No Longer

NO LONGER

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Part 2: No Longer Brothers

The garden, with its fragrant flowers and weathered statuettes remained unchanged and a sight familiar to many in the city could be seen there, if any had bothered to look.

The game was a Man’s game, but had sat with it’s cd std stone pieces in that elven garden for the better part of an age, and its elven players held those pieces with obvious familiarity, moving them about on the checkered marble board.

A wind whistled down into the garden, playing with the frolicking leaves there, but the brothers took no notice, so intent were they on the game.

The silence of hours was at long last broken by a hesitant plea, a question soft and tentative, fear evident in the quavering of the voice. “Why do you no longer call me ‘brother?’”

*Because I wish you were not so,* Elladan’s heart pledged. But he could not say the words, could not wreak such havoc with Elrohir’s own heart.

“You have not called me brother since that day we slew the orc-band east of the Bruinen. Ten years ago it was; do you remember?”

How could he have forgotten? “Aye.”

“So brother, why…” Elrohir left the question unasked.

And Elladan considered his words long before answering, in a voice of practiced offhandedness, “I was not aware that the lost term of affection was a worry to you, bro, an, and apologize for any harm I have caused in my neglect.” Elladan looked up from the board, taking in the sight of his twin’s anxious hopeful face. He then reached across the table to clasp Elrohir’s shoulder close to the neck, a gesture reminiscent of their forever-ago childhood. He could feel the soft heat through the smooth linen. Only a force of great will kept his own eyes locked with his brother’s.

Elrohir studied the dark eyes many moments before he responded with only a dazzling smile.

Elladan fought the instinct to recoil lest he be tempted by that smile, finding an answering one of his own, though not nearly so heartfelt or true.

The brothers kept their exchange a moment before Elladan slowly withdrew, his hand shifting down to the board.

Elrohir sighed with a smile. “You win yet again, brother,” he stated happil the the clunk of the falling king thudded dully around the garden.

///***///

The library was near empty; on such a fine autumn day, most sought the open air, but Elrohir had developed another obsession and spent his time—as he had the last month—buried amidty tty tomes, searching and digging through ancient texts.

He had claimed a high desk for himself, in the center of a raised circular platform at the end of the long room lined with shelves, and a rounded book case stood round him like a cylinder except where a few steps led down to the lower level. There he stood, dead to world with his nose buried in some obscure text, muttering to himself as he meandered back toward the desk already piled high with scrolls and notes and books.

“Elrohir?”

Elrond’s son jumped near a foot in the air, dropping his book and shrieking with girlish fright at the sudden interruption. “Glorfindel!” he accused with but a name, glaring at the tall sprightly form just beside him.

“It was not my intent to frighten you,” Glorfindel explained, his curving pink lips belying the statement.

Elrohir sighed out a deep, calming breath, letting go the tension of shock. He delivered a reprimanding glare to his elder before stooping to retrieve his book. “And why are you sneaking about?”

Glorfindel held aloft the plate of food Elrohir had not noticed in his flustered state. “Lord Elrond asked someone to deliver this, thinkyou you may have forgotten to take lunch, even after missing breakfast. Again.”

Apologetically wide-eyed, Elrohir smiled sheepishly, ducking his head as he accepted the platter of bread, cheese, and seasonal fruit: apples and late berries. “I thank you.”

“Mmm,” he replied, “You are welcome, Little One. Tell me, how is your research coming?”

“Slow,” the dark-haired elf admitted, sliding back toward the raised desk as he nibbled a scrap of bread. Long-fingered white hands danced along the parchments as he spoke distractedly. “I thought I’d hit upon something in the dwarven histories that struck me as profound, but I’m having difficulties making the connections…”

After he trailed off, Glorfindel abruptly asked, “Are you well?”

Elrohir furrowed his brow, taking a quick bite from the red-skinned apple to gain time. Only after chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, did he reply. “Well? Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

Glorfindel shrugged pale blond locks over his shoulder with a casual toss of the head. “It seems to me I ll all a time in your youth when you would drown your troubles in a book rather than seeking out the stables like your brother. You realize, of course, that Elrond and I knew right off when something was the matter: you lost yourself in books or Elladan disappeared into the stables for days on end. I don’t believe either of you have changed in that respect. Come now. Tell this old man your thoughts.” The older elf pulled up a tall thin-legged stool to the table Elrohir had taken over.

Elrohir dropped into his own seat, balancing the ceramic plate precariously atop an already swaying stack of books. “You do know me too well.” He sighed out a whispery breath, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands flopping down in defeat. “Truly, I do fear for my brother.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel answered. “As do I,” he murmured, clearly troubled. “In fact, I meant to speak to him, but I could not find him, so here I am to question you.”

Elrohir looked up suddenly. “What do you mean, you could not find Elladan?”

“Did you not know? Neither of you came to breakfast. You have been here all day, but his bed was empty, and his stallion is gone.”

“Not again,” Elrohir fearfully muttered as he sprang up from his seat, rushing past Glorfindel.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Dark hair fanning about him, he turned, rushed back, grabbed up his apple, and hurried away again, calling over his shoulder, “Something is wrong, I must find him!”

The crash of the falling plate resounded through the library.

------

The apple was devoured by the time Elrohir reached the stables. He waited neither for assistance from the grooms nor for an order of food from the kitchens, simply checking his mount before galloping out and away from the Last Homely House, Nimlos carrying him proudly on her back.

------

Where would he have gone? There were several candidates for hideouts in their land.

Elrohir scanned the trails in an arc circling Rivendell until he found the distinctive markings of his brother’avy avy warhorse; they’d gone crashing through the underbrush with no dignity whatsoever. He had been in a hurry.

The tracker urged Nimlos onward, galloping after his brother.

------

Elladan’s trail led straight northwest for many miles. This he followed for hours and hours, only slowing to rest the horse, until dusk found them well north of the Trollshaws Forest nearing the River Mitheithel.

------

So blinded was he by concern that he reached the river only to look about and see that he had lost the trail. Elrohir swore out a violent oath, leaping from his mount to kick the broken, rocky ground. A far-off whinnying snort halted his self-flagellation before it could truly begin and he turned northward seeing Elladan’s sturdy steed prance forward to greet his own slender mare. Snow white the horses were, greeting each other fondly before bending long graceful necks to the water.

“Gil-eithel,” he softly addressed his brother’s mount. “Where is Elladan?”

But of course, the horse did not answer.

Elrohir fondly patted them both before wandering the shoreline northward in the direction the horse had come from.

------

Stony outcroppings of rock dominated the landscape before fading out to thin forests and grasslands, tiny brown weeds constantly struggling through the cracking stone and offering up diminutive flower buds of blue and yellow. Elrohir respectfully sidestepped the sprouting weeds, casting his gaze over the flat stones in the barest hopes of a hint of a trail.

Striding along, Elrohir suddenly stopped short, nearly throwing himself face forward to the ground. He looked about in wonder, a memory suddenly wheedling its way to the forefront of his mind as a twisted patch of forest sprung into view overlooking a wealth of high rocks. Those sickly trees’ gnarled branches nearly covered the remains of a small forest fire that had burned here almost an age ago, and Elrohir darted forward; his elvish agility would have appeared unnatural to an outsider as he scaled the steep smooth rock of small caves and precarious undercuts to ont onto the overhanging roots and pull himself to the top, creeping within the dark, thick forest of small scratchy branches and large thorny brambles.

He halted again, peering into the darkness.

He had been here before.

Elrohir turned, walking back out onto the overhang, looking onto the slowly flowing river, the horses white specks in the distance. He’d stood on this very protrusion once before. He’d been but one hundred years old.

The intent look in Elrohir’s dark eyes faded away to be replaced by a distant sorrow, recalling that day.

Their father had called the boys to his study for a meeting. They had gotten in trouble with Erestor again, and apparently Elrhad had planned his punishment.

But what the Lord of Imladris truly had in store for his sons was far worse. //I think a time of separation is in order,\ the unforgettable decree reverberated through his haunted mind. //It is not natural to so depend upon one another as you do. Elladan, you will be journeying to Mirkwood with Glorfindel to visit King Thranduil. You shall further your studies of horsemanship and take up knives there. And I think your archery shall improve beyond measure. Mirkwood’s archers are the best.\ Elladan’s face had paled horribly as he gripped tightly to his brother’s han//El//Elrohir, when the sentries from Lothlorien return home, you shall be going with them, under Haldir’s care. Lord Celeborn—your mother’s father—is a generous host and excellent woodman. I am sure your skills will improve tenfold with his instruction.\ Elrohir had clutched his twin’s hand so hard, he thought he felt bones moving beneath the skin.

//Father, you cannot—\

//I can do as I please, Elrohir. Elladan. You must learn to survive on your own. Separate rooms and baths for both of you from now on. They have already been arranged. Elladan, you leave tomorrow. Elrohir, within a fortnight. You are dismissed.\

They had dismissed themselves all right, all the way to the stables where Glorfindel had been waiting.

//I thought you two might be headed this way,\ he had spoken kindly, blocking the narrow side-entrance. His smile faded at the tears on their faces. The old elf had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a slender hand. //Your father will kill all three of us for this, you realize? Now, Little Ones, tell me exactly where you are going.\

Elrohir had spoken. He had always been the first to speak. Glancing to his twin, their gaze had held. //The caves off the River Mitheithel.\

//Where the fire burned last June,\ Elladan had finished.

Glorfindel withdrew to let them pass. //Be back tomorrow noon. No later.\

//Aye, Glorfindel,\ came the unison reply as mounts were led to the back entrance.

Miles they had ridden, the very same path he taken this day, through forests and over meadows and past wilderness landscape to the site of the fire. The horses ran free along the shore, just as they did now, though the steeds themselves were different. And Elrohir had seized his brother’s hand tightly as they ran up to the outlook where he now stood.

Here the twins had embraced fiercely, Elladan’s silent tears mixing with Elrohir’s unrestrained sobs. //He can’t do this! He can’t!\

//He can,\ Elladan had sadly contradicted. //You know he can, and he will.\

//Why?!\

//Because he thinks it is best. This is not the end, brother. It is a journey. A task. A time of growth. You know he means it as passage to adulthood, that we should not eternally depend on one another. It is not the end. We will come back, and see each other, and never be parted again.\

//Do you swear?\

//By all that shall grow anew here. I swear. I swear by the everlasting sun and I swear by our own undying love. We shall be together forever in spirit, and once this foolishness is ended, we will never part for any reason.\

//Oh Elladan! I love you!\

Elladan had hugged him all the harder, not a slip of air visible between the two mourners. //And I you.\

Now, Elrohir let slip the wetness from his eyes, tracking down cheeks flushed with remembered hatred and love. His father had done them his only wrong that day.

Elrohir turned with purpose. He remembered the huge hollowed log they had spent the night in, entwined like baby squirrels in a nest. He doubted the rotting tree still lay as it had near an age ago, but he now knew where he would find his brother.

------

Elrohir’s practiced steps were silent, barely disturbing the grass he hardly trod upon. Sensing a disturbance in the air, he halted, tilting his pointed ears to the wind. Wild sobs laden with misery reached him, fading in and out with the gentle breeze. Never had Elrohir heard sounds quite like these, so desperate, so lost. He sprinted through the undergrowth, insensible to the shallow nicks and cuts from the smothering thorny vines and low sticky twigs.

Coming to a sudden opening in the brush, Elrohir halted, tipping forward on the balls of his feet. There, entangled within the low heavy roots of a giant tree, was Elladan. Pale, long-fingered hands covered a distraught face as these tremendous howls were unleashed, his whole twisted form rising and falling and shuddering with the intensity of severe sorrow.

Tears now streaming down his cheeks in soul-strangling empathy, Elrohir rushed to his brother, long arms reaching to rest comforting hands on the quaking shoulders. “Elladan!”

Elladan stifled his cries, looking up from where he’d scrunched himself almost under the tree in the natural hollow of giant roots. “El-rohir,” his tortured voice cracked on the name, as incomprehensible desolation dulled dark eyes rimmed in red. “What,” he coughed suddenly, shaking violently until the tremor ceased. “ are are you doing here?”

Elrohir’s tears dripped onto his brother’s hands and he pulled his distraught twin forward within the circle of his arms. “Doing??? Looking for you! You-you disappeared—again!—and I knew… something had h-happened, and here you are and I don’t know and PLEASE! What is wrong!” He drew back to meet his brother’s gaze, but once more, Elladan dropped his eyes.

“It is not a pain that can be fixed. Leave it, leave me—”

“Leave you!? No!”

The younger twin tugged at his brother’s sleeves until the elf crawled from his hidey-hole to stand on unsteaeet,eet, but turned away and only hugged himself tight.

Elrohir stared as the panicked trembles began to subside and said nothing until the anger and fear melted away to empathic misery. “Elladan. No more of this. Tell me. What is this grief?”

How that soft concern reached out to touch his hidden heart. *We are not alike,* Elladan reminded himself, knowing how he would have ranted and raved in such a position, not turned to gentle words and gentler touches. A her’her’s wrath he could have fought, but not this ever-hopeful support, this whole-hearted love. Elladan turned again, bravely confronting his brother as he wiped irritably at his tear-stained face. “It is a torment only solitude can teach,” he vowed breathlessly.

“But I am here; we will be together.”

“It is a pain borne of unnamed fear.”

“Name it; we shall confront it together.”

“It is a misery of the heart.”

re ire it; we will bare it together.”

Elladan shook his head vehemently. “We cannot; we cannot!”

“But why?” Elrohir desperately asked.

And for that desperation, Elladan could not lie. “It is a love denied.”

A love denied. A love denied? What love? Elrohir could not prevent the hand that strayed up to clutch at his chest where his heart pounded desperately with greater pain than he’d ever known. He felt faint, but remained upright. He felt nauseous, but remained steady.

What was this sudden tightness in his chest? Why this sudden sorrow, why this tortured ache? The loss of a brother to love should be gladdening, not this inexplicable… anguish. “Never have you spoke of this before,” Elrohir proceeded slowly, his voice weak, his heart tearing itself to shreds for he knew not why.

“It is hopeless. Why speak of it?”

“Because I am here to listen.” He then wondered who had reduced his brother to this and blinding hatred overcame sorrow. Calming himself, Elrohir stepped forward, taking Elladan’s hands, also scratched from the journey through the brier, and held them tight. “Then tell me, who is it that hast done you such ill? I shall take your revenge,” he vowed hotly, tears again threatening.

But Elladan shook his head hopelessly, now meeting those dark eyes without fear. “Nay, Elrohir. They know not their harm.”

“Harm?!” Elrohir retorted almost viciously. “You mean they do not know that a lord of our people is truly wasting away, pining after a love he has not even sought!”

Elladan looked to the hands joined between them, shaking his head again in that slow, resigned manner.

“Who is the one worthy enough to have gained my brother’s love?” Elrohir asked quietly, his voice quaking.

He received no answer, and the pain of Elladan’s confession worked through his head into a pounding ache. He squeezed shut those murky dark eyes, more tears escaping as he tried to focus. “Tell me, and I shall do as you wish,” he swore, his own misery evident in the low tones. “Court her for you, or deliver her to your door? Escort you to her side or give my blessing? Ask and ye shall receive.”

Elrohir could not help the sudden jump as Elladan twitched violently away at those words, giving forth more tears. Again, his hand drifted to his chest as he watched his brother dissolve in pain. A love denied. Love. This was love; this could be fixed; this could all be made right, if only Elladan could see it. And Elrohir’s mind told him to be joyful, but his heart spoke more true. *I am not ready to part from him, I cannot let him go.*

TBC