Push

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Elrond begins to see changes in his eldest son.  Changes for the better.  All Sindarin names here!  This story is directly related to "Cleansed" and "Life" (takes place right in the middle of "Cleansed" between the second and third scene).  Prepare yourselves for the genderbending!  And for family feels and stuff.  Takes place in Imladris in the mid-Third Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or the Silmarillion

Pairings: pre-Elladan x Fem Maeglin

Characters: Elrond, Elladan, Fem!Maeglin (mentions Celebrían, Arwen, Elrohir, Maedhros, Maglor, Elros, Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Aredhel)

Warning: non-canon compliant AU, Rule 63!Maeglin, non-canon pairings, foresight (hinted), mentions assault, rape and death amongst other things, lots of self-hatred and guilt

Song: Mighty Rivers Run

Words: 1,653
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push (verb): to press against with force in order to drive or impel; to thrust forward, downward, or outward; to press or urge forward to completion
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/push

If there was one thing Elrond understood, it was mourning.  If there was one consistency in his long existence, it had been the loss of kin and friend alike to the forces of darkness.

Death was not new, nor were suffering and despair.  Seeing those around him in pain had been a constant since his youth--be it his adoptive parents, his brother, his king or his people.  It was one of the reasons he had chosen the route of a healer in his younger years, to soothe away that pain and, maybe, help those around him, no matter how small his contribution.

Still, all those years had not prepared him for seeing his wife suffering.  Fading.  Nor for the grief that came from losing his spouse, from being unable to help her or save her.  Celebrían had been shattered beyond repair.

He had not been selfish enough to ask her to stay.

The agony of watching her disappear for the final time, knowing it would be many long years--centuries or millennia--before he once again beheld her beloved face or felt the brush of her familiar, comforting presence, it had been near overwhelming.  Even the loss of his twin brother could not compare to his separation from his mate.  To the tear that seemed to rip the seam of his soul open down the center.

But he was good at enduring.

His children were not.

They had never experienced true war or horror or violence.  They had never had the same instinctual knowledge of the world being a heartless place full of danger lurking within every shadow and beneath every tree.

They had not been prepared for the loss of their mother.  Children never were.

Arwen was saddened.  And when she left for Lothlórien, Elrond did not try to stop her, though it ached to see her leaving the safety of the Valley when already he had lost his wife to careless travel in these dark times.  Yet, if anything, she and Galadriel needed one another.  Maybe they would be able to put the other back together, make the other smile once more.  Take away some of the wistful longing for a mother and a daughter.

Elladan and Elrohir were angry.

They were angry at themselves, though they would never admit it.  Angry that they had not rescued their mother sooner.  Angry that they had been powerless to help salvage what remained after destruction.  Angry that their father had been equally helpless and had not fought to keep their family whole, but allowed their mother to slip away.

Just angry at the unfairness of it all.

Though he understood, Elrond wished he could do something to change their minds.  But thoughts were not so easily manipulated and self-hatred not so quietly muted.

Without any options, he settled for watching from a distance.  For trying to make sure they did nothing too reckless or too wild in their moments of sightless rage.  He made sure they did not venture to the wilds alone.  Made sure they never had a moment's rest to stew in their fury and resentment.  It was, perhaps, a hopeless course of action.

There had been no other course to take.

But now, as he watched his son pacing back and forth across his study floor, Elrond felt a little spark of hope reigniting.  For the first time in a long time, he could see his son in a mood other than "angry" or "depressed".  For the first time in a long time, Elladan was actually concerned with someone else rather than his own miserableness.

"What is on your mind, ion-nín?"

His firstborn paused mid-step, looking down at his boots and frowning.  Elrond half-expected that he would refuse to speak and stomp out of the room like a child, but a few moments of silence played prelude to hesitant initiation. "I talked to a woman in the gardens yesterday.  I think... I think I may have been excessively rude to her, actually."

It was not a terribly uncommon occurrence for his sons to be brash and harsh with others as they themselves felt the world had been to them.  Yet, neither of them had ever seen through their own haze of pain long enough to recognize another's needs or feelings since the incident.

"All she did was try to help," his son added.

Easily could he picture the reaction of Elladan.  Scathing words and acidic stares directed toward the intruder, the infringer.  Possibly shouts and threats burnished in scorn for weakness and pity.

"Trying to help?" he inquired, pretending to be shuffling through the papers on his desk rather than watching his eldest through the shield of his thick, dark eyelashes.  Watching as Elladan's hands clenched in the fabric of his tunic and twisted.

"She told me to stop sulking."

One of Elrond's eyebrows began to rise.  It took a brave soul to tell a son of such potent Noldorin blood to do anything, much less order and chastise in the same sentence.

"And I... I yelled at her... said some things that I rather wish I hadn't."

"Perhaps you should apologize."

Perhaps it would be good for you to enjoy a bit of humility.  And for you to take interest in the wellbeing of another person.

"You don't understand!" The cry was filled with pure frustration.  Elladan threw his hands up in the air and began pacing once more. "I actually grabbed her and shook her, yelled in her face and told her that she was a naïve little girl who didn't understand anything!"

It is worse than I thought, this drama... I hope this is not a regular occurrence...

"And then she told me that her mother is dead as well, that she lives with her uncle, and I..." A hand raked through his son's loose, dark hair, pulling on the untamed ends. "She was only trying to help..."

And she does understand.  The last thought went unspoken, but it was there, loud and plain as day.

This could be exactly what he needs.  Elrond hadn't seen his boy so riled--and over a woman at that!--since before Celebrían had been attacked.  He just needs a push in the correct direction.

"Talk to her," he finally said, interrupting his son's frantic worrying before those muddy boots tread a hole in his favorite rug. "Apologize to her for your actions and talk to her.  You might be surprised how much better you will feel afterward."

And it would do you some good to have a friend and companion who is not every bit as entrenched in guilt and memories of the past as you yourself are.  It would do you good to have someone who understands, who can pull you away from the road you are upon.  Away from self-destruction.

"You think... you think she will listen after what I did?" Shame-faced, the boy continued to fidget, wringing his hands and rocking as he switched his weight from one foot to the other.

"I think that, at the very least, you owe her an apology.  Your mother and I raised you better than this.  Attacking a woman over something so petty..."

Cheeks reddened and teeth worried the lower lip.

"However, I do not believe she will be terribly angry.  Most likely, she believes that you dislike her.  She might even be frightened.  But her help was offered genuinely and without malice; it would be a shame to throw it back in her face."

"I do not want to speak of mother..."

I know.  Do you think I do?  "You needn't speak of her.  Just speak about something."

It would take a great weight off my chest, knowing you had a confident.

Neither of them spoke after that for some time.  There followed the long minutes of internal debate in which Elladan wrestled with his pride and with his guilt.  With bated breath, Elrond waited for an answer.  Watched his son's face morph and twist and he sorted out the plaguing thoughts writhing through his thick head.

Until, finally, a look of determination settled and solidified.

As did the relief in his chest.

"I shall do as you suggest." Elladan pursed his lips and held his head high.  Looked into his father's eyes.  And for once, the son's gaze was not blackened with loathing and rage, but was paler with something entirely different. "Thank you for the advice, adar."

"Of course."

He watched his son go, and his shoulders felt lighter.  Like the silver shards in those eyes.

And if, the next evening, he spied on his son talking to the maiden in the garden, well, none need know anything about that.  About the little smiles that curved upwards lips long bent downward with the resilience of iron.  About the glimmer of adoration that took up residence and brought something other than the shroud of death to his son's gaze.

Elrond was just glad to see his distraught child looking so... happy.  Letting go, finally, of the mourning and the pain.

Allowing someone else into his heart.

After all, every spirit needed all the happiness and comfort they could find in times like these, with war brewing ever-present upon the horizon.  Every droplet counted.  Gathered and gathered into something tangible.  A future worth looking forward to.

A future he could see when his son reached out to touch the maiden's hand and she smiled back at him, fingers brushing his cheek...

Yes, the young woman with the dark hair and the sad eyes, with a big heart full of compassion and the gentle voice ringing with sincerity, was exactly what the child needed to push himself from the quicksand of mourning.  To start anew.  And to create something beautiful from the ashes.
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Because I feel like it, we are talking about the song first.  Namely that I love Mighty Rivers Run, but I couldn't tell you what it was about to save my life.  The chick's got a pretty voice and all, but she lacks clarity in the vocals sometimes.  In any case, it's more about the feel of the song to me than it is about the lyrics (as I'm sure all of you who actually read this crap already know).  So listen and enjoy.

On the other hand, the piece itself is, of course, heavily inspired by "Cleansed".  This entire arc has been abandoned for ages and I'm trying to resurrect it because I have plans!  Well, not a whole lot more for Elladan and Maeglin beyond the obvious, but for Elrohir and some other characters.  I also wanted to touch on the whole thing with Elrond's wife.

Now isn't that a debate we don't want to get into.

Most people don't know that she or the twins even exist, nor that her mother is Galadriel (or that Galadriel and her husband are not, in fact, wood-elves, but are Noldorin and Sindarin respectively and thus Elrond's children have heavy Noldorin and Sindarin influences--from the same two damn families--on both sides.  No wonder they're stubborn!) and it drives me nuts.  Therefore, at some point I must write about her.  I just haven't figured out when yet LOL.

Ignore my ranting.  I'm just going crazy.