Chapter Text
If ever there was a scent that could carry Galadriel back in time and return her to the period of her life before her father’s death, it would be the scent of books. Not a bookstore where the smell was often new and fresh, the pages smooth, untouched and unbent. Rather, it was the smell of old books that carried with it a worthwhile nostalgia; a memory that Galadriel often found herself craving, even when she sought to distance herself from the rest.
As a collector of old textbooks and novels, her father’s office held that aroma. It was earthy and dry, woody but sweet with a hint of vanilla tucked into the pages. She found solace amongst the books he cherished and found it ironic that the one place that should remind her of him the most was the one place that didn’t. All she had to do was open a book, run her nose along the worn spine where that scent was the strongest, and for a brief, blissful moment, she could forget that he was gone.
So it was of no surprise to her that after finishing the tour, Galadriel found herself drawn back to Angband’s library. Melkor had told her that she was free to walk around on her own, that Thuri would be able to give her a key to one of the vacant apartments, but before she subjected herself again to that woman’s unpleasant scrutiny, Galadriel needed time to gather her thoughts.
Closing her eyes, she opened the door to the library and allowed the cool, fragrant draft to brush against her eyelids. She inhaled deep through her nose, and the smell was so familiar, so much like her father, she could have sworn she’d been transported back into his Lindon office. Not even the U of M library, with its thousands upon thousands of books, had been able to accomplish such a feat.
With it being close to noon, and with all of the patients having gone inside for lunch, both the library and the quad were veiled in an eerie quiet. Galadriel savored the silence, taking the time to walk down each aisle and allowing her eyes to glide across the spines of the books nestled tightly on the shelves. At the end of one aisle sat a worn armchair; an antique, she assumed, based on its dark blue upholstery and delicate wooden design. The window beside it held a view of the forest, and past the wrought iron fence, Galadriel could see a dirt road. It was small, barely the width of a single car, and ran along the fence before bending sharply and disappearing into the trees. She imagined where it might lead, and maybe soon, she’d have a chance to find out.
She had told Melkor she would take time to think, but meeting Halbrand, and having the opportunity to be part of his care, had all but sealed her decision in choosing Angband Asylum for her residency. And it wasn’t that her other options were bad. On the contrary, she knew she’d have invaluable experience wherever she went, but in Angband, there would be no other residents; no other young and praise-hungry doctors competing over those “zebra” cases. Cases like Halbrand. A true diagnosis of DID was rare, and Galadriel doubted she would ever have such an opportunity again.
Remembering her father’s journal, she grabbed it out of her purse along with her pen and sat in the blue armchair by the window. She stayed there for longer than she intended, rewriting over the distorted remnants of her father’s words until the aroma she loved faded, and distant music floated in from the quad. The soft footsteps and hushed voices that rose up from over the tops of the bookcases told her that she was no longer alone, and checking her phone, Galadriel found that it was already 1:30pm. Deciding it was as good a time as any to get her apartment key, she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed out towards the main building.
She retraced the path Melkor had taken her, smiling politely at patients and staff as she walked around the west side of the facility towards the front doors, but as soon as the parking lot came into view, she stopped. She couldn’t hear them, but she could see them clearly on the other side of the gate: Melkor and Thuri.
They stood beside the driver’s side door of a dark sedan, and with one hand on her hip and an angry finger prodding into the doctor’s chest, it was clear that Thuri was upset. Pressing herself closer to the brick wall, Galadriel watched as Melkor put his hands on the woman’s shoulders and pressed his lips to her ear. They were gestures meant to placate and soothe, but they only seemed to fuel the ire. Thuri shrugged him off with a sneer before getting into the driver’s seat, and Galadriel waited until the car had disappeared down the road before continuing on to the front doors. She remembered then what Halbrand had said when they first entered his room.
Don’t tell me you and Thuri..
The woman’s abrasive attitude suddenly made sense, and what Galadriel had first observed as confidence now started to bleed into murky, jealous waters. A small part of her felt guilty for it. While she could admit that she wasn’t exactly the poster-child for ethical relationships, she never imagined that she would be the cause of another woman’s insecurity. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be, and yet, when Melkor smiled at her, their paths converging at the front steps, Galadriel felt that twisted satisfaction once again.
“I’m just on my way to get the apartment key from Thuri,” she explained, choosing to feign ignorance over whatever it was she had just seen, and to her surprise, his smile only widened.
“Ah, well unfortunately she had to leave,” he replied. “I’m afraid she’s not feeling well, but I’d be happy to grab the key for you.”
Nodding, she followed him up the steps and into the front lobby where Thuri’s chair now sat empty behind the glass partition, her computer shut off. And though she was content to wait in the lobby, Melkor held the door open for her.
“Each apartment has its own kitchenette and its own bathroom,” he explained, leading her around the corner and into the small receptionist area as he continued. “There are communal areas in that building as well. The rec room and dining room are on the second floor.”
Standing in front of the desk, he opened one of the drawers to reveal half a dozen keys, each connected to a numbered keychain.
“Did you bring any bags?” he asked, handing her the key to apartment 14. “I’m scheduled for a session with Halbrand shortly, but I could -”
“Can I join?”
The words slipped out before the thought had even fully formed, and Melkor arched one eyebrow in amusement.
“I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “I didn’t mean to cut you off, but I really would love to observe. If the patient consents, that is.”
“Oh, he’d consent. If there’s one thing Halbrand enjoys, it’s an audience, but..” his voice carried off, his jaw clenching and relaxing, clearly in thought. “Perhaps it would be best if you read his file first.”
“Do I have time?”
“Well, that depends,” Melkor chuckled. “How fast can you read?”
He warned her that the file was incomplete, that Halbrand’s medical care prior to coming to Angband Asylum had been sparse and poorly documented. But it wasn’t just incomplete; the man’s entire life before Angband was composed of nothing more than just a couple of medical documents written in chicken-scratch and a handful of police reports. His birthdate, place of birth, even his true name were unknown.
She had fifteen minutes before the session started, and sitting in Melkor’s office with the file open in her lap, Galadriel poured over everything she could. She wasn’t used to paper charts and felt clumsy in her excitement, her fingers fumbling with the corners as she tried to turn the page. Halbrand was the main alter of four, the host, and according to the notes, the others rarely came to the front.
“I’ve met the other three a handful of times over the last eighteen years,” Melkor explained. “And every time I think I’m making progress with one of them, Halbrand fronts and that progress is disrupted. It could be weeks or even months before one of the others comes forward again.”
“And the other alters are.. Annatar, Sauron and.. Gorthaur?” Galadriel asked.
“That’s right, and there’s always been quite a bit of co-consciousness among them. Numerous instances where one alter will remember a conversation of another, and to answer your question before you even ask: no, I don’t believe he’s faking it.”
Galadriel looked up from the file. “And none of them have ever mentioned the original identity? You’re certain Halbrand is an alter?”
“I’m positive.”
“How?”
“Call it intuition,” Melkor said, smiling. “Once you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you learn to trust your gut. Whatever trauma happened to him in his childhood, it was severe, and all four alters refuse to talk about it. In fact, that topic will usually bring about a sudden switch in identity, so I’ve learned to tread lightly.”
Glancing through the police reports, Galadriel could understand why. There had been multiple arrests for aggravated assault and battery, but none of them listed Halbrand as the assailant. There was no mention of an Annatar or Sauron either. It was all Gorthaur, and beneath her excitement, a slow-burning anxiety had begun to simmer.
“And how often has Gorthaur fronted?” she asked, making a conscious effort to keep her voice steady.
“Not often. I believe he exists as a result of past physical trauma and as a means of protection. A body guard, I guess you could say, but don’t let those police reports fool you. Gorthaur may have been the one arrested, but all of the alters are dangerous.”
“I thought you said that Halbrand was more likely to talk you to death.”
“Being dangerous doesn’t always mean the threat of physical violence. In fact, sometimes the alternative can be much, much worse.”
And before she could think to ask another question, Melkor checked his watch.
“It’s about time we head over,” he said, standing. “If you’re still interested in observing, that is?”
Closing the file, Galadriel stood and set it on his desk.
“I’m more than interested,” she replied. She followed him out of the office and matched his long stride down the hallway. “Do you have the meetings on the NGRI unit?”
“Yes. There’s a private room on the unit that’s strictly for therapy sessions. It’s similar to the other ones in the facility, but given that many of the patients in NGRI have violent histories, I had the room modified to ensure both patient and physician safety.” Entering the elevator, he hit the button for the third floor and continued: “Though I stand by what I said in terms of Halbrand not being physically dangerous, he’ll still be restrained during the session. It’s protocol in case another alter fronts.”
Galadriel leaned her low back against the wall, listening to the quiet hum of the elevator as it ascended.
“Have any of them attacked you? Attacked others?” she asked, and she could see the way he chewed the inside of his cheek before replying.
“Once,” he said quietly. “Quite a few years ago. His restraints weren’t secured properly.”
“What happ-?”
The elevator chimed, and the silver doors slid sluggishly on their tracks to reveal the third floor. Melkor ignored her unfinished question entirely, and stepping out into the hall, there was a subtle tilt in his voice; a deep, authoritative pitch that left little room for argument.
“You are to observe and observe only,” he explained. “Halbrand can be as manipulative as he is charming. It'll be best, for now, if you do not engage.”
Galadriel nodded and hugged her purse closer to her side. The doors to the unit were now locked, but another five-digit code granted them access, and no sooner did the doors open than a woman’s laugh, loud and boisterous, echoed from down the hall. They followed the sound to the nurses’ station, where two women sat in their computer chairs, their lunches in their lap. One of them had tears in her eyes, her hand covering her mouth while the other took a bite of her reheated spaghetti.
“I swear, that girl is just trigger-happy when it comes to the panic button,” she said, her mouth partially full.
Looking up, she gave a nod to Melkor before setting her leftovers on the counter and standing. She was Galadriel’s height, if not slightly shorter, her light blue scrubs contrasting against the rich brown of her skin. Her dark hair was pulled back into a wavy ponytail, and attached to her employee badge, large and red, were the words CHARGE NURSE.
“Looks like we have company today,” she said, smiling at Galadriel. “You must be the new resident everyone’s been talking about.”
“Prospective new resident,” Melkor quipped. ”If we don’t scare her off.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t scare easily,” Galadriel replied dryly.
Both nurses laughed.
“Oh, I like you already. I’m Disa, and that’s Bronwyn," the charge nurse said, tilting her head back to the brunette behind her.
“Galadriel. Nice to meet you both.”
Clearing his throat, Melkor glanced down the hall towards Halbrand’s room.
“Is he ready?”
“Already secured and waiting in his room. You’re early though. I was just about to call security to escort him,” Disa explained.
“No need,” Melkor replied. Moving towards the hallway, he paused and turned to Galadriel. “The private room is down the hall. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll speak to Halbrand about having you sit in on the session.”
“I can walk with you there,” Disa said. “I need to grab the afternoon meds from the med room anyways.”
Smiling her thanks, Galadriel let her gaze linger on Melkor’s retreating back. Her excitement had settled deep within, a warmth she could feel in her bones. It left her restless, her fingers fidgeting, and she welcomed the chance to keep her body occupied as she followed Disa down the hall.
The door to the private therapy room sat across from the locked medication dispensary and held a large window; made of tempered glass, of course. And while Disa busied herself with her tasks, Galadriel peered inside. It was unsurprisingly empty with two cushioned chairs sitting on either side of a rounded-edge table. There were no photos or artwork on the walls; no plants or decor. It looked more like an interrogation room, and maybe, in a way, that’s what it was.
When Disa emerged from the next room, she held two medication cups in her hand, each stuffed full with individual pill packets.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” she said, smiling. “Are you comfortable waiting here?”
Galadriel nodded. “Of course.” A thought struck her then. “If security wasn’t here, who secured Halbrand in his restraints?”
“I did,” Disa replied.
“And that’s standard?”
“I wouldn’t say standard, no, but for Halbrand specifically, it works. I’ve been here for almost ten years. The man trusts me, and we respect each other. Besides, Dr. Bauglir prefers that I do it after what happened the last time.”
Remembering what Melkor had divulged in the elevator, Galadriel had just begun to reply when, from down the hall, Halbrand emerged from his room alongside Melkor. And the sight of him in his restraints, his wrists bound in brown leather and secured to the heavy belt around his waist, forced her breath to retreat back into her lungs. His gait was an awkward shuffle due to the leather straps tethering his ankles, but he seemed unfazed, even happy. He smiled wide when he saw her, his fingers twitching excitedly.
“Seeing a girl like you twice in one day? Is this my reward for good behavior?” he asked, chuckling as he approached.
Beside him, Melkor frowned, but it was Disa who interjected, her voice drifting overhead as she made her way back to the nurse’s station.
“Behave yourself in there, Halbrand. No funny business!”
“I’m just here to observe your session,” Galadriel said, and ignoring the curious twist in her gut, added quickly: “If that’s alright with you, of course.”
Halbrand came to a stop just a foot away, their height difference once again forcing her chin up while he lowered his towards his chest. And when he smiled, the twist in her gut expanded and bloomed up into her chest. It wasn’t painful really. Not painful at all, if she were being honest. Rather, it was a high unlike anything she had yet to experience, and when Melkor turned to unlock the therapy room door, Halbrand leaned forward. The movement was subtle and calculated, no more than a fraction of an inch.
“That’s fine by me.” His voice dropped to a purr. “I’m honored that you find me so.. interesting.”
The therapy room door unlocked with a sharp buzz, and pulling it open, Melkor moved to the side, allowing Halbrand in first. He shuffled around the table, moving with the certitude of a well-followed routine before taking the seat furthest from the door.
“I’ll have you stand and observe from behind me,” Melkor said as Galadriel followed him inside. “I’d offer to get you a chair, but for safety reasons, we -”
“Keep the furniture bolted to the floor. Makes sense,” she replied.
And though she made a conscious effort to avoid Halbrand’s gaze, the weight of his hazel eyes was hard to ignore. It was only when Melkor took his own seat, his presence pulling Halbrand’s attention away, did Galadriel finally look up.
“Let’s just jump right into it,” Melkor began. “During one of our previous sessions a couple of months ago, I had the privilege of speaking with Annatar. I want to revisit something that he said. I had asked him -”
“Y’know, Dr. B,” Halbrand interrupted with a smirk, “it seems rude to make the little lady stand. The polite thing would be for you to offer your seat, don’t you think?”
Galadriel bit her tongue, her upper lip quivering in a barely-restrained sneer.
“Deflection has never been a good look on you, Halbrand,” Melkor sighed. “Like I mentioned in your room, Dr. Noldor is to be a fly on the wall. Nothing more. Now, can we proceed?”
Rolling his eyes, Halbrand leaned back and slouched into his seat.
“I can’t talk about what Annatar said.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I wasn’t listening. The guy is dull.”
“Ah, well, not to me,” Melkor replied. “During that session, I had brought up the topic about life prior to Angband. I asked him if he could remember anything about who he was then, and what he said was quite interesting. He said: ‘what I am none cares or knows’.. What do you think he meant by that?”
Halbrand cocked an eyebrow. “No fucking clue. But see what I mean? Dull. He’s always speaking in those god-damned riddles.”
“It’s not a riddle.”
Melkor’s back stiffened at the sound of her voice, as if he had forgotten she was there. Turning his head, he regarded her silently from over his shoulder, his mouth twisting into a frown while Halbrand straightened himself in his chair.
“It’s not a riddle,” Galadriel repeated. “It’s a poem.. or well, one line of a poem. I Am by John Clare.”
There was a moment of silence, and though Melkor’s mouth had opened in reply, the light chuckle that emerged from the quiet came not from his lips, but from the one now sitting across from him.
Halbrand was gone, though he looked very much the same; replaced by another more poised and well-spoken, whose posture was perfect; his head cocked with a curious tilt. And when he spoke, his accented voice was melodic and warm, yet it still made Galadriel’s blood run cold.
“Bravo, my dear,” he praised with confident smoothness. “Bravo. And please forgive me. I would clap, but I fear these restraints hinder my movement far too much.”
“Dr. Noldor, allow me to introduce you to one of our more elusive patients,” Melkor said. Repositioning himself in his chair, he faced forward and smiled.
“It’s always good to see you, Annatar.”