Scowl

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Elladan and Elrohir share many similarities.  Their method of mourning is not one of them.  All Sindarin names here.  This is a story directly related to "Cleansed" and "Life" and makes some fairly blatant references.  Let me remind you that the random maiden who shows up is actually a female Maeglin and not an OFC (at least, not like that).  The reaction of the twins' to their mother's capture and departure are entirely my head-canon.  Takes place in Imladris in the Third Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or any of Tolkien's other works.

Pairings: background Elladan x Fem Maeglin

Characters: Elrohir, Elladan (mentions Lómiel (female Maeglin) and Celebrían)

Warning: canon compliant AU, Rule 63!Maeglin, blatant self-hatred and possible masochism, fantasizing about violence, mentions abduction, torture and vaguely implied non-con

Song: Burden of Truth

Words: 918
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scowl (verb): to contract the brow in an expression of displeasure; to exhibit a threatening aspect
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/scowl

Elrohir sincerely did not understand.

He did not understand how his older twin brother could be so happy and carefree.  How he could smile and laugh after all that had happened.  After how they had failed.  After discovering their mothers desecrated body, used and tormented by her captors, left to die alone in the dark because they had not been present to protect her.  After they had watched her ride away into the twilight and leave them all behind.

Truly, he did not understand at all.

For he could not so much as close his eyes without the rush of overwhelming, horrifying guilt.  Could not open his mouth without feeling the telltale rise of bile slinking up the back of his throat.  Could not leave behind the sights and smells of burned and rotting flesh tangled in bone, nor the remembrance of his mother's cries.

Every time he thought of her, he felt the tears rise unbidden, but never did he allow them to fall.

He couldn't.

Instead, he put on a scowl and turned away.

He pushed aside the despair and the longing--the wistful yearning to be encased in soft, white arms and hear that familiar voice rise in a lullaby, sweet to his ears.  He didn't dare think about the long nights spent curled against pale skirts as thunder clashed in the distance or the feeling of fingers stroking through his dark hair as morning sunlight spilled into the nursery window.

He didn't dare think of anything but her captors and torturers--of their twisted features that resembled neither Elf nor Man nor anything but grotesque sculpture and wicked imaginings.  He did not allow himself to feel anything but the rage and cruelty that first surged through his veins as an inferno when he saw them crouched over her prone body, splattered in her blood and bathing in her screams.

The youngest son of Elrond let that sensation flood through his very soul, drowning out any sentiments that might dare to try and break the surface for breath.  For he could withstand that burn.  The melted inner core of his ignited spirit was a comfort, the scorching pain driving away the ache of deeper wounds, cauterizing still seeping lacerations and deep bruises.  It wasn't the same as healing, but Elrohir did not want to heal, not like Elladan was healing.

He did not want to forget.  He felt responsibility and duty to remember.  To make certain such a tragedy never occurred again.  To be sure he felt the shame and sting of his failure for all eternity.  And to uphold his duty to slaughter those who had targeted that which was dear to his heart.  To bathe in their blood and entrails amidst their terror and hopelessness, a creature of pure wrath.

Most would have said revenge made him reckless, but it was a necessary catharsis.  He donned his façade and rode off into the night alone without thought, and his sword struck down every foe without hesitation and without remorse.  And each time the sharp edge cut through flesh as butter and hacked through bone, he felt some of the tightness in his chest release.  Felt the sting of his eyes go suddenly dry.

Felt horrid relief.

He would avenge her if it was the last thing he ever did in this life.

But he did not dare try to heal.  It felt... it felt dirty and selfish.

Because it was his fault.  And his mother had not been able to heal from her wounds, nor had she been granted mercy or clemency.  The childishness and irresponsibility of her sons had brought an end to her life and sorrow to her household.  How dare he forgive himself when he deserved no such forgiveness?

And he knew that Elladan was not the same.  That Elladan would shed tears.  That he would allow all this tense frustration to seep out in bitter waves when he was alone in the dark--when he thought no one else could hear or see.  The mere thought that the older twin might be letting go of their mother's memory and of their undoubted guilt was sickening.  So much so that Elrohir could hardly bear to be in the presence of the brother he had once considered to be a very part of himself--two halves of an inseparable whole now sundered.

He saw Elladan in the gardens with a dark-haired maiden, gathered into her arms like a child within his mother's embrace, and felt such fury.  Saw him sobbing and babbling and telling all.  Betraying his duty to keep that pain bottled inside.

Whenever he felt that heaviness rise in his throat and wetness gather at the corners of his eyes, he always thought of that image and remembered that he was more devoted and less selfish than his twin.  That he would not give in and move on to weave and create and live a life that had been taken away from their mother by their immature, unprepared hands.

He would not cry when it was so much easier to scowl.

When it was so much easier to avoid the sound of her voice forgiving them both, echoing off into the darkness of his nightmares, and focus on the shrieks of the dying and the taste of blood upon his tongue.  And the feeling that, maybe, he was somehow paying back his debt.
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Let me start out by saying that this is the beginning of the merging between two arcs.  It isn't evident yet, but it will be later (if I ever get around to doing more of the other one).  I have big plans for Elrohir, and though Elladan will for sure get his happy ending (in "Life"), his misadventures in "Cleansed" have catalyzed an important series of events.  I love when things happen so very perfectly without me even having to raise a finger!

Nonetheless, there you have it.  I'm sure I've mentioned that I hate the troublesome twosome crap that people like to stereotype identical twins with almost as much as I dislike the chronic obsession all fandoms seem to have with identical sibling incest--thus you can thank the thousands of pictures of half-naked Elrondions making out for the lack of artwork in this post.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment when I'm horny.  Just not when I'm writing seriously and looking for ideas.

Furthermore, I also hate when they seem identical in all aspects.  They are allowed to be different from one another, and I'm trying to split these two personalities apart.  More characterization of Elladan would be evident, but I have a feeling I don't need to put in too much effort and worrying.  It will come all on its own with time, and I'm really looking forward to it.

The song is Burden of Truth from the FFVII: Crisis Core OST by Takeharu Ishimoto.  Once again, yes, I'm using a song from this OST.  Because I love it so much and it has so many beautiful melodies and flavors to choose from.  And, once again, I'm a sucker for piano solos.  This particular solo has a very special place in my heart because it's got that depth to it, but also a wide range of emotions.  Thus, it has wriggled its way into this piece in little bits and slices.