Love in the Dark
I'm safe
I'm free
I've nowhere else to go
But I cannot stay where I don't belong"
But the music did not touch his soul. Indeed, he did not care. He had little love left for those animated feasts that graced the vale for the celebration of each season. Once - a long time ago - he had loved them above anything else, awaiting them with eager impatience. He had enjoyed the joyous animation seizing the vale, the light of happiness in the other elves' eyes. The music and the wine. The dance and the seduction. Once, they had meant life to him, breaking the monotonous rhythm of days spent between studies, patrols and duties.
But not anymore. Now, he was not far from hating what he had enjoyed so much. They were memory and pain. Sorrow and remembrance.
A long time ago, he had danced at those feasts. Danced all the night without stopping, twirling and spinning unceasingly. Laughing and drinking with the eagerness of youth. With the joy and happiness brought about by the presence of the one he loved. But now, he had no one to hold tight in his arms and to whirl with. No one he really wanted to dance with. So, why dance?
A long time ago, they had been said to be the best dancers in Imladris. Whenever they were on the dance floor, people had stopped to watch them, wondering at their grace and their wild beauty, their eyes holding that odd sparkle of fascination. But they had never given those others any attention, preferring to focus on each other and forget those awkward gazes.
Now, he could dance no more. He did not want to. Instead, he took a seat in a distant and dark corner and he watched him from afar. Always watching him. Never letting his lithe frame slip from sight. Observing his every move. Looking for each of his smiles when he bent over the one that was lucky enough to be held tight against that firm chest, to have his hand on the slender waist, to feel his perfumed breath brushing the skin of his cheeks whenever he murmured sweet words in his ear.
How could he have really enjoyed those feasts when his beloved was in the arms of another?
Even if he had wanted to dance, he was not sure he would have been able to. He had never danced with any other. Never. They had learned the intricate steps together. They had shared their first dance and all those that had followed. He had never felt another body pressed against his own, another arm around his waist, when the music had intoxicated them, enveloping them in the exaltation of its ardour.
He had never ceased to attend to those feasts, coming here to see him, to watch him and to remember what he had lost through his own fault. But this night, he had not been able to.
He usually satisfied himself with sitting and drinking his potent and intoxicating wine, drowning his pain in the welcoming heat of the alcohol, relishing in the sensual smile displayed on the fair features he had so often admired. Looking at the slow ritual of seduction taking place between his skilled beloved and his consensual prey. Recalling what it had been like to feel that nimble body against his own. Remembering how everything had seemed good and right. Tracing in his mind the lines and the curves of that body he knew so well but that he had never claimed, imagining that it was his hand going astray the length of the strong and broad back.
But not this night.
This night, it had been too much to behold. In the playful light of the candles of the chandeliers, he could not bear the sight of the magnificent and sensual smile that had brightened his love's fair face. He could not tolerate the vision of the close bodies and the entwined fingers. He had felt his heart tightening in his chest when a melodic laughter he would have acknowledged among thousands had dominated the crowd for some seconds, rising in irresistible waves before suddenly dying off. So, he had emptied in one gulp the wine in his glass and, rising from his uncomfortable wooden chair, he had left the vast hall, seizing on his way a bottle filled with golden wine. He had felt on him the eyes of many, knowing well that they wondered why he was leaving the feast when it had just begun. But he did not care. The only person that really mattered had not raised his head to look at him. Was not even aware that he had left.
So, why care?
He turned left after leaving the feast. That was the only thing he was sure of. Then, he had wandered through the manor, through the maze of large corridors where it was so easy to get lost if one did not pay heed. But he had not really minded getting lost. Perhaps, he had even wished it. The only important thing, the only thing that had mattered had been to get away from the feast, to go away from the vision of his beloved in another's arms. Then, he had put one foot in front of the other, mechanically walking, oblivious of his surroundings, his mind full of bitter thoughts.
When he had halted his hazardous walk and raised his eyes, he had found himself in front of a little wooden door at which he had looked with unseeing eyes, picturing instead what was to be found behind it. His hand shook slightly when he stretched his arm toward the finely carved copper coloured knob. He didn't even wonder why he'd come here. Why among the numberless rooms and places in the manor, chance had taken him here. It seemed like a dream. He had hold back his breath as the door had slowly turned on its hinges, revealing bit by bit the dark garden. It had been only when the door had been completely opened that he had dared to breathe again.
How long had it been since he had been here?
Long. Too long.
Hesitantly, almost shyly, he had gone down the stairs, brushing the walls with a hand, not willing to disturb the quiet ambiance of the place, not daring lest he might awaken too many memories. But it was too late for that. Memories were there, engraved in his mind.
He should have left. He knew he should have turned on his heels and run away. He knew that he would find no respite, no peace in this place. But he had not found within himself the strength to flee. It had been too late.
There he was. One hand against the rough stonewall, the other clutching his bottle of wine, his eyes drinking in the sight of those forgotten gardens. It was as if he was sent back many years ago. It had not changed. Nothing had moved. His bottomless, stormy grey eyes watched in awe the games of light and shadow the dense foliage of the trees displayed on the grass, the light of the moon falling on him. His ears were filled with the soft rustling of the leaves and the songs of the nocturnal animals. His nostrils were full of the sweet scent of the roses that perfumed the gardens.
Leaning against the wall, he let himself slide to the ground, not caring that the dust and dirt might soil his clothes. His eyes were fixed on his surroundings. In the darkness of the night, his alabaster skin seemed paler than ever, softly glowing in Ithil's light. Not a muscle of his face moved, as if frozen in his silent contemplation.
It was as if he had come here yesterday.
But he knew it was not the case. A long time had passed since the last day he had put a foot in these gardens. He had passed many hours there. Many memories were bound to that place. Images of his childhood and of his adolescence. Images of an easier and doubtlessly happier life. Images of innocence. This was where he had grown up, where their love had blossomed until it became the most beautiful rose in the garden in the whole acceptance of both their hearts. They had never discussed of it. Never spoken of it. They had simply known and accepted. Easily.
Slowly, he raised the transparent bottle to his lips, willing miruvor to chase away the illusions of the past that were floating around him. He opened his full lips, letting the fresh and cool liquid flow down his throat, enjoying the heat that spread from his stomach. But even the sweet warmness did not raise his dark mood. The garden kept calling back images of the happiness and love he had held in his hands...that he had had and that he had rejected.
This garden was a kiss. Soft and chaste, pure and innocent. The feather touch of two soft mouths discovering each other in modesty. The awakening of pleasure. The heat spreading in his loins.
This garden witnessed his uncontrolled reaction of fear and anguish. The abrupt way he had broken away and left. Left on hazy explanations. Left never to come back.
Sighing, he shifted against the wall, lost in the mist of his memories, of his sorrow, he drank again, wiping the lingering wine from his lips with the back of his hand in a casual gesture.
He had not been able to help his silent answer. Not been able to master the sudden angst that had taken hold of his body. It had meant so much too him. The realization of many dreams, the achievement of a love that he had always felt in his soul. But it had also meant the collapse of a world and the birth of another, where no certainty was possible. He had backed away. Denying the need of his heart and the cry of his torn soul. He had fled like the coward he had been. He had fled the love that had been offered to him and that he had wanted so much to take.
Breaking his beloved's heart and his own in the process.
And every day for a long time, he regretted that he had behaved thus. Because he had lost everything. His only friend and his only love. Remorse was heavy that night that looked very much like the one when they had come here to admire the sparkling of the stars in the sky. He closed his eyes, not willing to remember the closeness of their bodies, the sudden intake of breath, the darkened grey eyes that had lulled him. And the kiss. The kiss that had changed everything.
Everything.
He breathed deeply, trying to chase away the lingering visions behind his closed eyelids. But, instead of the expected void that would have comforted him and helped to soothe his pain, others came, stronger, flashing in quick succession, twirling before fading, soon replaced. Images of the one he loved in the arms of others. Others that had the chance to touch him and make him shudder in pleasure. Others that could see his beautiful features distorted in wild abandon. Others that could make love with him when he himself was alone in his vast and empty bed.
He knew this was his punishment. A form of retaliation. None of the elves that passed in his beloved's bed had caught his heart. Nor his soul. It was a kind of vengeance against him for having made him suffer. He was punished for having been weak and having rejected him in spite of the love they felt for each other. He could read that knowledge in the bottomless grey eyes so like his own whenever they fell upon him. They seemed to challenge him, to want to increase his discomfort. He knew it because they had always known each other, and because words and sentences had always been useless between them.
At first, he had hidden his true feelings, his shame of his reaction and his sorrow, disguising them behind a cold facade of indifference. It had not been so difficult as they had avoided each other, trying not to find themselves in the same room. But with the passing of time, he had found the game more and more difficult to play. To behave as if none of that had any importance. Because it had importance. Much importance.
For he loved him desperately and hopelessly with the knowledge that he had spoiled everything.
But now, he could not pretend that it had no effect on him. He could not stand the situation any longer. Could not stand what his life had become. A world of hate, of deep hatred, where he was utterly alone, consumed by a vivid jealousy. Hate for all those who approached the one he had not known to accept. Hate for his unique love. And, above everything else, hate for himself, who had made of his life what it had become, who had not known to seize the opportunity.
He brought the neck of the bottle to his lips and absently drank.
Anger flared anew in his constricted heart. Anger directed toward himself and the loneliness weighing on his shoulders. Anger directed toward his love, which refused to see what he was doing to him. Anger directed toward the one who would share his beloved's bed this night.
Burning rage gnawed at his stomach and at his temples.
He raised the delicate bottle to the level of his eyes, watching cautiously the reflections of the remaining liquid that seemed to entice him. A grimace distorted his lips. Grimace of disgust. Disgust at himself. For his weakness. For seeking comfort in the stunning vapours of alcohol instead of taking his life in hand.
This could not last. He had to do something. Something to end this situation. Something to make the pain in his heart stop. He could not bear it any longer.
But what to do?
Perhaps he should ask his father if he could go to Lorien. There he might find again an inward balance and build a pretence of normal life. A bitter smile graced his lips, as he contemplated the almost empty bottle, watching the wine swirling against the glass walls. Always the easy solution. Fleeing. Running away. He was a coward.
But he knew he would not be able to face him. To watch in those accusing eyes that seemed to see him for what he really was. A frightened coward.
With a furious gesture, he cast the bottle aside, emptily watching how it broke in thousands of pieces on the gravel. Shattered. Broken. Like him. He buried his head in his hands, passing his long fingers over his raven plaits, unbraiding them in quick succession with the agility given by centuries of habit. His heart was deeply aching, but he did not care. He knew he was paying the consequences of his acts.
This had lasted for too long a time. Now, it was time to act. Time to make a decision.
Slowly, he leaned against the wall to raise himself and once he was up, he glanced toward the stars in the sky, slightly lingering on the most shining of them. Eärendil. But for him, there was no hope anymore. He has lost his love because of his own stupidity. Definitively lost. He had to accept that fact, no matter how hard it was. He had to turn the page. To forget the past and concentrate upon the future. But words are always so easily spoken.
Slowly, light-headed because of the wine he had drunk, he walked toward the door, his heart heavy in his chest, but his face expressionless, unaware of his surroundings, feeling too lost to really care. A shrill crackle abruptly sounded, catching his attention and he lowered his gaze, cautiously watching the scattered pieces of glass on the ground that he was crushing under his booted feet. A wave of guilt at the memory of his uncontrolled fit of temper crashed over him and he sighed. He felt suddenly so young. Almost an elfling lost in the meanders of his growing mind. But he was no youth. He was an adult, responsible and supposedly wise enough to assume responsibility for his acts.
Supposedly.
He gracefully knelt, his lithe frame bending over the ground, intent on the sight the soft reflections that Ithil's foggy light made in the scattered pieces of the broken bottle. It seemed to call to him, to lull him. He could not help to notice that the reflected light called back the image of his love's bright eyes when they had laughed together, their laughter twining in a harmonious melody. Yet, it was no more than a flickering memory that faded as he blindly blinked. Without thinking, mechanically acting, he stretched a long-fingered hand toward the broken glass, as if to catch the versatile memory. But he quickly retrieved his hand, muttering a curse under his breath, as a sudden stab of pain spread from his fingertips, calling him back to reality.
He raised his hand into the nocturnal light of the stars and unbelievingly watched as blood flowed freely from shallow cuts on his fingers. He absently got up, his eyes still fixed upon the wound of his hand, his pupils dilated in gruesome fascination. His blood. Red and bright. Running the length of his hand and slowly dripping on the ground that absorbed that unexpected offering.
He brought his hand to his face, his sensitive nose catching the metallic and bitter scent of the vital liquid, his sharp eyes noticing the soft reflection in the dark essence. He swallowed with some difficulty, his breath suddenly quickening as he lowered his gaze once more, taking in the sight of the soiled pieces of glass.
And the unbidden thought came once more, echoing itself in his mind, swirling in desperate whirlpools before abruptly halting and resuming once more its motion.
'Why not?'
He knew in himself that all his attempts to build a new life far from his beloved were doomed to failure. Doomed to fail. He was not able to live without him. For, without him, he did not exist. If it were not for the terrifying pain in his heart and the horrible void of his mind, he would have satisfied himself with simply watching his love bedding anyone he wanted. He was trapped. Trapped in a vicious circle of love and hate, where pain and sorrow were inevitable, where he would find no escape.
Except one.
His breath caught in his throat as he imagined the cold sensation of the cutting edge of the glass on his fevered skin, the ecstatic agony spreading through his arm before reaching his heart, paralysing his limbs and his mind, preventing his thinking of his faults, of his failures, of his empty and lonely life. Giving him the peace that he had so thoroughly sought for so many years.
His morbid and fascinated reverie was disturbed by loud and musical laughter that abruptly brought him back to reality, cutting him from the bewitching spell woven around him. His eyes snapped open, his pupils focusing again on his surroundings and he turned his head in the direction of the sound. But, even if his sight caught nothing, he had no need to see to know who had entered the gardens. He had heard that voice so often that he would have recognized it among thousands. He knew each of its notes, each of his sudden inflexions, the nuance it took when he was angered or when he was happy, when he was thoughtful or playful.
It was his voice. His beloved. Not alone, as the very feminine giggle that followed the first laughter gave testimony. And he froze, his heart seeming to stop in his chest, his hand forgotten, his whole attention fixed on the agitated murmurs reaching his ears. He closed his eyes, willing to cut himself off from his surroundings, willing to stop the rage and the pain that spread in volutes of sweet suffering in his heart. He felt tears gathering in his eyes, cold tears of helplessness, and he quickly blinked as if to chase them. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched, enhancing thus the angular features of his fair face.
Why?
Why here? Why did he bring his conquest here? There were so many places, so many dark corners in Imladris where he could have brought her? But why here? Here where so many memories lived? He narrowed his eyes at the thought that it was surely not the first time that he brought one of his ephemeral lovers here. Like a last blow. Like a last affront to what they had been. Another way to make him pay.
He could not see that. He could not.
From a hidden pocket, he pulled a light handkerchief that he wrapped around his injured fingers. The fabric was soft and silky and it would not stop the flowing of the blood, but at least, it would prevent that he soiled the marble of the corridors. Impassive, he watched how the pure white colour of the fabric turned immediately to a deep red. Then, without further waiting, trying to block out the sounds of intoxicated laughter that weakly resounded through the night, he quickly headed toward the door. With every silent step he took, he heard more clearly the sounds of their twinned voices and, slowly, the rage replaced the pain. He could feel it running through his veins, beating in his temples and burning his stomach. He only heard them.
Laughing when he suffered so much.
As he reached the door, another musical chuckle resounded, stronger than before, making him stop in his tracks. As if to support himself, he clenched his uninjured hand around the thick wood of the doorframe, unaware of his nails digging into the hard material, his eyes fixed on the ground, his raven hair making a curtain around his pale and tense face.
This was their place. Theirs. The place where they had been happy. They had no right to be there, to soil his memories.
Slowly, he turned upon his heels in a silent and feline gesture, his fair and angular features glazed in an emotionless mask, betraying none of his real feelings. His eyes were fixed on the couple leaning against the rough bark of a tree not so far from him, fingers entwined, their bodies intimately pressed together and whispering sweet nonsense.
And the whole world disappeared.
Nothing mattered save for the dark-haired elf kissing the blond maiden. He was oblivious of his quickened breath that came in painful pants, of his straightened stance that seemed to glide on the ground like a phantom, of the menacing sparkle in his grey eyes that had dangerously darkened till seeming of the darkest black. He swallowed with difficulty as he found himself approaching the kissing couple and his heart seemed to beat more strongly in his chest.
This could not go on. The game had lasted long enough. Time to stop playing. Gritting his teeth, trying to master the furious quivering of his voice, he called:
"Elrohir!"
His voice snapped, harsh and emotionless, cold anger flaring in the usual smooth tone, contrasting strongly with the playful whispers emanating from the couple. His eyes narrowed as he watched how the two elves precipitously disentangled themselves from each other, noticing their swollen lips, the disarray of their clothing, the parts of flesh revealed in the light of the stars.
And his heart beat more strongly, like an untamed colt running in the vale. Images flashed again in his eyes, reminiscence of his own dreams. Of his own deceived hopes. Of his faults. And he hated them as he had never hated before. And he hated himself for hating them. For his inability to accept.
One of the two figures took one step toward him, leaving the shadows of the trees to go into the pool of moonlight where he was standing, revealing features that mirrored his own. The grey eyes that met his own were as hard as his and for seconds they wordlessly stared at each other, the silence became tense reflecting the fight of wills between the two brothers.
Then, with an unmistakable undertone of impatience, the younger figure snapped, his eyes narrowing and his dark eyebrows drawing a perfect arc above them:
"What?"
Elladan did not move, his features frozen, his gaze never leaving his brother's eyes. Time to end the game. Time to stop playing. He said the words he had thought he never would say, clearly articulating each syllables when he spoke, his voice threatening in its unwavering emotionless tone:
"We need to talk..."
From where he stood in that study dedicated to a world of light and shadow, Elrohir noticed that Elladan's lithe figure seemed more ghostly than ever, his alabaster skin almost translucent. He cautiously watched the slender frame that walked to and fro the small width of the place, heavy robes rustling with his pace and let his gaze roam over the magnificent body he knew hidden beneath the large fabric.
What were they doing there?
He was not sure whether either of them would be able to hold a proper conversation, but something in his mind had whispered that it would not be a reasonable idea. Even if he had wanted to tell his brother to go and bother someone else, the cold sparkling and the threatening mist hovering over the usually clear grey eyes had pushed him to follow his twin. Elrohir had always prided himself on being the most perceptive of them and he knew his brother. A simple glance toward the closed features facing him had taught him all he had needed to know. His twin was not his normal self; he had been exuding an unusual threatening aura. Elrohir had glanced toward the pink maiden he had easily seduced during the feast and had noticed the fearful glance she had cast toward the newcomer.
He had understood that a refusal would have triggered something he would not have liked to her to witness. So, he had followed his twin.
He was not afraid, even if he knew that Elladan's behaviour and reactions were more than unpredictable, changing like the wind, flickering like the ephemeral light. He was not afraid because he knew where his brother's faults lay and he had always used that knowledge to his own purposes. In spite of the fickleness of his brother's mind, Elrohir had always been able to read his intentions, to see what he was thinking.
No, Elrohir was not afraid. He despised his brother's weakness too much to be really afraid of the menacing light flaring in the bottomless orbs. He was well aware of the power he had on his twin and he knew how to use it.
Shifting against the door, he inspected the study, gazing at shelves, watching the games of shadows on the high ceiling, listening to the troubled silence.
How long since they had found themselves in the same room?
The answer came quickly, almost on its own. Answer that he tried to chase away. Not willing to listen to the voice of his heart.
'Long. Too long...'
But it did not really matter. Had it ever mattered, indeed? He had learned not to give too much attention to those details. Once upon a time they had been the most loving brothers one could find on Middle Earth. Living with and for each other. Inseparable. But things had changed. They had made their choices, taking different path. They had severed the bond between them and neither of them had ever tried to collect the scattered pieces of their broken relationship. Too proud to do that. Too stupid. Or perhaps both. They were now brothers just in name. Elrohir and Elladan, twin sons of Elrond, Lord of Imladris.
But it had not always been like that. He gritted his teeth, remembering how their love had blossomed between them when they had been younger and more innocent. He could recall well how sweet life had been then. In his mind, Elrohir had always thought that he would never love anyone else. Could never love anyone else. And he had felt that Elladan loved him in the same way. But where Elrohir was confident and assured, Elladan was gnawed by doubts. They had never spoken of them, knowing well what was hidden by the silence that had sometimes arisen between them. He had thought that with time those doubts would fade away and had left aside the worries and the pain, relishing in their special brotherhood, enjoying the mere presence of his brother. He himself had always thought that they were destined to become lovers. They loved each other in a special way. They were two halves of the same whole, incomplete when apart.
But time had not overcome the hesitation in Elladan's heart. And when Elrohir had decided to offer his heart to him, he had chosen otherwise.
His elder twin had decided that, in spite of his own feelings, in spite of his love, he did not want him as a lover. He had fled and left him behind. Leaving with their mother to Lorien in a journey that had lasted years. Leaving him behind because of those fears he had not been able to master.
Elrohir had hated his brother for his doubts. He had blamed him for the tears he had shed in his lonely bed. For the pain in his heart and in his own body. For the heartbreak. And he had learned to live alone. With the void left by his twin's absence. Hardening his heart a little bit more every day. Cursing his twin for what he had done to him. Even now, he could still remember the salty taste of his tears.
And, one day, Elladan had come back and he had begged his forgiveness, asked pardon for his doubts. Elrohir could still see the clouded grey eyes when Elladan had told him that he loved him. Loved him. But those words had come with many years of delay. Many years of pain. And he had turned his back to his twin with that simple word.
"Never..."
Never. That was what he had sworn to himself in his empty and cold sheets, when he had had no strength left to cry on himself. Never. He had felt so lonely and so empty inside. He had sworn that his twin would know the same pain as he. He wanted him to suffer as he had suffered himself. He wanted to see his tears flowing as his own had done. He wanted to see him breaking down, because he felt that, that day, he would be finally able to pardon him and, perhaps, build something new with him. But he was not sure that, that day; he would be able to pardon himself for the suffering he had inflicted. And he had taken lovers, relishing in the pleasures of the flesh to forget the pain of his heart.
It was simply too late for them. That was what he had tried to believe. Too late.
But he would have lied if he had said that he had turned the page. Within himself, he knew he would never be able to do so. He loved him. Whatever had happened, whatever would come, he would always love his twin with his whole heart. Elladan was the other part of himself. The only one who really knew him. But love between them was not possible anymore. And, in a way, that was his own fault. He could not give himself completely to someone he did not respect. Someone he did not admire.
There was no fire left in Elladan. His brother accepted his cruel unspoken reproaches and taunts, suffering in silence. He had tried to pretend indifference, but Elrohir knew him too well to be deceived by appearances. And the more Elladan averted his eyes and endured his words in silent submission, the more he despised him and the more cruel he was, willing to make his twin react and gain his respect again. To make him show that perhaps there was still a reason for Elrohir to love him.
But Elladan never did anything. He remained in dark corners, his eyes glazed in withdrawn pain. Looking at him with sad and guilty grey orbs. Making him feel at the same time the need to take him in his arms to comfort him and the need to strike him again and again. But Elrohir had learned to ignore the split of his mind.
Shaking his head, Elrohir chased away those reflections and remembered the sweet maiden he had easily seduced during the feast that was waiting for him in the empty gardens. Her lips were soft and sweet. He was on his way to discover if other parts of her tasted as good when Elladan had interfered. At this simple thought, he felt cold anger swelling in his heart for his brother. How had he thought himself allowed to interfere in such an intimate moment? How dared he? For him, Elladan had lost that right the day he had turned his back on him.
Shifting against the door and taking a few steps toward his pacing twin, Elrohir impatiently asked, his icy voice reflecting the insulting contempt he had learned to feel for his brother. He had more important matters to attend tonight.
"So, Elladan? I thought you wanted to talk, not to explore the library!"
Hearing those words, Elladan halted in his tracks, his well-drawn and noble profile clearly standing out in the moon light, his alabaster skin glowing in the semi-darkness. Slowly turning on his heel until he faced his brother, the elder twin straightened himself for the oncoming verbal attack. He felt now how thoughtless he had behaved. He had no wish to face Elrohir. Only the powerful rage that had overwhelmed his heart had pushed him to do so. But he had regretted the words at the very moment he had spoken them. With each silent step he had taken toward that little study, he had felt his resolve dimming until it utterly disappeared now that he heard his twin's tone. The tone that reminded him of his faults. Of his failures. Of his doubts.
A few feet were separating them and from where he was standing, Elrohir could clearly make out the fair features frozen in an unreadable mask, his jaw clenched forcefully, enhancing his angular cheekbones. What struck him were the dilated pupils staring at him, as if lost in an absent reverie, seeming to pierce him, to see through him as if he was made a glass. But, in spite of that unpleasant sensation, he held his brother's gaze without making a move or speaking a word, impassive.
Elladan stared in his twin, feeling his brother's disdain weighing on him. But for one of the first times in his life, he refused to back down from it and to avert his gaze. He knew that Elrohir had over him the power he granted him. That his guilt had driven him too far in the acceptance of his twin's contempt. He hung on to his previous thoughts. This could not go on ay longer. He gathered his strength and called to the fire that had animated him a few moments ago, calling to his rage to support him. Calling to memories.
They stared at each other in silence for long seconds until Elladan swallowed and spoke through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a whisper, but holding an unmistakable tone of challenge.
"Do not toy with me, Elrohir... I am not sure I am ready to bear these little games of yours tonight..."
But the younger twin did not seem impressed by his brother's unusual rebellion. Rather the contrary. Something like an amused smile ghosted his lips, as if he accepted the unspoken bet of making his brother bend as he had learned to do during all those years. Elrohir narrowed his eyes and unconsciously adopted a stance that looked very much like his brother's. Slightly tilting his head on his right, not giving much attention to the few wild strands of hair falling in a cascade in his face when he did so, he repeated, his syllables clearly standing out, his tongue rolling his words on his palate before letting them go, taking his time to speak, as if reporting an utter evidence:
"Games? But I do not play. This is no game, Elladan... I have stopped playing games a long time ago..."
Straightening himself and passing a steady hand through his dark mane, tucking the rebel locks behind his delicately pointed ears, he added, his voice becoming suddenly cold and unfeeling:
"If you made me come for in order to insult me, I will go back to the garden..." He paused as if to enhance his following words. His voice became faintly honeyed when he added, knowing well what effects his little speech would have on Elladan: "Someone more pleasant is waiting for me there..."
Elladan's sharp intake of breath was the only sign that his twin's words had not missed their target. His composure did not change, his head still held straight and his gaze unwavering. But he did not remain silent for a long time, as he saw again the couple kissing in the gardens, touching and groping like two animals in rut, a vivid memory that made anger flared anew in his voice.
"How dare you? In our garden! Take her somewhere else. Wherever you want, I do not mind, but not there!"
Elrohir was really puzzled by the sudden emotion in his brother's voice, emotion that he did not even care to conceal. Their garden? What an odd expression... Their garden. Yet, it was true. That was the place where they had always found themselves. That was the place where they had been happy together. But he had erased those memories. Erased them because they were too painful and helplessly pushed him toward his twin. Their garden. He had to admit that he would have never thought that his brother would have given so much importance to such a detail. But he shook his head, refusing to be moved by old memories.
Dismissing his brother's words with a casual gesture of the hand, he answered:
"Do not take that offended expression. I thought you wanted to forget what happened in that garden. Wasn't that what you told me?"
He cruelly smiled when he saw the flickering light of pain in his twin's eyes. He liked that as much as he hated himself for doing it. He could feel the rush of his blood in his veins as he spoke. He could feel the power he had over his twin. Power to make him feel bad. Power to crush his will. Power to make him suffer. It made him feel like a lazy feline playing with his prey. Relishing the sudden stiffening of his brother's shoulders, he inquired with a sensual smile:
"Do you know a better way to replace disturbing images than by replacing them with others more pleasant..."
He wanted to push his brother to the breaking point. He wanted him to crumble. To weep as he had wept. He knew that he was merciless with his twin, but the sensation of power, of might was too intoxicating. He had come to need it as others needed air to breathe.
But Elladan refused to let himself be lead as before. Even if his twin's statements hurt him. He understood the insinuation behind the words. He knew what Elrohir was trying to do. Trying to awaken the guilt that was gnawing at him as it had done many times before. The guilt that had prevented his living for so many years. The guilt that had made of his life the hell that it was. He clenched his hand into a fist pushing the unwanted sensation aside, but feeling its familiar touch against his mind. His eyes darkened by anger, forsaking any attempt to pretend being indifferent to his brother's doings, he spat:
"Do whatever you want, but not there. It is enough to see your debauchery in any other place."
Elrohir's rosy lips formed a short-lived 'o', accompanied by an eloquent shrugging of his dark eyebrows. He took a few steps toward his brother, feeling again like a cat circling his defenceless prey, his voice holding an unmistakable undertone of mock concern and surprise.
"But what do I hear in your voice, Elladan? Is it jealousy? Want? But if I recall, I offered the same to you and you refused..."
Elrohir's features hardened when the ephemeral image of his brother's livid features flashed in front of his eyes, reminding him of the night when he had briefly tasted the heaven of his twin's lips before being cast aside. His lips contorted in a parody of smile, his jaw clenched in remembrance, he repeated, making his words echo in the heavy silence hovering upon them:
"You refused..."
He knew he was aiming his words into his elder brother's heart as surely as he would have aimed the most sharpened arrow into the centre of a target. They were twins and knew each other, knew where their strengths and weaknesses lay. Such knowledge gave them the power to strike mercilessly each other.
Elladan felt the guilt that he had cast aside coming back, attacking his heart in the usual drills and this time, he was unable to contain it. Yes, it was his fault. His fault. Fault, which he felt the weight a little bit more every day. But had he not enough paid? Had he not suffered enough? Why was his twin trying to torture him more? He closed his eyes briefly to open them again, staring in the well-known eyes watching him. There were many hidden things in Elrohir's eyes, but dominating all the others was that accusing sparkle of light.
He could not understand anymore. Why? Why did his brother only find pleasure in hurting him and hurting him again? He loved Elrohir. He loved him and he needed him. Wanted him as he had never wanted anyone.
Willing himself to regain at least a pretence of control over himself, he broke eye contact and walked toward the desk close to him, seizing in his strong hands the back of a chair, oblivious of the sharp ache that shot through his injured fingers. Turning his back to his twin and snarling, he spat, pain clearly underlying his words, hoping that his admission would make his brother stop:
"Do you think I am not aware of that? Do you think I have so little memory?"
But Elrohir did not satisfy himself with that vague answer. He wanted to see his brother's face when he would admit his true feelings, when his mask would slide to the ground and shatter. Approaching his brother from behind, he followed, his voice taunting, willingly cruel, wanting to trap his twin, to confront him:
"So, why? Do you regret it now? Do you think that you would have liked being in their place?"
Elladan's fingers clutched more forcefully at the hard wood of the chair and he closed his eyes in the same time as he gritted his teeth. What could he answer? Should he speak of his unbidden fantasies? Of his dreams when he imagined Elrohir's hands touching him, loving him? Should he explain how he caressed himself, closing his eyes to pretend that it was not his hand, but his twin's? Should he lower himself thus to earn his brother's forgiveness? But he knew in himself that Elrohir would never be satisfied until he had broken everything in him.
"Stop what you are doing!"
His voice was barely more than a whisper, holding a heart-wrenching plea as much as an unmistakable threat. He could feel the last remnant of his control slip away. But Elrohir was too far gone to notice his brother's state of mind. He took another step toward his twin, now separated from him by a few feet and he asked:
"Why? Why should I listen to you? Why?"
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. He took another step, his feet not making a sound on the soft carpet. Then he continued, his voice increasing in level with each word until it became an uncontrolled scream.
"You are nothing to me now! I would have given you everything! Everything! My love, my life! But it was not enough! Not enough!"
He paused for a brief second, as if realizing what he had just done. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the heavy air of the study, before adding in form of conclusion, his voice oddly quiet after his outburst: "And now, you have lost any right to tell me what I should or should not do..."
Always his fault. His fault. Elladan shook his head, his raven mane falling in his eyes when he did so and he pushed it aside with his uninjured hand. In his head, he could hear his brother's voice taunting him, rising in shrill notes before lowering and dying off, twirling, swirling, never ceasing, torturing him. Using his guilt against him. Using his weakness against him. He felt his composure crack and tears gathering in his eyes, but he blinked quickly to prevent them from rolling on his cheeks. He wanted Elrohir to stop. Nothing mattered save for those words he wanted to stop.
In a furious move, he swept with his right hand the many layers of papers scattered on the desk, sending them flying to the floor. He forcefully bit his bottom lip, turning quickly on his heels. They were close from each other. So close that he could almost feel the tempting breath on his fevered skin. But he did not mind. He only wanted this to stop. Wanted the pain and the guilt to stop. Wanted Elrohir to shut up and stop torturing him. He couldn't take it anymore; he could feel the grasp he had on his sanity begin to slide away. Like a possessed soul, he yelled:
"I tell you to stop that, Elrohir! Stop that!"
But his younger twin did not see the warning clearly written in the darkened eyes, in the feral stance and in the scream that had left his brother's lips. He was too taken by the memories of his own pain to see the mirror of his suffering in his twin's eyes. Had he seen it, perhaps would he have backed up, frightened by Elladan's look. But he did not see it and followed, his voice cold and insulting:
"Tell me Elladan. Does it bother you to think that I take my pleasure somewhere else?"
Elrohir did not see his twin launching himself at him. But, he clearly felt the bookshelves against his back, the thickness of the books digging in his flesh. His eyes narrowed in surprise, but before he had the time to react and push his brother aside, a long-fingered hand seized his neck and the other forcefully grasped his shoulder while a warm body was pressed against his own. A pair of grey eyes stared into his own, cold and dreadful, and for the first time, he did not recognize his brother. The elf in front of him was a complete stranger, whose feral expression sent a shiver of fear running the length of his spine.
Elladan watched the hand that squeezed his brother's neck. It felt odd. As if far from his own body. It was not him, and, yet, it was. He wondered briefly if he had gone completely mad. He looked in Elrohir's eyes, feeling the dread hidden there. He stared into them, enjoying the mere fact that the contemptuous light had finally disappeared from his twin's eyes, replaced by something else. Through his gritted teeth, he said, his voice low and menacing:
"Does it bother me?"
Another shiver travelled the length of Elrohir's body, but not of fear. The younger twin felt a rush of blood coursing through his veins and a well-known heat gathering in his body. He tried to ignore it, and fought against the need to close his eyes. He refused to let Elladan see the turmoil he was in.
But, close as he was, Elladan felt the sudden change in his brother's stance. Bending slightly, watching the troubled features that mirrored his own and were at the same time so different, he became suddenly aware of their proximity, of the sensual forms of his twin's body pressed against his own. He felt himself hardening at that mere thought. How many times had he dreamt of holding his twin so close, to tell him how much he loved him? Now, he could. He could because Elrohir would listen to him. Listen to him instead of mocking him and despising him. Slightly tightening his grasp on his brother's neck, he explained:
"I can't stand it anymore. To see them touching you. Having you... When you are mine..."
There was so much possessiveness in Elladan's voice that Elrohir felt a rush of blood concentrate in his loins. Elladan had never spoken like that. He had always been the shy and reserved twin. But now, there was naught left of that reserve. The grey eyes shone with an expression Elrohir could not interpret. Would not. He shuddered when his brother's hand left his shoulder to caress his neck slowly and languidly.
Nervously, he bit his bottom lips, realizing how much their proximity was affecting him. He could feel another wave of heat overwhelming him, taking hold of his treacherous body. They were close. So close. He could feel Elladan's firm chest pressed against his own, one of his long and powerful legs between his, his crotch pushed against his hip, his luscious mouth so close of his lips. He breathed deeply, trying to focus on the situation, but he only succeed in inhaling his twin's perfumed scent and that increased his light-headedness. He tried to regain control over himself. Shaking his head and snarling, he spat, desirous to rid himself of his brother's presence:
"I belong to no one save myself..."
But he knew at the exact moment the words were passing his lips that he was lying. He belonged to Elladan, body and soul, as he had told him years ago. He belonged to him and would never love anyone else as he loved him. Whomever he had held in his arms, whomever had touched him or taken him, he had always had in his mind his the image of his brother, pretending at the apogee of his pleasure that he was sharing that moment with his twin.
But, even when his body was screaming his need, when he could feel in his limbs the well-known weakness announcing more pleasure, he heard the cries of his mind speaking of his tears and of his past suffering. Never, that was what he had said. Never, that was what he had sworn. And he had kept his promise without too much trouble, keeping his twin at bay with his words and his hurtful behaviour. But, as they were close, he felt his resolve weakening and he panicked. Instinctively, he tried to back up, but the shelves digging into his back prevented his flight.
Hearing his words, Elladan tilted his head slightly, his hand stopped for a moment his sweet caresses, his bottomless eyes meeting his brother's lightly glazed gaze, watching the inner turmoil shadowing the huge pupils. He could almost hear the contradictory voices fighting within his twin. He could feel in his brother the arousal as much as the denial. The latter betrayed by the fierce expression of his features, while the growing bulge against his thigh was testimony of the first.
Smiling in an enigmatic way, his body still pressed against Elrohir's, his injured hand still squeezing slightly his throat, Elladan twined his fingers in the silky dark mane, pushing the long strands aside, revealing plainly one side of his brother's face, caressing the smooth skin with his fingers callused by the handling of his sword. Then, he softly kissed his twin's jaw, sampling the aphrodisiac taste of his skin. He let his lips trail the length of the graceful exposed column, leaving butterfly kisses. They were no more than feather touches, but he felt the trembling of his twin's body. Interrupting his task, he whispered:
"That is not what you said then. You told me that you belonged to me. Forever..."
He darted his tongue and softly licked the elegant curve of the pointed ear, while his hand drew intricate pattern on the skin of his twin's shoulder, lingering in the soft hollow of the neck and added, his breath blowing on the sensitive tip of that elven organ:
"In mind, body and heart..."
Elrohir's heart raced in his chest. He could remember speaking those words, staring into the magnificent grey eyes that were looking back at him, then bending over his twin and kissing him softly. He could remember that they had remained thus for long seconds before Elladan had broken away, his usually clear eyes blurred and terrified. Elrohir knew that if he had closed his eyes, the vision of that frightened gaze that had haunted him would come back.
Almost in spite of himself, he turned his head toward his twin, meeting his gaze. But he saw no trace of fear or self-pity. There was a grim determination and a desire in Elladan's eyes that made his breath catch in his throat. That was the Elladan he had always dreamt of loving. A brother that would not be ashamed or afraid of his feelings for him. A twin that would force him to face his feelings and deny his oath. An Elladan that would not betray his love.
Silence hovered over them, heavy and thick, only disturbed by their quickening breathe. They did not move for long seconds, satisfying themselves with that simple gaze. They were close, their identical gaze glazed by desire and lust, their lips almost touching, their breathing melded together, brushing the fine and rosy skin of their mouths. They did not speak. They had no need for that. Their eyes did it in their places, telling their unspent and unfinished passion, of faults and impossible forgiveness. Silent understanding passed between them. They seemed to drown themselves in that unending stare.
But, all of a sudden, as if moved by the same attraction, their unnatural stillness was broken, their lips crushing together in a bruising kiss. Their tongues were battling for dominance, never yielding to each other, twirling and meeting in a fierce fight, teeth knocking teeth in their agitated frenzy. That kiss was the exact opposite of the first they had once shared. There was no more innocence and tenderness; they had been replaced by passion and violence. That furious joining of their mouths spoke of pressing and unsatisfied need, of years of hopeless dreams. Of revenge taken on each other and on themselves.
Elladan's uninjured hands left his twin's neck to circled his brother's slender waist, while Elrohir wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders. One of their hands twined in the other's dark mane, as if to prevent him from leaving.
They ungracefully stumbled under the strength of their reciprocated assault that left them needful and quivering with desire, their clumsy steps leading them into the middle of the study. Their lips never left each other, never breaking apart even to breathe. Their bodies were as close as possible, pressing their growing erections together, their hands roaming freely over their flesh, trying to divest each other from those cumbersome clothes without parting. Elrohir was the most efficient, with a victorious groan, he unlaced his twin's robes and let it slide on the floor, revealing Elladan's broad chest. Without waiting, he lightly stroked the smooth and silky skin of the firm pectorals, circling an already erected nipple between his long fingers and rolling the little nub between them, enjoying the purring coming from his brother's throat as he did so.
As they blindly moved through the room, their limbs entangled in a desperate embrace, staggering like intoxicated humans, Elrohir's legs encountered a chair that fell to the floor with a crash resounding against the high ceiling and bookshelves. He felt himself falling backwards but his twin's strong arm supported him, preventing his fall and bringing him close. He complied when Elladan gently pushed him back till his knees felt a piece of furniture. The sound of crumpled paper that sounded under his feet told him that they were against the heavy wooden desk.
Elladan broke apart with a groan, keeping for a short second his twin's bottom lip between his teeth. They did not speak, both panting like wild animals, their breath coming in ragged and noisy expirations. Without letting go of his wanton twin, his arm still circling the slender waist, he tilted his head, gazing at his image, noticing the dishevelled state he was in with his ruffled strands framing his pale face and the glazed and hazy eyes that seemed to challenge him to take what was offered. His eyes fell then on the slightly parted lips, luscious and swollen, like red and ripe fruit begging to be picked, calling to his own mouth for many other kisses. He felt his cock twitching in his leggings at the sight and his own breath quickened suddenly as an enticing tongue dampened the dry lips:
"Mine..."
The husky words left his lips, as he gazed at the beautiful figure in front of him. He would never forget that image. His brother, his twin, the only one that had so much power on him, the only one that could make him suffer and weep, the only one he had ever wanted. His. For the first and perhaps only time. But he would see to it that he would never forget that night. He would claim him as no one had ever claimed him; Touch him as no one had ever touched him. Fuck him as he had never been fucked. He would give him something to remember forever when this was over, something to regret when Elrohir returned to his cold and mistrusting self. When the night died and the day would take back his rights.
With a hand that did not quiver and did not show any signs of impatience, he stretched a hand between their bodies that were still intimately pressed together and began to unlace the robe covering his twin's magnificent form. He suppressed a shudder of pure pleasure when Elrohir flexed his hips against him, bringing their groins in contact, rubbing their erect shafts together in a slow and maddening motion, sending heated chills to his loins. But, in spite of the arrogant teasing, he focused on his task, his nimble fingers making a quick work of the knotted laces. Finally, the offending fabric fell on the floor, revealing the strong chest, the muscled pectorals, taunting dark nipples and the flat abdomen. His brother was beautiful, even more than in his memories and in his dreams. Perhaps, because this was no dream but a maddening reality.
He laid the palm of his uninjured hand, fingers parted, on the firm stomach offered to his sight, feeling his heart beating a little more strongly in his chest when he heard the soft sigh from his brother's lips. He slid his hand on the smooth skin, enjoying the enticing sensation, stroking the strong muscles, drawing intricate patterns on his twin's body, while murmuring in a low murmur, as if trying to convince himself:
"Mine to love. To pleasure. To take. To touch."
His hand moved lower and lower, reaching the laces of his brother's leggings, ignoring his twin's moves to get closer to his hand. Elrohir had not uttered a word, watching through half-lidded eyes how the long-fingered hand caressed him. He could not speak, his mind did not respond to him anymore. But he satisfied himself with feeling. Simply feeling. Tomorrow would come early enough with its share of problems and questions, but for the moment, he only wanted to feel.
Biting his bottom lips, he muffled a moan of impatience and lowered his grey eyes to watch his brother's hand. The long and calloused fingers. The large palm. The strong wrist. The nails short and square. The hand of a warrior. Another wave of fire flowed through his veins as he imagined that same hand touching him in much more intimate place. Need made his head spin. He could feel his blood beating furiously his temples. It was as if his twin's piercing gaze had ignited in him a burning inferno of desire. A fire, which only Elladan could put out. A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips as his throbbing erection was freed from its tight prison of cloth, standing proud and straight, emerging from its nest of dark curls and bobbing toward his navel. At the sight of the long and thick ivory shaft, an appreciative whisper left Elladan's lips, a whisper that made his stomach tighten in anticipation. He felt his leggings sliding the length of his strong legs falling to his ankles, the soft caress of the fabric on his fevered skin sending thousands of light tickles in his limbs.
Elrohir closed his eyes when he felt his twin's hand closed into a fist around his erect member and began a stroking motion. He leaned against the sloppy desk, his round and firm buttocks encountering the hard wood he knew that his legs would not bear him any longer. He felt lost in the sensation awakened in him by Elladan's hand. Something in him stirred anew as he discovered how much he had missed his twin's touch. But he was not able to ponder it. He was like a broken doll in those knowing hands. His mind was in an utter haze and he could not think properly. All that mattered was the insane pleasure that took hold of his body. One of his hands grasped the edge of the desk while the other came to rest on the hollow of Elladan's shoulder, his nails digging forcefully in his twin's flesh.
Feeling the unspoken need in his twin, Elladan increased his pace, listening to the uncontrolled moans escaping his brother's lips as to the most beautiful music, watching the undone features as the most beautiful painting. Relinquishing in the knowledge that, for now, Elrohir was his. Completely and utterly his. Writhing in need in his arms. Moaning his name. Wanting him. And him alone. Bending over the offered tempting neck, he kissed the pale column of flesh, then he licked his brother's ear, lingering on the delicate curve before vigorously sucking the sensitive tip, his other hand stroking one of his brother's tempting buttocks. Elrohir was close. Very close. He could feel it in the way his brother was bucking in his hand. In the way he had thrown his head back, his dark hair falling in a wild cascade down his back. In the way his cock was weeping creamy tears against his fingers. Elladan's other hand forsook his twin's luscious rear to seize a narrow hip and to prevent his brother from bucking. Then, he stopped all motion and let go his twin's erection.
At the loss of contact, Elrohir's eyes snapped open and he instinctively thrust his hips, seeking the needed friction. But Elladan's hand on his hips prevented it, maintaining him against the desk. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his fevered spirits, giving an interrogative gaze to his twin. The question that left Elladan's lips surprised him.
"Do you want this?"
Elrohir stared at his twin, noticing the need in the darkened pupils. A need that matched his own. Noticing the determination that had not died out. His hand shook as he reached his brother's chest and slid his palm against his body. Yes, he wanted this. Wanted it more then he had thought possible to want anything. He wanted to be taken, hard, to appease that fire. To have what should have been his many years ago. Perhaps this would be ephemeral. Perhaps tomorrow Elladan would go back to his former weak and doubting self. But he did not want to think about it now.
Elladan knew he had to ask the question. Because he wanted to hear his brother's answer. Because he wanted his twin to remember that he had asked for it. Begged for it. Submitted to him. His breathing became shallow, his blood coursing through his veins in a wild race, as he watched in awe his brother began to unlace his leggings, freeing his engorged sex without touching it. His cock quivered in soft anticipation as his brother turned around, leaning against the desk, his hands resting on the wood, through the few papers remaining on the desk, presenting in a most inviting way his attractive buttocks, back arched and legs widely parted, speaking in a commanding tone those short words that he had always dreamt to hear.
"Take me..."
He did not hesitate. There was no time left for hesitation and doubts. He approached the tempting body, resting one hand on the firm offered rear and began to prepare his brother, using their mixed precome to lubricate the dry opening and to coat his own erection, trying to ease the way. He did it quickly; encouraged by his twin's wild bucking as he tried to impale himself further on the long fingers plunged in him. Then, withdrawing his hand, he replaced them by his pulsing erection, sheathing himself slowly in his twin's arse, stroking the protuberant vertebra of his twin back as he did thus, suppressing the deep groan of pleasure that came to his lips when he felt himself tightly enclosed by the walls of his brother's passage.
Air had become heavy and sweat clung to their skin. Neither of them spoke for a brief moment, as if savouring the silent intensity of their intimate connection. Then, they began to move together, instinctively knowing how to give each other the most pleasure. Slow at the beginning as if to become acquainted with themselves, their motions acquired a kind of ecstatic frenzy after a few thrusts. As for their kisses, there was no tenderness in their joining. No softness. No apparent love. It was rather a quest to quench an inward thirst. A thirst that tormented them for a long time. Thirst for each other. Need to unite their bodies and their minds. They felt themselves moved by a greater and higher will, as if someone was commanding them. Moved by a need they did not understand and did not even seek to understand. It was not gentle. It was not tender. It was a race. A race toward pleasure and completion. It was a fight. A fight between their choices and their needs. Between themselves. A fight that could not be won, even if they were not aware of it.
Elladan's fingers dug forcefully in his twin's hips as he slammed himself deeper and deeper into the welcoming heat of his brother, feeling the clenching of his twin's muscles around his engorged cock, seeking to go higher and higher, to reach the edge of the heavenly pleasure. Sweat was blinding him, falling in heavy drops in his eyes, but he did not care. He could only feel the waves of intense pleasure coursing through him and by the deep cries from his twin. Then, an orgy of colours and sensations exploded in front of his dilated eyes as he felt his twin's muscles clenching around him one last time, enveloping him in an irresistible embrace that sent him over the edge. His low growl of pleasure blended with his twin's shriller one and he collapsed on the form of his twin. His chest on his brother's back and his head in the hollow of his blade-shoulders, he inhaled deeply the salty scent of his twin's skin, feeling utterly exhausted but also completely at peace with himself. A sensation he had not felt for a while.
Then, he felt it. A spark of light. Fine and fragile. But dancing in his mind. A flickering light that brought back to life the bond between them they had once willingly severed. It was like a warm and comforting presence, something he had not realized he had missed. Gently, he felt his twin's mind touching his own, opening itself to him in the vapours of their spent passion like a blossoming flower. And suddenly, a wave of memories assaulted him, vivid images of a past he had not lived and had not shared. He felt despair, hope, love and hate. He knew that Elrohir was experiencing the same thing.
He rolled over, leaving his twin's warm body with a shiver, feeling the few papers remaining on the desk sticking to his damp skin. He remained there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his breath quieting slowly, unable to look at his twin to know he was dealing with those memories that were not his. Unable to look at the one he had caused so much pain. He had known it. He had known that he had broken his beloved twin's heart. But knowing and feeling were two very different things.
He did not raise himself when a crumpling of paper betrayed his brother's movement. He did not dare. He heard the soft rustling of clothes when Elrohir dressed. He listened to the light sound of his steps on the ground as he walked toward the ground and the clink of the door announcing that his twin had left. But he did not move. He did not look up. He remained there, lost in the whirlpool of sensations he had not expected to find in his brother, his eyes blindly staring. Never had the future appeared less certain to him.
He was lost. Like an elfling walking alone through a great forest.
He was waiting. He did not know for how long he had been sitting there. In their garden where so many things had happened. Where their fate had changed so many times. He was waiting. He would come. He knew it. He felt it. No matter how much time it would take. But he would come.
Time passed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He did not know. He did not care.
When he finally felt his presence, he did not move, did not speak. Did not even blink, his eyes fixed on a little golden bird perching on a branch. He listened to its song, not giving much attention to the noise that the light feet on the grass made. He did not avert his gaze from the little animal, as the newcomer silently sat next to him, making sure that were not touching.
Neither of them spoke, both absorbed in the thoughtful contemplation of that happy place of their childhood. More time passed, but they still remained silent.
Finally, Elladan broke the silence, his gaze unwavering, still fixed on the same place. He had decided that he would accept Elrohir's decision as his own. He had realized that it had always been like that. He might have been the elder, but Elrohir had always been the leader, the most assured of them, the one who decided for both. His voice was soft in the cool day, not showing the turmoil he was in.
"Well..."
Elrohir did not look at his brother. He had no need to look at him to know what he was feeling because those emotions were also in him, the reawakened bond uniting their minds as one. He would have liked to speak, but he could not. He could not because he did not know what to say. It was a frightening impression. Elrohir had always prided himself for being sure of himself, taking quick decision. But he had realized that in fact he had never known anything, learning to believe some truths, taking them as certainties and replacing them by others when they were not satisfying anymore. He had learned to love his brother, to hate him, to despise him. But none of those feelings were really his. There was no certainty anymore in his world and it frightened him.
He swallowed with some difficulty and said softly, admitting without shame:
"I don't know..."
Elladan did not move, listening as much to his troubled senses as to his twin's voice. They were both in the same state of mind. Troubled and upset.
His twin's silence encouraged Elrohir to follow. He bit his bottom lip nervously and dampened them before speaking, his gaze following the path of an eagle in the clear sky.
"So many things had happened. We have made so much harm to each other. I know I love you..." He paused briefly, clenching his jaw and breathing deeply as if to contain some threatening tears: "As I know you love me. But there had been so many doubts, so many misunderstanding between us, that, sometimes..."
There his voice broke, shattered by silent sobs that shook Elrohir's frame. He could not say those words, because they meant the end of things he had believed in without admitting it. But Elladan ended his sentence, the tenseness in his jaw betraying his emotion:
"Sometimes, love is not enough..."
Elrohir only nodded his approval of those words, his dark hair falling forward around his pale face. Silence fell upon them once more, full of unspoken words, haunted by a past they did not want to acknowledge, not understanding how they had let things go so far. Only time would tell them if, for them, love would mend the wounds of the past.
The end