Chapter 5
To be floating outside the light, without a body was not very comfortable. It was fine for a short while, but after many years of being nothing more than a shadow, a mist of a person, it became a great burden. Watching the world, but being unable to interact with it. It was torture.
Therefore, the tiny human child was not enjoying his sleep. His mind was filled with pictures and emotions of weightlessness. In between these pictures where mixed flashes of an evil green light and screams of terror. The child decided that green was his least favourite colour.
After years and years and years of weightlessness and ugly green and screams and cold faces, he finally managed to wake up.
He awoke to a nice bright room and a nice big, soft bed. He was surrounded by the finest silk and his pillow was softer than clouds. It was very comfortable. Especially all the pretty light, he liked pretty light.
Something touched his shoulder. It was a hand. Why would anyone put a hand there? They should not do that. He would blow it off, blast it so that it would not touch him. He took in as much air as he could, and then blew it out as forcefully as he could aiming at the hand. He was disappointed to see that the hand was not blown off his shoulder.
The sound which had began before he noticed the hand, gained in intensity. The owner of the hand was talking to him. Did he once own a hand too? Maybe a wrinkled hand that lighted up places only for him, and no one else. That would have been a handy hand when he had been floating in the darkness.
Someone heavy had entered the bedroom he was laid in. The previously free air, was now full of the heavy presence of someone strong.
After being told of the unresponsiveness of the boy Tharanduil decided to visit the room given to the child while he slept his healing sleep. The child had awoken earlier the same day, but had not responded to the elves tending to him. It seemed that he was unable to see them or the food they tried feeding him.
"Little one, I trust that your parents did not name you Voldemort" Thranduil stated delicately, doubting that anyone would be so cruel as to give their own child such a dark name. The boy was staring at the empty space beside Tharanduil's head, his burgundy eyes revealing that his thoughts where far away from their conversation. "Do you remember what your parents named you?" Thranduil tried again. The boy's faced creased in distaste "He called me Tom" the boy said. "He used to tease me!".
While not fully pleased with the name provided by the child, Tharanduil was satisfied that he had at least found a name to call the boy, that did not reek of darkness. Although it truly was not a name he personally would bestow upon anyone, as it was common and without any meaning. Maybe he should present the child, Tom, with an elven name?
Tom did not really like the grandfather. The grandfather did not seem to like him either so Tom did not feel bad about his dislike. It was the grandfather that insisted on calling him Tom. It was annoying. However, Tom did not really understand why he found it annoying. Maybe because the name Voldemort was funnier than the plain name Tom and Tom wanted to have a special name?
Oh, well. The pretty man with leaves in his hair seemed to think that Tom was a much better name than Voldemort. Maybe the grandfather had been right? Pretty Man seemed to think so, and Tom found that he liked Pretty Man. He would go by Tom for now.
AN: If you find any mistakes, I would be happy to know of them so that I can fix them. I did not check this one as much as the previous ones.