Elladan and Elrohir, Lords of Imladris (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lordsofimladris) wrote,@ 2008-01-14 19:57:00 |
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Two rings of silver and a sword...
The ring on the chain dangled from his hand, sometimes hitting against another ring, a much simpler ring of woven silver leaves.
He had only been able to dig it out from his pack when he'd gained enough strength to move about, unable to ask his brother to do it for him, for fear his voice would crack upon requesting it.
He stared down at both of them, nudging them with his finger and watching them swing back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. The ring, silver leaves of different styles, had been her brother's, and before that her father's, and before that... and on and on. He had been told the full line, as far back as she could remember it, and when he closed his eyes he could still hear her recounting it, in her own voice. Softly, carefully, with respect and reverence for each name. She had always been reverent. To the land, and her people, to the stories she had memorized. To her kinswoman, to the elves, and to him. Her husband.
His hand shook, and the rings followed, clinking together a note of sorrow to match his own. When he had handed her his ring, she had protested highly, he remembered, but he had slid it on her finger regardless. It was of too great a value, it was too shiny.. it would be lost... he remembered her protests. Yet still in the end she had taken it, and had given him in return the only thing of any great value she'd had on her.
He'd been too afraid of his brother's reaction to wear it, instead tucking it into a pocket.
Now, he rather wished he'd gotten a chance to. He had been looking forward to the day when he could slip it on his finger, proclaim to everyone that they were married...
In his other hand, was a sword. The sword, when Farandren had been alive, had never been too far from her hand. Even when she had taken ill, after they had found her, she would often feel around for the hilt of it.
He had thought it rather fitting to die upon that same sword, and wondered if she had died on it, too. If the wraith had stolen it from her before she fell, and had used her own sword against her. It was something, he figured, the wraith would have done. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be as close to the same way as possible.
He had already been sitting there for hours, trying to convince himself to do it.
In the background, Elladan watched. Every single muscle in his body was tense, poised and ready to intervene if the sword moved even a half an inch from where it was. But something had stopped him from simply walking up to his brother and taking it away... and he decided, after a few minutes of questioning himself as to why, that this was something Elrohir had to decide on his own.
So it was that the both of them spent another hour in the rain, one staring off into the blackness of sorrow, the other one staring like a forlorn puppy, until at last Elrohir's hand opened, and the sword dropped to the ground. Only then did Elladan finally spring forward, letting out an audible sigh of relief, and picking the sword up, himself. He squeezed at Elrohir's shoulder, perching beside him, and let out another sigh. "Am I not enough? To keep you here... and happy?" he whispered, softly.
Elrohir reached an arm around his brother, and squeezed. "You are enough, gwanur," he answered, with a rough whisper, and a nod of his head. ".. On most days.. you are enough."
"But not today, nor yesterday, nor the day before... I am going to take this sword away, if you keep this up." Elladan said, trying to choose his wording carefully, and aching for the times when they could simply say anything to eachother without worry. "She is... gone, gwanur. But there are plenty here who still love you. Me, our sister, Estel in his way, Daernaneth, Daerada... you have a nephew, now, too. Are none of us enough?"
Elrohir rested his head on his brother's shoulder, letting his heart feel as shattered by Elladan's words as it wanted to. She is gone... she is gone... "...it is my fault. I should have stayed with her. I should never have rode south. I should... I should have known, I should have done SOMETHING." His voice broke, and Elladan squeezed at his brother more tightly, finding himself at a loss of words at first.
Then, finally, "There is nothing you could have done, Elrohir. She refused to go with you, we were needed to the south, for Arwen. There was no way of knowing that she would eventually follow. It was ... her time. Someday, it will be your time, and you will see her. But I do not think that time is now... and I think she would be angry with you, if you joined her too soon. I know I would be, and Mandos' halls would ring with the sort of scolding I would give you." Elladan nodded his head firmly, then gently took the chain with the rings on it out of his brother's hand, and pulled the rings off of it.
"She gave you this because she loved you, and wanted you to wear it. I think you aught to, wear it the way it was meant to be worn," Elladan said, with a broken sort of whisper. It was like ... giving up a battle, in a way, to admit that there had ever been someone in his brother's life that meant more to him than he himself did. To admit that there would never be anyone who would take that person's place, not even him. He gently took his brother's hand, and pushed the band of leaves onto his brother's ring finger. "You are still married to her, Elrohir, heart and soul, and that will never change, even when the pain heals up and you eventually move beyond your grief."
Elrohir watched, unable to do much more, tears still falling out of his eyes. He was amazed at his brother's words, wondering when his brother had grown up, really grown up, and why he hadn't been watching for that more carefully. His hand flexed, when the ring was placed on his finger, and he found he felt both sorrow and joy at the feeling of the band scratching against his skin. He nodded his head, then, and squeezed at his brother one last time before removing himself and making to stand up. "... I will try not to forget your words," he whispered, reaching a hand out to his brother.
Elladan, held up first the chain, and then the sword, before finally taking his brother's hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. "Good, for that is all the wisdom I have in my head for today, and it was spent entirely on you." He smirked a bit, and Elrohir couldn't help but smile in response. "Ah, and see! You are smiling a bit, which is good, for I was beginning to blame Gondor's continuously cloudy skies and rain on you and your mood."
Elrohir chuckled, weakly, sheathing sword and clasping chain back around his neck. "Yes, well, if it were not for what little wisdom you ever have rolling around in your empty head, I would still have it raining here for the next month, I am sure. But as I am utterly tired of standing out in it and catching my death of cold, perhaps we can go in, and dry off, and you can show me this nephew of mine."
Elladan grinned, genuinely, and nodded, leading Elrohir off to their rooms. It was probably pure coincidence that the clouds began to break into some semblance of light behind them.
The ring on the chain dangled from his hand, sometimes hitting against another ring, a much simpler ring of woven silver leaves.
He had only been able to dig it out from his pack when he'd gained enough strength to move about, unable to ask his brother to do it for him, for fear his voice would crack upon requesting it.
He stared down at both of them, nudging them with his finger and watching them swing back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. The ring, silver leaves of different styles, had been her brother's, and before that her father's, and before that... and on and on. He had been told the full line, as far back as she could remember it, and when he closed his eyes he could still hear her recounting it, in her own voice. Softly, carefully, with respect and reverence for each name. She had always been reverent. To the land, and her people, to the stories she had memorized. To her kinswoman, to the elves, and to him. Her husband.
His hand shook, and the rings followed, clinking together a note of sorrow to match his own. When he had handed her his ring, she had protested highly, he remembered, but he had slid it on her finger regardless. It was of too great a value, it was too shiny.. it would be lost... he remembered her protests. Yet still in the end she had taken it, and had given him in return the only thing of any great value she'd had on her.
He'd been too afraid of his brother's reaction to wear it, instead tucking it into a pocket.
Now, he rather wished he'd gotten a chance to. He had been looking forward to the day when he could slip it on his finger, proclaim to everyone that they were married...
In his other hand, was a sword. The sword, when Farandren had been alive, had never been too far from her hand. Even when she had taken ill, after they had found her, she would often feel around for the hilt of it.
He had thought it rather fitting to die upon that same sword, and wondered if she had died on it, too. If the wraith had stolen it from her before she fell, and had used her own sword against her. It was something, he figured, the wraith would have done. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be as close to the same way as possible.
He had already been sitting there for hours, trying to convince himself to do it.
In the background, Elladan watched. Every single muscle in his body was tense, poised and ready to intervene if the sword moved even a half an inch from where it was. But something had stopped him from simply walking up to his brother and taking it away... and he decided, after a few minutes of questioning himself as to why, that this was something Elrohir had to decide on his own.
So it was that the both of them spent another hour in the rain, one staring off into the blackness of sorrow, the other one staring like a forlorn puppy, until at last Elrohir's hand opened, and the sword dropped to the ground. Only then did Elladan finally spring forward, letting out an audible sigh of relief, and picking the sword up, himself. He squeezed at Elrohir's shoulder, perching beside him, and let out another sigh. "Am I not enough? To keep you here... and happy?" he whispered, softly.
Elrohir reached an arm around his brother, and squeezed. "You are enough, gwanur," he answered, with a rough whisper, and a nod of his head. ".. On most days.. you are enough."
"But not today, nor yesterday, nor the day before... I am going to take this sword away, if you keep this up." Elladan said, trying to choose his wording carefully, and aching for the times when they could simply say anything to eachother without worry. "She is... gone, gwanur. But there are plenty here who still love you. Me, our sister, Estel in his way, Daernaneth, Daerada... you have a nephew, now, too. Are none of us enough?"
Elrohir rested his head on his brother's shoulder, letting his heart feel as shattered by Elladan's words as it wanted to. She is gone... she is gone... "...it is my fault. I should have stayed with her. I should never have rode south. I should... I should have known, I should have done SOMETHING." His voice broke, and Elladan squeezed at his brother more tightly, finding himself at a loss of words at first.
Then, finally, "There is nothing you could have done, Elrohir. She refused to go with you, we were needed to the south, for Arwen. There was no way of knowing that she would eventually follow. It was ... her time. Someday, it will be your time, and you will see her. But I do not think that time is now... and I think she would be angry with you, if you joined her too soon. I know I would be, and Mandos' halls would ring with the sort of scolding I would give you." Elladan nodded his head firmly, then gently took the chain with the rings on it out of his brother's hand, and pulled the rings off of it.
"She gave you this because she loved you, and wanted you to wear it. I think you aught to, wear it the way it was meant to be worn," Elladan said, with a broken sort of whisper. It was like ... giving up a battle, in a way, to admit that there had ever been someone in his brother's life that meant more to him than he himself did. To admit that there would never be anyone who would take that person's place, not even him. He gently took his brother's hand, and pushed the band of leaves onto his brother's ring finger. "You are still married to her, Elrohir, heart and soul, and that will never change, even when the pain heals up and you eventually move beyond your grief."
Elrohir watched, unable to do much more, tears still falling out of his eyes. He was amazed at his brother's words, wondering when his brother had grown up, really grown up, and why he hadn't been watching for that more carefully. His hand flexed, when the ring was placed on his finger, and he found he felt both sorrow and joy at the feeling of the band scratching against his skin. He nodded his head, then, and squeezed at his brother one last time before removing himself and making to stand up. "... I will try not to forget your words," he whispered, reaching a hand out to his brother.
Elladan, held up first the chain, and then the sword, before finally taking his brother's hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. "Good, for that is all the wisdom I have in my head for today, and it was spent entirely on you." He smirked a bit, and Elrohir couldn't help but smile in response. "Ah, and see! You are smiling a bit, which is good, for I was beginning to blame Gondor's continuously cloudy skies and rain on you and your mood."
Elrohir chuckled, weakly, sheathing sword and clasping chain back around his neck. "Yes, well, if it were not for what little wisdom you ever have rolling around in your empty head, I would still have it raining here for the next month, I am sure. But as I am utterly tired of standing out in it and catching my death of cold, perhaps we can go in, and dry off, and you can show me this nephew of mine."
Elladan grinned, genuinely, and nodded, leading Elrohir off to their rooms. It was probably pure coincidence that the clouds began to break into some semblance of light behind them.