at the corner of his eye.] I just...couldn't sleep. That's all.

[A chill blows in through the open window. Spring starts later up north, and the night still carries a touch of winter. Though Wilhelm shivers, the cold feels good on his sweaty skin.]

[ elrond hums softly, glancing at the window. the stars remain unfamiliar, but they are not cold. and they are still here. ]

Not being able to sleep does not sound like a little problem.

[He seems to soften as Elrond validates his struggle. He's spent so much of his life telling himself that it's not that hard, that he should be able to handle it — that Elrond's disagreement is thunderous. Sometimes all you need to hear is, yes, it is a problem. It is that hard, and it's okay that you can't carry it all. His fingers tense and flex on his knees.]

I thought that potion we got would help, but...maybe I didn't take enough.

[He thought he would try to ration it, to make the bottle last longer.]

[ elrond gazes at him for a moment, long and thoughtful. ]

Or it is possibly you are becoming inured to it. Such things are a stop gap. Even elvish medicine cannot soothe it all away.

What do you do then?

[Though they're the only two in the room, Wilhelm holds his voice low as if worried he might wake someone up. He means you in the general sense, but also in the specific. Elrond had endured that hell too. Among so many things stuck in the trap of his mind, he can remember how his friend had dimmed to a scared shadow of himself. How those growths devoured his skin, just like in his nightmares.]

[ elrond sighs for a moment. ]

Many who weather such wounds decide to depart to the undying lands. Others seek to find a way to realize their wounds are not the sum of their parts. It is a wound. Not a hole within yourself.

[He sits with this for a moment, like he often does with the things Elrond says. A wound, he supposes, it better than a hole. A hole is what happens when something is just gone, but a wound means something is still there at least. A wound could be mended.]

What are the undying lands?

[Maybe it's beside the point, but he wants to know anyway.

Feeling suddenly that the floor is too far away from Elrond, Wilhelm picks himself up and toes to the foot of the elf's bed, where he perches himself.]

[ elrond takes a moment to consider his words, as he always does. he never responds promptly, always doing some due diligence as he adapts himself to the needs of others. ]

It is the original birth place of the Elves. Where we first sprung from. A great schism occurred and we had to leave. When we hear the call, then we can return there.

[As he waits, and then as he listens, he traces with his finger the stitching of the quilt that covers Elrond's bed. Sometimes, Wilhelm thinks that they operate on separate planes of existence that don't match up quite right, with Elrond misunderstanding his slang, and him struggling to grasp the often twisty way Elrond talks, like ripples on the water. But his voice is always a comfort.]

So it's like...where elves go when they retire?

[ that prompts a light chuckle from elrond. ]

Yes. I suppose that is a quaint way of putting it. For many, it is what is yearned for. For others, it is a return.

As for myself, I was born on Middle-Earth. I have never known Valinor. Galadriel does, though. She was born there.

It sounds nice. Just...having somewhere you belong, and knowing it's out there for you.

[He spends a moment trying to picture it in his head. Trying to build it there, a little bit like the mental walls he has learned from Istredd. Only, it's not hostile magic that he wants to shield himself from, it's his own memories that grow unchecked like weeds choking his brain.]

Do you think you'll ever get to see it?

[closed] when my depression works the graveyard shift

elrond - pretend it's still april

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