No Longer

TITLE: No Longer
AUTHOR: Ezra’s Persian Kitty
E-MAIL: ezraspersiankitty@yahoo.com
PAIRING: Elladan/Elrohir
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Elladan, the elder, the stronger, the harder, cannot look to Elrohir, the younger, the smarter, the sweeter, in anything other than complete and utter devotion, a love that cannot, should not be.
WARNING: Incest (…duh)
NOTES: *thoughts*; //flashback dialogue\
WRITTEN: January 2002

= = = = =


Part 1: No Longer Children


It seemed eternal autumn in Rivendell, and the home that they knew and loved was no longer as it was remembered. Forever did the leaves fall now, in shades of crimson and ginger and gold, rasping softly on the dewy ground and tumbling like a warning through the open halls and courts, ever mindful of the wind, which almost seemed to carry the scent of the ocean and birdsong with it.

But life went on, while their numbers dwindled, and those who could ignored the signs, turning away from the wind, sidestepping the leaves, and deafening their ears to the calls of the gulls in their dreams.

Away in the heart of the open buildings, betwixt rushing waters and spindling bridges, tucked in a low garden away from the wind and surrounded by granite and marble statues which had stood for more than an age, sat two elves still as the sculptures themselves. A low stone table rested between the low stone stools they sat upon, unconscious not only of their mirrored images, but also of their mirrored postures. Long dark braids fell around hunched shoulders; high foreheads were smooth above large, dark eyes intent on the low table. Pale hands alighted on firm thighs spread to accommodate the stone slab.

Unaware that he was breaking the perfect balance between them, one of the figures breached the stillness and reached for the board, hopeful eyes flitting up toward the other as he did so. “Why do we no longer wrestle as once we bro brother?”

Elladan looked up from the board to glare at his wide-eyed twin with some measure of disapproval. “Because we are too old. Brother.”

Elrohir glowered good-naturedly as he returned his eyes to the board. “We were not too old a century ago. What is a hundred years to us?”

“Indeed, it is as the passing of a wind. But to a mortal, it is a lifetime,” he said, distant dark eyes returned downward.

“Since when have you been concerned with the lifetime of mortals?” asked the other, their stances again in faultless symmetry.

*Since I desired to be one…since I heard the call of Mandos,* Elladan answered in his own mind, saying, “Since I met one who deserved more.”

“Ah, do you mourn already a man still in the blossom of youth?”

Elladan’s answer came after a moment’s hesitation. “Our foster brother is a good man who will only become greater. I should hate to see the sun of his life set so quickly.”

Elrohir looked up from the game once more, but Elladan’s gaze remained cold and steadily focused on the player’s board. Elrohir stared thoughtfully at him. “Do not despair, brother. His blood is not as that of weaker men and he may yet live the course of countless happy moons here beside us.”

The game continued in silence for many hours until Elladan toppled Elrohir’s king in victory. it it be as you have said. Brother.”

///***///

“You don’t suppose he’s late?”

No answer came.

Annoyed, Elladan poked his brother in the side.

“Ow! What? No. I suppose we are early.”

Elladan, ever enduring, was never more patient than Elrohir. “If that is the case, I do believe we have a miscommunication in the ranks.”

Elrohir smirked at his brother, who returned the look. “True, perhaps. We have been waiting… how long now?”

“Five hours, twenty-three minutes,” the other growled.

A laugh met this answer. “I know you are right, but I still marvel at your time sense.”

“You’d think you would have come to find some normality in it, as you have all my other qualities.”

“Other qualities?” Elrohir said with a smile.

“Why yes, just as you’ve come to know my endearing humor, charming manner, and unparalleled good looks will ever outweigh yours, you should come to equal acceptance of my unfailing sense of time.”

Thus stated with a look of such innocence, Elrohir burst out laughing, a sound musical as a tinkling brook or summer birdsong and ever so much more joyful than either, and Elladan looked on him with wonder.

The mounts wandering the grasneatneath their tree started at the outburst. Elrohir held his sides, grabbing hold to the branch beside him to keep steady as he exhilarated in his brother’s rare humor. But his laughter soon dwindled when Elladan did not join him. “Why Elladan, do you not laugh at your own joke? You have never failed to do so before. Surely your own wit does not bore you?”

There was no answer, and though he was but an arm’s length away, Elladan now peered into the distance as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“Elladan?”

Elladan swiftly glanced beside him and away again quickly, as if fearing to hold a steady gaze.

The younger brother reached toward the other in questioning fear, for why should Elladan behave so?

But whatever inquiry Elrohir would have made was halted when Elladan jumped to his feet on his branch. “Ai, here he comes now; what ho! Mithrandir!”

///***///

His knife stuck the orc like a gutted pig, black blood spurting out as from some obscene nightmarish fountain. The weapon went in to the hilt and he pointed it down, letting the last beast slip from the blade that supported its dead weight.

A dozen dead traced the path of the battle, but Elladan did not stop. He withdrew a cleansing rag to carefully clean his weapons. He sheathed them, and bent to grasp the orc’s wrists.

But a black-stained hand fell on his shoulder. “Peace, brother,” came the soft lilting voice, a balm to sooth the unexpectedly frayed nerves resulting from what should have been a routine hunt. “They can yet lie a little long You You need rest, as do I. Here now,” the hand moved down to grip his elbow. “Let us—”

“No!” Elladan forcefully shoved away the warm, friendly touch, throwing his brother off-balance.

Elrohir’s eyes impossibly widened and his expressive face drew an air of wounded affection as he stumbled backward from the astounding violence of his twin.

Elladan barely recovered himself, but could not face his brother. He looked down to the dirt, blood-encrusted braids swinging to hide his face. “Let us dispose of this waste before we bother to wash, for we would only dirty ourselves again in this aftermath. The fire can be out by nightfall while we rest over yonder glade.”

Even if his voice faltered, his words were reasonable, but Elrohir was far more concerned about the elf’s reaction. “Very well,” came his eventual answer. “But later, we will speak of this together, brother.”

*Would that ‘later’ should never come,* begged Elladan silently, stooping once more to the grisly work.

Wet pools shining in his dark eyes, Elrohir silently watched the beginnings of the clean-up as Elladan efficiently moved the bodies, seemingly uncaring of the blood dripping from his hair, his face, his hands and clothes. Elrohir’s own hands were bloodstained, but rarely had he seen a fellow elf in such a state as this, pale as though wounded, a straight splash of black blood across his cheek and lips. He didn’t even bother to wipe away the filth where it could seep into his mouth. His hands seemed bathed in blood and his clothes would have to go the way of the fire, even the soft leather shoes.

Realizing that in his shock, Elrohir had allowed the other to do most of the work, he quickly set about helping and the fire was soon blazing, the scent of burning orc-flesh turning his stomach as it always did.

Elladan allowed himself to finally cast a glance toward his brother. “You are ill, Elrohir. You always are after such tasks; I know, though you say nothing. Go bathe while I watch the fire.”

Elrohir turned to him in astonishment once more, though Elladan was now gazing intently at the blazing pyre. “But brother, we always work and rest together. My need is not so pressing; I will watch here with you and we both shall go.”

Elladan turned so that his discomfort would not be visible. “As it pleases you. Elrohir.”

------

The fire had indeed completed its job before the setting of the sun, but Elladan insisted on burying the remains straight away, so that the moon and stars dominated the sky with no sign of the sun in the west when they finally wound their way, leading their brilliant white mounts, to the pool.

A natural hollow had been carved by a short series of falls before the water continued its journey down the Bruinen to sea. Here, the horses drank their fill and the brothers properly cleaned and checked and stowed their knives, arrows, and bows.

After that, Elrohir was quick to the pool, throwing aside his clothes as always and diving headlong into the rippling waters with as mighty a splash as he could manage.

Elladan, as always, carefully folded the ruined clothes, reverently laying aside the leather shoes. He knelt at the river’s edge and slipped silently into the waters.

Elrohir broke the surface behind him without a sound and reached out to gather the bloodied black hair in his nimble hands to comb out the dirt. Frozen for a moment in surprise, Elladan then batted the hands away with a small growl and dove beneath, never turning toward his brother.

Hands still poised in the air, clutching at nothing, Elrohir’s heartrending look of sorrow at the rejection went witnessed by none but the horses. “This must cease,” he vowed to himself, diving down after Elladan in a sudden fury.

Elladan panicked at the strong grip on his hips as he was pulled toward the surface.

His instinctual defense halted when they burst into the air, wet hair silver in the starlight, fanning about their heads in twin arcs in the natural instinct to shake it out of their faces, hundreds of tiny water droplets showering the rippling surface and each other. “Elrohir…?”

“Enough, Elladan. I have had enough.” Elrohir grabbed the other’s bicep in so strong a grip it bruised and then hauled them both up onto the grasank.ank. Elladan sat in a huff where he was thrown, glaring at the dark waters, reflecting the moon and stars in kaleidoscopic patterns, pulling away when Elrohir touched his shoulder, a feather-light whisper of skin on skin. “You’re doing it again,” Elrohir accused, withdrawing his hand though still staring intently at his twin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elladan responded fiercely.

“Touch me.” He held out his hands.

Elladan’s heart jumped. “What?” he said, shivering not from the cold.

“Look at me.”

“What?” Elladan echoed himself.

But Elrohir did not answer, and Elladan did not look. Bitter silence reigned until finally, no longer caring to sit—wet—on the chill ground in the cold night air, Elladan gave in, as he knew he would: Elrohir always having been the more patient of the two. He turned his head, black blood still running in the wet waterlines down his cheeks, to meet his brother’s gaze.

The large dark eyes, luminous and sparkling, peered as if into his very soul and he found himself forced to again turn away.

“There,”ohirohir finally spoke. “Again. Again, you turn from me, brother. Have you forgotten the many years behind us when we spoke with no more than a gesture? A look? And now, your eyes fail to meet mine on the simplest of occasions, and you pull away from my touch every time. What is it that you fear from me? What is it that you cannot bear to see in my eyes?”

It was impossible to ignore the hurt tones of that buttery voice now marked with pain and sorrow and Elladan finally did turn toward the sound of that voice, reaching out to clasp cold hands in his colder ones. But his eyes remained fixed on that joining of laced fingers, as if fearful to look elsewhere. “I do you great ill, Elrohir. I was not aware… I am sorry, truly, for ever has my comfort been in your eyes and your hands,” he confided, also recalling those not-so-distant times when a glance communicated all and a soft hand soothed away the shadow of nightmares.

“Then why?” Elrohir begged, the silvery tears finally spilling to mingle with the river water and slide hotly down his pale face. “Why do you always turn away?”

“Because… what I fear,” Elladan spoke with difficulty, “is not in you, but in myself. I do not wish to hurt you, Elrohir—”

Elladan suddenly sprung up with the lightness of a cat, and strode to his pack, removing his only other clothes and pulling them on in near-clumsy haste. “I am sorry. I am sorry, but I must go.”

Still sitting in bewildered shock, Elrohir did not think to move until the steps of his brother’s horse were no longer audible. “Elladan, brother…”

------


Elladan did not respond to any that came to his door. Elrohir, fairly burning with a fear bordering on hysteria, attempted to open the door, but in his many years, he’d never learnt to pick a lock. Elrond would not surrender the only other key and he had not the heart to steal from his father, or to vandalize the door. So, climbing the thin birch outside his brother’s window, he leapt onto the balcony and crept within the room that night.

“Elladan! Answer me!” he shouted softly.

His footsteps but a whisper on the cool tiles, he drew further in until he saw a small heap in the center of the bed. He drew back the covers: Elladan lay sleeping like the dead, still in his traveling clothes, face and hands stained faintly with blood, black hair tangling like a soft thorny crown about his head.

“Oh, my brother,” Elrohir sighed, kicking off soft shoes and crawling upon the mattress to curl himself protectively around the older twin, bringing the blankets up over them, determined to keep the elf at peace as he had not since childhood.

------

Elladan awoke, chasing away the last screams of the dream, realizing he felt fairly more content than he had in a long while upon waking. The blazing sun shown near full upon him, with his window to the east, and the whole of Imladris was just beginning its day. He curled into the unusual warmth of his bed with a soft sigh of pleasure until he fully awakened and comfort became terror.

A soft kiss—chaste and brotherly—to his cheek drew his body taut as a bowstring and Elladan barely noticed when Elrohir’s hand lifted from his stomach to his arm for the aching heat burning all through him with his twin pressed along his entire body. “Good morning to you, brother.”

At that single moment, the only thing Elladan wished more than to be anywhere else was to stay right in that very moment forever. But yet again, he closed his eyes, reached deep down inside himself to the dark crevasse where he’d hidden his heart, and pushed it even further into the depths, forcing a coldness into his voice that he did not truly feel. “Elrohir. We are both clothed and dirty. Please release me and leave, so that I may wash.”

Elrohir petted the tense arm before smoothly slithering his way out from between the sheets. “Speak for yourself, brother. You may still bear the dirt and blood of last night, but I smell fresh as a newly furled snowdrop. And I will leave when you explain to me the precise insanity of your actions yester eve.”

Drawing upon the last reserves of his courage, Elladan turned to face his yountwintwin, just barely catching the gasp in his throat at the sight of the rumpled elf bathed in the light of the new day’s sun, twisted black hair shining, pale skin glowing. “I am afraid my answers will not soothe you: the battle quickened me to some nervous fear, and I have been feeling ill of late.”

“Ill?” Elrohir asked, baffled. “How ‘ill,’ brother?”

Elladan sighed, knowing he’d said the wrong thing, and sat up to draw his hands across his face wearily. “Ill in spirit, Elrohir.”

The rumpled elf stared quizzically down at him, head cocked. “You will speak of this to father, or I will do so myself,” he warned sternly.

“No,” Elladan waved him off, fearing such a thing should come to pass, but not showing it. “No, that is not necessary. I am simply brooding is all.” He, too, climbed from bed and stood opposite his brother, their proud postures forming a near perfect mirror image.

Finally, Elrohir smiled. “You always were too serious. Ill? Never! Brooding? Eternally!” he laughed as he spoke. “I see you are yourself again, my brother. All is as it should be. Get you to wash! And I will see you at breakfast,” he added, turning to leave the room.

The door closed and spirited footsteps passed away.

Elladan collapsed to the bed, a stained hand clutching at the smooth linen of his tunic.

His brother’s voice echoed through his mind, *All is as it should be…*

“Why?!” A million timesy.
y.


TBC