Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or Lord of the Rings
Pairings: pre-Elladan x Maeglin
Characters: Maeglin, Elladan (mentions Elrond, Elrohir, Celebrían, Turgon, Idril, Aredhel and Eöl)
Warning: extremely AU, not slash, rebirth, shameless genderbending, mentions of death and betrayal, semi-graphic memories of torture, allusions to rape, minor violence, crying
Song: I Will Be
Words: 2,718
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
cleanse (verb): clean; to rid of impurities by or as if by washing
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/cleanse
Her first encounter with Elladan was tense and full of white-hot rage.
It wasn't shocking. Everyone in the valley knew of the tragedy that had befallen the House of Elrond. And everyone also knew of the dangerous and unstable reaction of Elrond's twin sons to their mother's capture, torture and departure to Aman. Like a shroud of death and mourning, the sorrow of their Lord and the hatred of his sons laid heavily over their blessed valley as a long storm lingering at the base of the mountains that refused to dissipate and let the land recover in light.
It rained. And rained.
To Lómiel, this was nothing out of the ordinary. Her past had been full of these long years, years spent wishing her mother had never thrown herself in harm's way for the sake of a useless, ungrateful child, wishing that her father's love for his family would have stayed his prideful, tragic actions, wishing that the only family she had left did not look upon her as a curse and a burden of remembrance with their dark, leery eyes and pitying glances.
Such had been the existence of Maeglin of Gondolin.
And though that was another lifetime ago--another lifetime of chilled, unrequited love and passion turned to hatred and bitter longing--her actions still laid heavily upon her heart and always would, an equally dark and mournful storm of self-hatred and guilt that would never break apart to reveal sunshine overhead.
Happiness was not a gift she would ever wish for or ask for, not now and not ever. She dared not think herself worthy of such mercy. But there were others who deserved it, and that it was brutally ripped away rankled her as nothing before. She, as many other occupants of the valley, wished she could do something to help their beloved Lord and his sons recover from tragedy and heartbreak.
Until that fateful day she would never have dared attempt to console either of the sons of Elrond. She understood that words from a stranger would not be enough to chase away guilt and sorrow.
But when faced with a weeping Elladan alone in the gardens, what was she to do?
"Are... Are you all right, my Lord?"
Her movements prior to voicing concern were soft and hesitant, barely brushing the lush carpet of grass beneath bare feet. Hearing someone so near startled the young lord so badly that she found herself with a knife's wicked edge pressed to her windpipe and a vice-like grip about her middle, pinning her arms against her sides.
A hot cheek was pressed against hers, but it was slick with moisture. The scent of salt burned into her nose.
"P-please, I... I meant no harm..." she whispered. "L-lord Elladan?"
Whatever had come over him was gone in an instant, and he threw her ungracefully upon the ground with a scoff of disgust. When she looked up, Lómiel faced eyes glistening with untamed fury, with hatred pointing outwards as a threatening blade to cleave her in two if she stepped any closer. "Foolish girl," the heir snarled, lip curling up in disdain. "You should know better than to infringe upon the privacy of others, lest you get hurt. Now leave."
"B-but, my Lord..."
"I said leave!"
She left, almost running in her haste to escape the intense wave of murderous intent in the air. But not before she glimpsed his tense jaw and glistening eyes. Not before she glimpsed the familiar pain that resonated with her suffering.
The seed had been planted and the rain continued to fall to earth.
She could hardly resist returning.
---
It was a long while before she dared "infringe upon his privacy" again, but Lómiel knew the confrontation was inevitable. She may have changed much after the Halls, but she was still herself, still naturally curious with the Noldorin stubbornness of her mother and the sheer pig-headedness of her father.
And thus she came to stumble upon the same clearing in the garden, upon the same sight of Elrond's eldest son sitting alone in the grass, staring into the distance with a scowl and teary eyes squinted against the barrage of tears beating down the gates of pride and feigned strength. No matter that he was angry and full of black hatred; Elladan was still a boy who missed his mother, who blamed himself for failing to protect her from the evil in the world.
And Lómiel could understand that better than her companion would probably ever know.
This time she didn't try to be quiet.
Elladan turned to look at her, and his eyes were piercing, sharp and accusing blades clashing violently against the shield of Lómiel's resolve. Squaring her shoulders, she walked right past the young Lord of the Valley and settled herself upon a stone bench.
"I told you to leave me alone," he growled.
"Feel free to continue sulking," she replied tartly. "I am merely admiring the roses, Lord Elladan."
"Sulking," he whispered, and she could see the fury bubbling under the surface, rising and boiling and burning. "You think I am sulking."
Lómiel had not anticipated him standing and crossing the space between them, heavy with overflowing tension, had not expected to be grabbed by the arms and shaken like a doll, had not expected the pain of deep muscle bruising as her bones creaked beneath his grasp. Had not expected to see his face inches away from her, contorted in a way she had seen only once before, only when her father had hurled a poisoned spear at her heart in an act of spontaneous and thoughtless violence.
And he shook her until her teeth rattled.
"Sulking!" Hot breath washed over her face with his shout. "A little girl like you would never understand! Maybe if I tortured your naneth to death, made her scream and cry and beg for mercy that would never come, maybe then you would understand my sulking!"
It was hard not to cry; the tears were beaded on her lashes as diamonds. But Lómiel breathed shakily and looked up at those eyes full of darkness.
"I live with my uncle," she whispered. "My nana has been gone for a very long time."
Shocked realization set in, the eyes so close widening until the whites showed. And she was released so suddenly that she nearly toppled backwards off the bench to the ground below at the sudden loss of his painful support. By the time she looked up with words upon her lips, Elladan was already gone, and she was alone.
---
He approached her first. Three days later.
"I... I am sorry... for what I did to you in the gardens... It was inappropriate behavior unbefitting an elf, and I am ashamed of my actions."
Lómiel turned towards the heir and found Elladan's eyes downcast, head bowed slightly. If there was shame in his eyes, she could not see it through the thick, dark lashes hiding swirling silver and shadows. But his voice was low and less acidic than usual, and she was inclined to believe his words and forgive his transgressions.
Of course, he didn't know that she still had bruises on her arms, and she didn't intend to tell him. The purple splotches were not visible through her sleeves, and it was not like she hadn't suffered worse. A few measly aches and some shaking could hardly compare to the time she had spent in the loving care of the Lieutenant of Angband as Maeglin. The words and assumptions about her worldliness and understanding had caused far deeper wounds. But maybe she deserved the derision.
"It is quite all right. There is nothing to be sorry for," she murmured, clutching her hands in her skirts. "You were upset, and I should have let you be, Lord Elladan."
"It absolutely is not all right," her companion growled. "You did nothing to... I should not have..."
"I was trying to help," she told him. "I pushed too far. I deserved your anger when I belittled your sorrow."
"It's not an excuse."
"Be that as it may, I shall not be encroaching upon your time alone again." And she meant it this time. It had been selfish and rude to put her curiosity above his comfort and security. Sweeping into a curtsey, she looked up at him again. "Have a good afternoon, Lord Elladan."
And she turned to leave.
"Wait..."
And paused.
"If... If you want... you are free to come back whenever you like. I would not want to disturb your admiration of the roses. And maybe... maybe I would not mind company every now and again..."
It was shy and strange coming from the normally self-assured and troubled half-elf. When she looked over her shoulder, his downcast eyes were most certainly averted from her face, and she could see that his hands were clutched tightly around the sleeves of his robes, crinkling the heavy fabric. His knuckles bled white as bone.
"I would like that," she murmured. And his hands unfurled as blossoms.
"I look forward to seeing you again." Elladan fidgeted and bowed stiffly. "A good afternoon to you as well, my Lady." And then he swept past her in a great rush, and Lómiel had the sneaking suspicion that he was embarrassed for desiring her companionship during such an intimate ritual of mourning. But she never said anything.
---
It seemed that the seed of curiosity had budded into a sprout and managed to survive the first treacherous onslaught of the elements. Lómiel found herself joining Lord Elladan in silence in their garden clearing at least once a week. They didn't speak often; sometimes he did not even look up from the scenes that played before his eyes as invisible reminders of his crimes. But she was there.
And, finally, he broached the subject that both of them had skirted around for a very long time. He, out of fury and denial. She, out of self-hatred and guilt realized and tended to perfection.
"I am sorry... about your naneth."
Surprised, Lómiel looked up at him, and he was staring straight into her eyes with his glazed orbs, always on the edge of tears but never brave enough to give in to their catharsis. She wished he wouldn't consider it a weakness to cry. But she never said, because it would have been hypocritical when she subscribed to exactly the same form of self-punishment.
"It was a very long time ago," she told him.
And he didn't believe her for a moment. It had been over a century since his mother's departure and he had not healed in the least. He understood that such wounds could linger and fester. "But you are still sad."
"It was my fault she died." And it had been. Many atrocities had been laid at her--at Maeglin's--feet in those dark days, and all of the blame and wary glances had been deserved in the end. "She took a poisoned spear to save me. She should have let me die."
"Say not such things!" Elladan, for once, looked neither furious nor despairing as he stood and crossed the space between them on winged feet. Instead, he was utterly scandalized. "That... It... Not... It is not your fault!"
"Is it not?" If Aredhel had lived and Maeglin had died, perhaps the future would have been different. Perhaps so many noble warriors and innocent citizens would not have died beneath fire and betrayal at the whims of Maeglin's madness and jealousy. "She died in my place."
And it was her fault. The writhing sea of guilt would never evaporate from her soul. Nothing could change the fact that she had destroyed her family.
"It is not your fault," he repeated fiercely, shaking his head as he knelt at her feet. His hands were warm when they grasped hers, but she would not allow that little bit of comfort--that horribly tempting lie--to assuage the pain of purgatory. "Never think that."
But maybe... maybe she could assuage his pain. Just a little.
"You should not blame yourself for your naneth's fading either, Elladan."
The soothing caress of his thumbs on the back of her hands ceased, frozen. When their eyes met, his were dark and clouded, both filled with rotting anger and with hatred, such cold hatred that she shivered before him at its icy touch, remembering other eyes filled with the same ash and flame.
"That is different," he whispered.
And she dared to squeeze his hands in her own. "No. It is not."
"It is," he hissed, and for a moment his grip was crushing. "I failed her. If we had been faster, if we hadn't fooled around like ridiculous elflings and had taken our mission seriously, we would have been there sooner. We could have saved her from... from..."
"You couldn't have known what--"
"That doesn't excuse us!" Her bones felt as though they would crack, and it took all her concentration to avoid wincing in agony. But then she remembered the feeling of having her fingernails removed one-by-one and decided a couple of broken fingers would hardly do her harm if it helped Elladan calm himself amidst the overflowing tide of rage burning through his veins. "We failed as sons and as protectors!"
"You did not fail Lady Celebrían." She pulled her hands from his grasp, and though they were already blotchy with the beginning of bruises, she cupped his cheeks and ran her thumbs beneath eyes pooled with hot tears of shame, the tears of a little boy whose world had been rent and torn to shreds. "She would have forgiven you in a heartbeat."
"No, no, it was our fault, and--"
"You did not do those horrible things to her." Lómiel forced him to look at her, forced him to see the present and not the visions that haunted his every waking moment, a torment all too familiar and poisonous. "You did not hurt her. You saved her and you were there when she needed you the most. There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened; she made the decision to travel with only a handful of guards on her own, and there was no way you could have changed her mind or her fate. You do not control the world, Elladan."
He was shaking his head, but the tears were overflowing. And Lómiel felt relief with the next deep breath of rose-tinted air. Because she could see the tears washing away the dark stains, cleansing the innocence blackened by horror and guilt. Even if it was just the beginning of something beautiful, something inside her chest tightened, a knot forming in the back of her throat.
"We should have... should have..."
"Hush..." She wiped at the tears, but more came to replace them. These tears, though, were worthy of the Lady of Mercy, tears of healing and new life. "She would not have wanted you to blame yourself for her suffering."
And he wept. Lómiel pressed his face against her stomach and stroked her fingers through his dark hair, watching as he cried out so much pain and anger bottled up inside, layers and layers of soot and ash from his ravaged reality. And she was glad that she could, at the very least, be there for someone. Just once, she wasn't a burden or a traitor, but a helper, a healer.
And maybe seeing him smile for the first time afterwards cleansed a bit of the dark stain upon her soul as well. The sunlight of his happiness peeking through the thick clouds of despair was potent, warming her down to the bones. She liked this feeling. She liked the feeling of usefulness and companionship and affection.
She liked that she could help in a way no one had ever helped her. "Would you like to admire the roses with me, Lord Elladan?"
His face was blotchy and reddened, dried tear-tracks upon his cheeks, but that little crooked smile was there on the corners of his lips. "I would be honored, my Lady."
And the little sprout was blossoming beneath Arien's rays in the wake of devastation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Um... Oops? I didn't mean for this to become so long. It's almost three thousand words long. And all this time, I really should have been studying. But I wanted to get today's prompt done because I'm really busy today (as in Tuesday that started about an hour ago here). I was worried that I wouldn't have time to work on it later, so I thought I'd get it out of the way.
It was a passing idea that got a little out of control. Rule 63!Maeglin is something I thought of while on a sugar-high this morning from birthday cake and too much coffee. But surprisingly, I actually like her. I mean, I could have made this slash, but it works so much better with Maeglin as a girl. As for the intricacies of his genderbending... Well, let's just say that Mandos thought it was a good idea and failed to mention it when Maeglin decided to give life another go.
Was listening to I Will Be sung by Leona Lewis. I like the Avril Lavigne version as well, and I couldn't decide which I liked better, but this is the one I'm stuck on currently. It sort of inspired this story and some of its message. Besides, despite his harmonic cliche-ness, I really like the song for some inexplicable reason. I can never explain why, but sometimes there's just a little something special in there that captures me.
For kicks: Elladan and Elrohir (and a flipping adorable chibi!Estel) by ~blargberries on dA. Tell me that's not adorable. You know you can't do it.
No comments:
Post a Comment