Lost

LOST
Author : Suemichave
Pairing: Elladan and Elrohir, Elladan and Valinmar (implied)
Rating: PG 13 (sort of)
Summary: Elladan is lost and Elrohir needs to find him. Told from Glorfindel’s pov
Disclaimer : the elves belong to Tolkien, I respect his vision of them.


He stands silhouetted by the moonlight. It would be wrong to say he has lost all hope but with each slain and wounded that is returned to our camp it fades a little.

We have combed the battlefield more than once. He has gone over and over with head in hands, trying to recall each and every detail, convinced he has missed something, convinced he is amiss in some detail.

Now he stands unmoving playing out the last that he can remember. I go to him, my arm around him as he leans against me. I guide him away to seek some rest, fleeting though it may be.

“I will find him Glorfindel, “ he tells me, “ I will find him.”

“We will find him,” I vow.

Messages are sent far and wide. The days become weeks then months. Each supposed sighting has us riding out only to return without what we seek. Each time a little more of Elrohir fades from us, yet we all cling to his continual presence, for surely in that the there is hope.

When the message comes from the far north, it is not the news we had hoped for. The enemy in his boldness is moving,the northern men will not hold for long without help. Personal concerns are put aside in the face of this. Strangely this gives Elrohir renewed vigour and he is eager once more to ride to battle.

He looks ill suited. Despite the efforts of his healer father he has slept little and eaten even less since his twin’s disappearance. What rest has been gained results from sleeping draughts that are mixed with the fortifying broths he consents to sip at. These nourish his body, his spirit draws strength from the tenuous bond that still exists between him and his brother. I have seen him wander like a wraith through the halls and gardens, pausing to touch reminders of the past. I have watched as he has climbed the hills to be the first to see what may come. I have been his silent companion, holding him when he lets the grief show and the tears flow. He has lost what none of us can conceive. Elladan is not only a brother, he is a life mate. The loss of either would bring any to their knees, to lose both is to suffer a fate from which there is usually no escape. Yet Elrohir goes on by whatever strength he can still muster.

The sounds of battle are heard long before we sight the cause. Death screams carry across the distance like no other sound can. It strikes to the heart of even the most hardened warrior. We ride more swiftly to where the smoke rises even now above the trees.

“Orcs,” Elrohir spits, the very name as hated as the creatures themselves. His sword is raised high, drawn from its scabbard in readiness as the trees give way to a plateau. Only a handful of black creatures remain and they do not stand long under our need to kill.

The bodies are piled up as we clean our weapons. One warrior stands atop the bloody mound. His sword high above his head, the metal catching the sunlight as it streams from behind the clouds that cross the sky. His back is toward us but I do not have to see his face to know. Not even when he takes off the hood and shakes his long dark hair free. There are cheers as he screams words that I do not comprehend. I do not need to look to Elrohir to know that he has seen.

“Elladan,” he whispers.

The figure atop the pile turns to scan the battlefield, even from where we stand the puzzlement is evident on his blood streaked face. A cloth has been wrapped around his head, covering the points of his ears and he has the blue streaks painted on the high cheek bones which serve to highlight the deep grey eyes. Elrohir is unmoving, his mind failing to believe what his eyes clearly comprehend. Elladan jumps from the bloody pile with all the grace of his elven heritage and advances to our ranks. I look to Elrohir by my side and see the hesitation in his own countenance. He holds to my arm as Elladan strides toward us. Yet before he had come within easy distance, a voice calls out a name, followed by words in a language I do not comprehend. Elladan halts and turns to the man who approaches him. He smiles as the man runs to him, embraces him, then steps back to caress his cheek with a rough hand. Words are exchanged between them that convey a clear meaning. Elrohir’s hand tightens as the man leans forward to kiss his brother. Though the relationship between the twins sons of Elrond is no secret to any within the elven realms, they had never dared to pursue it so openly as what we witness now. The elves stare at the display of affection, it passes unnoticed it appears to the men who gather round now, slapping each other on the back. I feel Elrohir stagger, his grip on my arm almost bruising. I move to place my arm around him when the man releases Elladan and turns.

He is young. Shoulder length dark hair hangs in sweat soaked strands about his face and neck. He has startling grey eyes that look to us as we stand. Elrohir has stepped behind me, in deference to his captain he will argue to those who know better. His hood is pulled over his head. Elladan follows the man who bows as he approaches, those who accompany him do likewise.

His voice is melodic though accented to our ears. He thanks us for our assistance, invites us to their camp to share their hospitality, laughs as he realises he has not spoken his name.

“I am Valanmar,” he corrects the oversight, extending his sword arm to me in a gesture of peace. He extends a hand to Elladan who steps forward. “And my second Elan.”

Elladan nods as only I hear the gasp behind me. Eyes look expectantly for our introductions.

“Glorfindel of Imladris,” I reply, inclining my head to both he and his lieutenant, “Elrohir of Imladris, son of Elrond, commands with me.”

Elladan’s expression does not change. There is no hint that he will acknowledge us before our host. Valanmar looks to Elrohir’s hooded countenance but says nothing, then to the one he named as Elan, almost as if he expects a recognition. Elladan shakes his head just a little, his eyes clouded as he searches our ranks. Valanmar shrugs with a soft smile, his hand on Elladan’s shoulder as they motion us to follow.

“It matters not,” I hear him whisper.

Elladan takes one further look to us, his head inclined as though something is within his grasp yet slips through his hand before he can recognise it.

The camp is upwind of the battle area, fires are blazing and food is in the crude pots as we approach. The men are courteous and friendly, inviting us to their fires. Elrohir sits apart staring into the flames, Elladan is nowhere to be seen, slipping away once we had reached the perimeter. I sit beside the younger twin, my hand on his arm.

Valanmar comes over to where we sit in silence, Elrohir and I. He has not removed his cloak and will not now the man has sat beside us. We have not spoken on what we have seen this day, Elrohir is mute, shaking his head at the offer of food and drink.

The man looks at Elrohir and for a moment Elrohir looks back to him. Valanmar pokes at the fire with one of the pieces of wood before throwing it into the fire.

“I thank you again for your help. The orcs grow more bold with each season.”

This is not the reason he has come to our fire and with Elrohir merely nodding his head, I reply for us both and assure him it was no bother to have rid this land of such creatures.

He hesitates further, then speaks again. “When I saw you were elves I had hoped you would be help……. Elan.”

Elrohir starts at the name but says nothing, a hand placed on my leg asks me to remain quiet also, to reveal nothing yet.

“We have not seen any elfkind since he came to us. I had thought that he would remember if….if he saw.” Valanmar too stares into the fire for a moment, shaking his head. “He has such dreams, such terrible dreams. He calls out to someone to help him, he calls a name in his distress, a name I cannot catch in his pained cries and come the dawn, he remembers nothing……. I would do anything to have this torment end….he is my chosen companion, but I would release him from that if only he could find peace.”

“What happened to him?” Elrohir asks quietly, speaking almost to the flames in place of the man.

The man’s own distress is obvious, just as obvious as Elrohir’s pain though it is unlikely that Valanmar notices.

“We chanced upon an encampment south,” Valanmar points in the general direction. Elrohir looks and remembers. “We almost took him for dead….even for days after….we have few medicines….he could not speak…..and when he could, he could not remember…or did not wish to……and seeing his wounds, who could blame him for not seeking to recount the pain.”

Elrohir listens. He still has not turned to the man. I place my hand on his arm.

“He could not tell us his name, nor where he called home……we took him for a wanderer then.”

“He chose to stay with you?”

“Another sword or bow is most welcome among us, he proved his worth many times over…..yet……..” Valanmar too gazes into the fire. He has turned only occasionally to look to me, only once to Elrohir’s shrouded face. “ He stays with us, but I can see in his eyes there is a longing for something…..there is something that calls to him….when I ask he shakes his head and says there is nothing….nothing he has memory of.”

Elrohir rises and walks away into the darkness beyond the firelights. Valanmar watches for a moment, then rises to follow him. I watch them both.

Elrohir does not acknowledge the presence of the man though he has known of it since he left the fire.

“You are the one he calls to……...” It is not a question any more.

“Yes, I am he…...” Only then does he turn and face the man, pushing back his hood.

Valanmar stares at the elf before him, struck mute by the sight of him.

So consumed by the events unfolding, we do not perceive the figure who has chanced upon us. He stands in the shadows, staring, then turns and flees. Elrohir turns back to look beyond the horizon, I walk to his side as Valanmar retreats.

Elrohir and I stand until the sky is streaked with the glow of dawn. Only in that half light do we move back to the others, meeting them as they rouse themselves from their slumber. No words have passed between us, there seems so little and yet so much that needs to be said.

What became of Elladan that long night we had no knowledge come the morning, not for many days after. Valanmar comes to Elrohir by the fire each night, it seems to comfort them both to sit beside each other and share the warmth it provides. We stay with the company of men, lending our aid to the injured, teaching the healers which plants and earths could be added to their herbs to produce medicines, fletching arrows and restringing bows with elven twine that would last longer and fly more true. Tentative at first the men have come to accept our presence and our assistance, partaking in mock battles with swords and tests of skill with the bow. If it were not for the shadow presence of Elladan, such days would been deemed ideal.

He does not come close to any, man nor elf. He watches the happenings of the campsite from by the trees, sometimes leaning against a tree, sometimes seated on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. I have not seen him look so at odds with the world around him since he and Elrohir were elflings. Has he remembered I wonder as watch him, does he now know who he is.

Elrohir watches also. The grief in his eyes is hard to look upon. It is strangely more tangible than the empty eyes and broken heart of the months we thought Elladan lost. For now he seems as lost to us as he did then, as unreachable, only he stands so close. Whereas Elrohir held faint hope now he looks as one who is falling. Does he feel the bond between them slipping from his grasp?

Valanmar grieves also. However there is an understanding in the young one, a realisation beyond his years of the path his life must take. Perhaps it is the harshness of the life they lead, the struggle to preserve what is theirs that decrees such things from the cradle. He is heir with more urgency than either Elladan or Elrohir. No matter how the relationship travels with Elladan, it will of necessity take second place to that of a wife. Elladan of old would not stand in the way of such an arrangement, I cannot believe that now he would think otherwise. Yet such knowledge does not make the parting easier and it is plain to all that Valanmar cares deeply for the one he named Elan.

It is agreed that we travel with the company, Elrohir with more reluctance than he shows. It is increasingly demanding on his soul to catch glimpses of his brother and not be able to go to him, to not hold him in his arms. They who lived for each other now find a divide that one cannot cross. It causes no little disquiet to my heart to see them thus, Elladan lurking on the shadows, Elrohir caught within that shadow.

Valanmar sits by the fire with Elrohir to his side, I watch from the far side of the small fire. We have rid the world of more of the black spawn this day, elves fighting along side men to cleanse the earth, Elladan as deadly as I have ever seen him, his brother matching him in horrific elegance. I would that they fight side by side as they have long done, but Elladan even in battle keeps his distance from his elven kin. Whatever separated him from us has not dimmed his skill as a soldier and for that at least I am glad. Valanmar however brings Elrohir news.

“He is remembering,” he tells the twin, “little by little his is recalling the past.”

Elrohir turns his head from the fire to the man, acknowledging his words with a nod. Elrohir knows this. His nights are not restful, he sleeps fitfully, struggling with his own dreaming. What Elladan feels Elrohir is once more on the edges of. Yet unsure of himself he does not go to him. When the man leaves, I move to his side as he leans against me. We watch the embers of the fire cool to black before I take him to his bed.

“He calls for you.”

The voice is a whisper to all but the elves. Elrohir is already sitting, his blanket around his shoulders more for warmth to his soul than his body, his eyes blank until this moment, the only sign he is still with us is the wetness of his cheeks that shine silver in the light. He looks to me, I nod and rise with him.

Elladan tosses on the cot that he shares. There is a thin sheen to his flushed skin. He fights off something unseen to all but his eyes. And he whispers his brother’s name in desperate urgency, his face contorting in pain.

Valanmar looks to Elrohir and nods. It is time for him to stand aside, he understands his place. Elrohir for his part recognises the sacrifice being made. As they embrace there passes a communication that others will not know. The moment is brief but as they part they both smile. “Thank you, “ he whispers. Thank you for giving your brother to me for this short time is the unspoken meaning.

Elrohir acknowledges him with a tilt of his head, grasping his arm. “Thank you.” Thank you for returning him to me is the reply unspoken but understood.

Elrohir pulls off his tunic, slides off his boots, Elladan is still calling softly, over and over, his brother’s name, a mantra he is using to black out the terror that glazed eyes cannot recoil from. His brother slips into the simple bed to take his beloved into his arms. He whispers words that they used long ago to soothe each other’s dreams, a comfort no other could bring to the young elflings.

Elladan quietens, limp in his brother’s embrace. When he next calls to Elrohir, he is answered with his own name. Elrohir smoothes back his brother’s damp hair as glazed eyes snap clear.

“Elrohir,” the name is spoken in a harsh whisper, more a question on Elladan’s lips than a name, as if he is unsure of what it is he is seeing, questioning something he has seen before only to have the vision snatched away from him. Elrohir nods, Elladan touches his brother’s face tentatively, tracing along his cheek and jaw, a finger tip over soft lips. Elrohir closes his eyes at the touch but the tears do not stop. He blinks these back as he reaches out to touch his brother in return. Soon however there are cautious smiles, then soft laughter. Elrohir’s hands are entwined in long dark locks of hair, there are gentle moans as fingers brush over delicate ears. The embrace is tight with Elladan whispering his brother’s name once more, in awe and reverence.

Valanmar watches with a smile, his eyes sparkle with love he holds for Elladan and with the unselfish joy of Elladan so happy.

We leave then, he and I, leave the lovers to their reunion. He goes to follow a path I had oft seen Elladan take, down to the river. I had smiled despite where we found ourselves, the call of water had not ceased to beckon him, and he though he may not have understood what had so entranced him, he heeded the summons. Now his past lover felt the same need.

“May I walk with you,” I ask him. I would give him his peace alone if it is what he seeks, but I sense he wishes company if only to sit in silence. A slight, uncertain nod of his head gives his answer.

We walk slowly among the trees, the glow of the campfires dimming behind us. When we reach the river he stands. We would comment on the beauty of the silver lit water if we had the mind, but we are here for graver things. He motions and we sit on the cool grass. At length he speaks.

“Will he….will they…..be well,” he asks.

I nod.

“Tell me about them.”

He does not want to hear about their prowess as fighters and hunters

“They have been lovers for an age,” I tell him.

He nods, though I doubt the import can be comprehended by him. Many life times of men have passed since the two became intimate with each other, many more before they grow courageous enough to tell those who would most understand.

“It must be a love beyond all compare,” he murmurs, and I am struck by his understanding.

It is my turn to nod in agreement, glancing back for a moment. “They are bound to each other in ways that are not easy for those who stand apart to comprehend.” I can feel the unrestrained joy of their coupling touch my mind, so intense is it. I smile, turning my attention back to the man by my side. “It was the conviction that his brother still lived that drove Elrohir, gave him the purpose……he felt his presence….knew his life force was not spent.”

“Elan….” Valanmar smiles as he corrects himself, “Elladan also felt the presence of another..of someone I knew to be close to him…but he could not remember……yet many nights I would find him staring into the darkness, as if he waited.” He takes a deep breath. “I hoped we would find what he sought…..most times.” He looks to me ready to defend himself should I reproach him on this admission. I cannot.

“You love him,” I reply, putting the charge in the present, not the past, he loved him and loves him still.

“I love him,” he whispers, the tears that he has denied so long a telltale trail on his cheeks, “I love him.” It is meaningless to tell him he has done what was necessary, that he had no choice. It is meaningless, so I say nothing, putting my arm around him as he leans to put his head on my shoulder. “I love him,” he murmurs as his body shudders with the anguish. It is not to me to reassure him, but I do.

“And he loves you,” I tell him. In that nothing has changed, nor will it. But it had never been the love he shares with Elrohir, a love that reached out. Even when Elladan could not remember himself, his love was remembered and he searched for that.

Valanmar looks to me, the tears abate. “Did I do wrong ?” he asks as a child might.

I shake my head. “You offered Elladan comfort in his grief, Elrohir would have had it no other way, he would not have wanted his brother lonely and broken. He will be forever grateful for that, and that you had the courage to give him back. “

“I did not want to,” Valanmar admits.

I kiss the top of his head as I smooth my hand over his hair. He did not want to but he did, he knew where his path lay, and it was not with Elladan. When his time comes, he will lead his people well, and he will forever have an ally. We watch the dawn together, he has slept at times as I hold him, I have tried to give him as much peace as I am able.

As we return to the site of our camp Elladan is waiting. His brother stands off away from him. Valanmar stops as he spies the elf, then as Elladan open his arms, walks steadfastly to him. They embrace as Elladan whispers words meant only for him, then they walk together. Elrohir watches before he comes to my side. The serenity in his eyes is all I need to see.

They talk well into the morning. They cannot be seen by mortal eyes from the camp, but Elrohir can see and he watches. I stand with him and watch also. They sit cross legged facing each other, hands held in front of them, we do not listen to what is being said, it is not for us to share. The kiss that marks the end of their talk is long, bodies are pressed close and Elrohir averts his eyes, not because it pains him as much as he recognises that this too is an intimate moment not to be shared.

The faces of both man and elf betray the heartache of their parting. There is one further embrace before Elladan walks to his brother, and Valanmar to his destiny. Elrohir holds his brother, there was not ever any doubt that Elladan would return to him, yet I see the relief on Elrohir’s face that he now holds him in his arms.

“We go home,” Elrohir whispers, “we go home now.”

Elladan nods, a smile intersperses the tears.

“Home.”