White Gulls Calling

Title: White Gulls Calling
Author : Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir
Rating: R
Warning: Angst, twincest, character deaths?
Timeline: Fourth Age
Beta: Nienna
Disclaimer: All elves and places belong to JRR Tolkien, I am only borrowing them
Archive: OEAM, Melethryn, AFF. If you want, ask and you shall receive!

Summary: Elladan and Elrohir have made the choice of mortality. But did they make the wrong choice?

Author's note: I recommend reading this whilst listening to the song, 'Into the West' sung by Annie Lennox, because that is how the idea came to me in the first place!

****


'Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end

Sleep now
Dream - of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across a distant shore'

****

The street echoed with the resonating clatter of hoof against cobbles, the dissonant sound descending through the deserted buildings. Grey colonnades, finely sculpted, witnessed the passing of the two beasts, for there were no others left to remark upon the arrival of the well-matched horses and their riders. The elegance of the carved stonework spoke of fine craftsmanship, far beyond the skills of Men, for these were residences not of the Edain but of the Eldar, albeit abandoned. Yet others had made homes within the deserted rooms; birds, foxes, wild creatures who did not fear the imbued echoes of elven life emanating from the stone roofs, walls and floors, speaking silently of a long-gone power.

The two brown horses drew to a halt in front of an imposing edifice within the main square. The building had obviously once housed a lord of great stature, yet here too there was no sign of life save for a flutter of pigeons to and fro from the balconies of the upper floors.

The two riders dismounted; first one, who then aided the second. Their movements were slow and careful, as if the slim bodies were in some way restricted. The first drew back the hood of the grey wool cloak of the other, revealing the face of the second rider. The face was beautiful, as one would expect of a Child of the Firstborn. Elegantly proportioned, the cheekbones were high, the nose straight and proud, the lips curved in a gentle bow. The grey eyes were startling, a silver-grey that held thousands of years of knowledge and history. The face was old. And tired.

The once-dark hair, so luxurious in its sweep back from the high forehead, fell softly onto the elf's shoulders, and was liberally sprinkled with hairs of white and grey. The peaked ears cut through its fall, as the tops of the mountains might be seen over swirling cloud tops. If any but his companion had turned back the hood then they would have drawn back in surprise and alarm to see a member of the Eldar so ravaged by age. His companion was not perturbed however for, on throwing off his own cloak, his identical features could be seen to be similarly touched by the affliction of Men, though not to such a dramatic effect.

"We are here, gwanneth. We have arrived at Círdan's home," he said, wondering if his words had penetrated the diminished hearing. Elrohir was aging fast since their removal from Gondor - since they had accompanied Arwen to her final resting place. Elrohir nodded, touching his twin's arm in thanks. He looked up and surveyed the grey façade, absorbing the sweeping curves of the elven architects.

"So different to Minas Tirith," he said, his soft voice grating in its now husky tones. "The designs of Men are so harsh, even in the White City. Even in the designs of the descendants of our uncle." He smiled wistfully. "I hope that Eldarion is coping."

Elladan smiled, understanding Elrohir's concern. "We trained him well, meleth. Estel trained him well. It is his time, not ours. Our race has left this land, or has faded into the mists of the mountains or the depths of the forests. Only Eryn Lasgalen may yet hold some of our kin."

"Or Lórien."

A nod. "Aye. Or Lórien."

Elrohir looked up once again at the large house, but it was elsewhere that his thoughts lay.

"Do you think that they are together? Are they happy? Wherever they are?" His voice faded. "Wherever we will go?"

Elladan gathered his brother, his love, into his arms, holding the frail figure tightly against his breast.

"Hush, 'Ro. They are happyu hou holds them in his arms. Their love was so special, so pure. This was meant to be. As we are."

"Melin le, 'Dan"

"Melin le, 'Ro." Elladan straightened. "Come, let us get you into the house. You are tired, and need to rest."

Elrohir nodded in agreement. Every movement took effort, took thought and took energy that was not there. He leaned heavily on his brother's arm.

The atrium of the hall was as imposing as the façade. Latticework iron doors ahead of them opened into an inner courtyard and over the doors, winding around the high circular walls, a wide staircase of many shallow steps rose to the second floor. Elladan ignored it, knowing that Elrohir would not be able to ascend the daunting stairway. Instead he looked into all the first floorms, ms, seeking a couch to lay down his brother's sweet and weary head. Within the second chamber, he found it. Dusting it quickly, he helped Elrohir to lie upon it, draping the long travelling cloak over him like a blanket.

"Rest now, little brother. I will unload the horse and clean up a little. When you are awake we will eat something."

Elrohir nodded, and within seconds his eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed.

His eyes were closed. Not a normal state for elves, but it the the way in which men gained their rest - and those peredhil who had chosen a mortal life. Elladan sat beside his brother, his little brother, though there were but twenty minutes between them. Born second but now, it seemed, fated to die first. And Elladan would soon follow, for he was bound to Elrohir by more than blood. Elrohir had begun to age even as Estel had, late in life but with rapidity beyond that of normal men. They were as the former kings of fallen Númenor, newly re-crowned in Elessar of Gondor and now succeeded by Eldarion. Those kings had lived long, vital, fulfilling lives then age would descend upon them as a sudden blizzard hitting the heights of the Misty Mountains. Elessar had used his right to lay down his life whilst still able to make that choice - to pass beyond the bounds of Arda whilst still in possession of his mental faculties. Upon his death the king's elven brethren had relinquished their roles as councillors to the crown, knowing then that their own time had come. It was with great sadness that they had escorted Arwen to Lothlórien. There they had walked with their sweet sister, filling her final days with gentle reminiscences. She bade them leave before the final hour, and in reluctant compliance with her wishes they had done so. Their last sight of her had been as a silhouette upon the brow of Cerin Amroth, the scene of her first exchange of vows with Estel. Now she stood, her hand raised in farewell - relict of Estel and gentle, regal queen of the realm of Gondor. The Evenstar of her people.

Elladan sighed, looking now through the arched window. He could see the sky, so grey in colour, as grey as the Havens, as grey as their mood - as grey as they themselves. Trees graced the inner courtyard, and a fountain stood in its centre, but no water now ran from the outlets to play merrily in its basin. From here he could not see the sea, nor hear the pounding of the waves upon the shore, or hear the gentle lapping of water against the sheltering harbour wall. None of these could he hear - but he could hear the cries of the seagulls.

****

'What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?'

****
When Elrohir awoke he found that he was alone. He did not worry, for through his bond he could feel that Elladan was well but preoccupied. Guilt then filled his soul, for he knew that his beloved brother was taking care of the mundane activities of life - unloading the saddle bags, settling the horses and, from the aroma drifting through the house, making a meal for them. Elladan had purchased supplies for them at the last human settlement and they had arrived here in the Grey Havens with bags full of vegetables, breads, fruits and dried meats. Elrohir grimaced at the last, for he and his twin had once been noted hunters, taking down even the swiftest and most elusive of stags. Now they would be hard pressed to bring down a three-legged rabbit, and then only if it was as arthritic as them. His lips curled in a sardonic smile.
'Aye,' he thought. 'And whose fault is that?'
Yes, Elladan was taking care of living just as he, in his own way, was taking care of dying. He winced as he tried to turn himself to a more comfortable position, and turned his head to face the door, watching for his brother. His twin. His lover.
His lover. How many years now? He was too tired to count; yet the night itself was burned into his memory. A beautiful moonlit night in late summer. The heat of the day still lingered in the air, and the sheets of their bed had been too restraining. Their bed. No one had ever been able to separate them. They had been given rooms of their own as they approached adulthood, and he did use his sometimes, when they had finally grown to the point where they were able to take lovers to their beds. Quiet trysts. Playful encounters. Lovers of both sexes, eager to please, drawn to beautiful bodies, and keen wit and intelligence. And power, though for the most part they were able to distinguish those who wanted them for *what* they were, the sons of Lord Elrond, rather than as individuals. In the end though, for true rest and companionship they had sought the other half of their existence. The other half of their soul. And so it was, in the quiet of the night that they turned to find rest, to seek a cool spot in the sheets - but instead had found heat in each other's arms.
Their union had been peaceful, full of awe and wonder. They had woken, wrapped around each other as had happened so often in the past. They usually laughed and hugged, and untangled themselves, to part and turn to reclaim reverie. Not this night. The light of Ithil had shone her silvery beams onto Elladan's face, and his eyes had reflected that light - sweet, soft, bright. Irresistible.
Elrohir had leaned forward, bringing his lips to his twin's brow, moving them down to press against half-closed lids. Elladan had held his breath; no noise, no exhalation of air had escaped as Elrohir had journeyed over the fine down upon his cheek to the parted lips. His tongue had flicked out, had touched those red petals, and then had parted them to gain entrance into that moist cavern. Warm, wet, tasting of honey - he had taken his time in his exploration of that sweet mouth. He had reveled in the taste of sweet lavender, and ripe peaches, and the juice of sun-warmed strawberries. For that was how his twin had tasted in that first kiss.
He had felt a tension in the lithe body and had for a moment feared rejection. He had started to pull away, not wishing to impose his incestuous desires on an unwilling brother. But then the moment passed and the older twin had melted into his arms, hands sliding over rippling muscles. Elladan's fingers had run across bared shoulder blades to trace under the dark hair and up the sinewy neck to tangle in the silken tresses. They had gripped firmly, and pulled him down to meet those lips once more.
Body met body, gliding easily in the sweat generated by the heat of the night air and the heat of the encounter. Breaths had become tiny cries in the dark, murmurs had become gasping moans. Hands had explored, teased, pinched, plucked, probed into hidden depths. A cry, an exclamation as flesh penetrated prepared flesh and velvet shaft had entered velvet sheath. From something so small as a kiss, a union of exquisite proportions had grown. One soul divided by birth had reunited in bodily ecstasy. They were whole once more, and they had cried silently in their completion.
For Elrohir, the fear had begun as soon as the rapture had faded. A fear of discovery, of repulsion, of rejection and repudiation. Of separation, of loss. Elladan had held him, caressed and reassured him but that fear had been held in his heart for millennia. Only when their father had finally taken ship to the Undying Lands had he thought that the fear might fade. It had - for a little while. Once they had taken up positions in Estel's court as the king's advisors and elf-brothers, then the ignorance of Men had to be considered, and their love had to be hidden once more. Their duties in abandoned Imladris during their twice-yearly sojourns had provided their only solace and joy, away from all prying eyes.
Then East Lórien had been abandoned and Celeborn had removed to Rivendell, living with them for some years before making his own departure for Valinor. Elladan had rebelled against Elrohir's entreaties, clearly showing his love and bodily affection for Elrohir even in their grandfather's presence. To be fair, Celeborn had not reacted in a negative way. No indeed, he had told them straight away that their love was no secret, and that he had known of it since it had arisen.
"If Ilúvatar has chosen to place your one fëa in two bodies, then it had to find a way to complete itself, or fade from the separation," he had said. "What Eru has ruled to be, none may gainsay - or show doubt and displeasure against. Your grandmother and parents were perhaps not as willing to recognize this truth as I. I believe that their Noldor heritage made them hesitant to believe that the Valar would tolerate this, and have passed that doubt onto you. But I say that it is Eru who has the disposition of souls, not Lord Manwë and his kin. No, I have no fear that you have done ought wrong."
Elladan had been pleased and relieved at this counsel but, ever reticent in the face of the gods, Elrohir had still not been convinced. That lack of conviction had led them to this day. That, and a second fear, personal to Elrohir.
He sighed once more, lost in his sorrow and regret. He had brought them to this, had dragged Elladan into his own grief and despair. He had been so selfish where his brother had been so selfless. He did not deserve his love. Now, in the twilight of their years he had taken them from the comfort of their childhood home to this desolate relic of a vanished race, and all because of a dream - and a seagull's call.

****

'Hope fa Int Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away'


****
Elladan paused as he stood in the door of the large room, entranced by the vision before him. Elrohir had risen from the daybed and now stood by the window, gazing into the bare garden. His face was illuminated by the fading daylight, but his hair was in shadow, and for a moment it seemed that Elrohir was as he had been for millennia - dark, vital, the beautiful Elf-knight of Imladris. Although many thought them totally identical, Elladan knew that of the two of them, Elrohir was the most fair, the more slender and elf-like. He, Elladan, had taken more of his human heritage and bore the hallmarks in his broad frame and the soft pale down on his face. Not a beard - he was not like Círdan - but he had a little more hair on his body than would be seen on a pure-bred elf.
Elrohir, his beautiful love. As he stared at him he saw a face without the blemish of age, and he mourned the time before their choice.
"It was my choice really," said Elrohir suddenly, turning his head to face his brother. "I forced you to it. I am sorry, seron vell. I am so sorry." His eyes were bleak, filled with pain and regret.
"No, ind nín. No, it was *our* choice. We said that we would always be together, and we will. Always."
Elrohir came to him and wrapped his arms around his brother, closing his eyes as he lay his head upon his shoulder. He tried to formulate the words that he knew Elladan would reject, but he needed to say them just the same.
"You could change your mind, 'Dan. You could ask - you could try to go. I will be dead soon, and then you will be free and you could leave. Go to Adar and Naneth and tell them that I loved them."
Elladan tightened his grip on the too-slim form, and for an instant he too regretted their choice as he thought of their wise and loving father and their beautiful, gentle mother. The loss of over a thousand years of her presence was as a band around his heart, but he knew that for Elrohir it was so much more. It was like a lead weight within him, an anchor of self-reproach that had ever held him down, and which no amount of time could ever lessen. Elladan tried to shield his thoughts and feelings, for Elrohir did not need such negative emotions at this time.
"And what could I tell them? That I had seen you die? That I had said the prayers for the dead, then buried you and left you all alone on these shores? They would turn me away, they would deny me as being Elladan, for they would know that the real Elf-Man would never leave his brother. They would be right. When you leave this mortal coil then so will I, my bonded mate. We will stand before Eru, one heart, one soul - together, proud and strong."
There was a sob against his shoulder, and he felt Elrohir shudder as his little brother tried to repress his tired grief.
"Hush now, meleth," Elladan whispered, stroking the dark hair soothingly. "Come, we will eat, and then, if you feel able to, we will walk down to the harbour and watch the moon rise. It is a clear night and the stars will be bright. We will say a prayer to Eärendil, aye? Ask him to bring our love to Ada and Nana?"
Elrohir nodded wordlessly, and allowed himself to be led to the kitchen. Elladan had been very busy, for as well as the large bowls of stew set upon the scrubbed table, Elrohir saw evidence of his brother's labours in the clean pans, aired linens and washed work surfaces.
"Where do you get the energy from, 'Dan?" he laughed softly. "If you have any to spare then please, give it to me for I am in sore need of it."
Elladan grinned. "Well, I will sleep well tonight, melethron, I can tell you that! Besides, a tyrant of a cook usually runs an elven kitchen. Everything was packed away neatly, and clean already."
Elrohir looked around. "Aye, there was no need to bring much with them to Valinor, for the elves there already would provide for them. They only took personal effects, I suppose."
"I expect that they got a shock when Adar arrived - his library probably filled the ship!"
Elrohir laughed again, seating himself upon the waiting chair. He lifted his spoon and took a sip of the meaty broth, blowing on it first to cool its heat.
"Do you remember Erestor's panic, trying to ensure that every last notebook was filed and packed? 'It is the history of our peoples here, on Middle Earth,' he would cry. 'I will not have the elves of Eldamar say that my notations are incomplete!' Glorfindel really had a hard job to calm him down in the last few weeks."
Elladan smiled at his brother's memories but wept inside, knowing that these moments would be the last few times they would be able to reminisce. He watched in anguish as he saw how slowly Elrohir ate and noticed that the broth on the spoon was mostly devoid of the meat and the vegetables. He had taken much trouble to soak the dried meat for some time to soften it, and had simmered the stew to allow the flavours to enhance. He had even found a bottle of red wine in a storeroom and had added it to give more flavour, body and nourishment to the broth. Elrohir noticed Elladan's eyes following his spoon and, smiling wryly, scooped up a chunk of meat. Elladan watched as he took the meat into his mouth and ate it. His brother smiled in gratitude.
"You need to keep up your strength, my love, " Elladan said, but in his heart he knew that this was not true. Elrohir had very little strength left, and Elladan feared each time his brother lay down that he would not wake again. Soon, his sleep would be the long sleep of the Unending Night. He glanced out of the windows, seeing the red rays of the setting sun searing the sky.
"You have been very patient, ind nín."
Startled, Elladan turned back to Elrohir. "Why do you say that?"
Elrohir smiled. "You have been very patient with me, Elladan," he repeated. "With my whimsical ideas, and longings - and dreams."
Ah, here it was at last. The dream that Elrohir had experienced whilst in Lothlórien, the former home of their grand-dam, Galadriel, Lady of Light. Elrohir had descended into the glade of her mirror, her center of power, to feel the last resonance of her presence. He said that he had been drawn there, to that last relic of this powerful elleth. Although she had still worn Nenya when she had departed on the ship with Mithrandir, Círdan and their father, Galadriel had claimed that the power of the rings had vanished and that she was an ordinary elf once more. Elladan had snorted at that statement. Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin had *never* been ordinary - never.
Elrohir, always the more sensitive of the brethren, had rested by the side of the plinth on which the shallow bowl still rested. He had not filled it from the sacred spring, had not tried to scry even though he had the power and the knowledge to do so. Instead his eyes had closed and his dreams had come. When Elladan had found him later, his brother had seemed both confident and agitated.
"We must go," he had said. "When we bid farewell to the Evenstar, we must then travel to the Grey Havens. We must stand in the moonlight on the stones of the harbour, for I have heard the cries of the white gulls. I do not know why we have been called, but I do know that we must answer that call."
Elladan had questioned Elrohir, but his brother could give no more in the way of an answer. His conviction was so total that Elladan did not demur, but had started to make arrangements to leave after their sister had passed. Arwen's firm declaration of her wishes had hastened their departure by a few days only. And now they were here, in Círdan's kitchen, awaiting what fate had brought them.
"Is it tonight then, 'Ro? What is going to happen - is it tonight?"
Elrohir shook his head slowly. "I do not know. I did not see. I have no idea why I was sent the dream, why we had to journey here and I am glad that we came - but..." His voice faded as he tried to articulate the visions he had seen.
"I saw Nana, Elladan. I saw her in my dreams. Not as if she were in Lothlórien, and not here either but... it was in the cave where we found her, 'Dan. At first she was as she was then. Bruised, battered, broken, beaten, bloody. Violated. A wreck of a creature. If she had been an animal we would have put her out of her misery. She whimpered when I tried to touch her, screamed when I wanted to hold her. She backed away from me, 'Dan. She rejected me."
Elladan was alarmed. He had reached his mother after Elrohir had called to him from the inner cave, after he had told him that he had found her. Glorfindel and the rest of the troops had dealt with the orc filth that had abducted their mother. Elrohir had brought him to their mother and together they had tended to her. Never before had Elrohir expressed such a thought as to the disposition of Celebrían. Always Elladan had thought that they fought to salve her wounds, save her life and restore her sanity.
"She begged me to kill her, 'Dan," Elrohir was now saying. "Before I called to you, she begged me to take her life, for the orcs had already shredded her soul. Yet she would not let me soothe her, would not let me near her. Once you arrived she calmed down, but she was hysterical when with me!"
Elrohir was now almost hysterical too. Elladan moved from his chair to kneel beside Elrohir, holding him tight as the younger elf shivered, his frame trembling violently.
"Hush, 'Ro," he urged. "This was but a dream. It did not happen, for she would never have asked that of you..." His voice faltered and faded as he looked into his brother's anguished eyes, and he saw the truth that Elrohir had hidden from him for so long. His heart froze in the realization that it had been kept from him to spare him from the same pain, and his heart bled when he saw the love inherent in this tormented gesture.
"She asked me to kill her, 'Dan. She asked me to kill her. I couldn't, of course! How could I?"
" 'Ro, listen! Listen to me! She was in shock, she didn't what she was sg! Ig! It wasn't just you she asked, you know - she asked the same of Ada. Didn't you know? Nana loves us, 'Ro, but she couldn't bear for us to see her that way. Don't you remember how she loved us? Don't you remember how she held us, here in the Havens, before she boarded the boat? She told us to stay together, to love each other, to take care of each other. She *knew* about us, 'Ro, I realized that a long time ago. She knew that we were hurting, and she wanted us to heal each other."
The elf in his arms shook his head in denial, though through their bond Elladan thought that he sensed a flicker of hope flare within his lover. That hope was crushed when next Elrohir spoke.
"She rejected *me*, 'Dan, not you, nor Arwen. Me. I had always been closest to her, the one who knew her mind. The one who understood her. When I would not do what she asked, she locked me out.
"After she went to Valinor, when we took up our weapons to hunt down the orc scum who had taken Celebrían of Imladris, I killed them for her. Instead of her. I saw her face upon theirs. Every time I cut an orc throat, my mother's throat was slit. Each time I thrust my sword into a stinking black belly, I plunged my sword into her; into the place where she had carried us, under her heart. In killing them I tried to compensate for disappointing her, for not fulfilling her desperate plea."
Elbereth! Such pain he bore, and if Elrohir had borne it since their mother's injury and departure, the was was there for over one thousand years of pain. Elrohir must have hidden it deep within him for Elladan not to have read it in his mind. He must have hidden it, as if in a locked box, as if behind a sealed door. Gone, but not forgotten, like a festering sore upon his soul.
"The dream changed, Elladan," the distraught twin continued. "I saw her again, her silver hair shining in the moonlight, set against a grey background. She was holding out her hand to me but I could not see it properly. One moment I thought that she was wanting me to take it in my grasp, so that she could hold me tight. I cried as I did when we were children, when she would take us upon her lap and comfort us when we hurt or were sad.
"Then the dream changed, and her hand seemed to be held upright, as if in warning, as if forbidding, rejecting. I retreated, for she denies me still, for refusing her plea."
He looked directly into his brother's storm-grey eyes, his own silver orbs seeking reassurance.
"I had to come here, 'Dan. I had to see if she would come. It was because of her that I chose the fate of Men, 'Dan. It was for her that I doomed you too, not because of our illicit love. I could not face the possibility of rejection by her once more, upon the shores of Valinor. I did not want to see the anger and disappointment upon her face, and have her turn away our love. The dream has changed that fear. Now I fear that I may have chosen the wrong path for us. Perhaps she *has* forgiven me, perhaps - oh 'Dan, I want to see my mother! I want Naneth to hold me, 'Dan. I want my Nana!"
The outburst of weeping was as a sudden torrent, pouring down an empty riverbed - gushing, sweeping all before its path. It was intense and immense, and for a long time Elrohir cried, cried as a child bereft of its mother, as a child lost with no hope of being found. Elladan cried too, for his love and himself, full of the same loss and longing. When finally the tears abated, they remained for a long time as they were, Elladan kneeling at his brother's side.
At last Elladan rose, his stiff joints complaining at the movement after so long in the one position. He helped Elrohir to rise and silently they retrieved their cloaks before venturing forth into the cool night air. Their descent was slow, for the paths were steep and dark, but finally they were at the steps into the harbour proper. They took them carefully, one by one, and only at the bottom did they take stock of their surroundings.
The harbour was overlooked by the high buildings of the town, each frontage filled with wide windows from where the resident edhil had watched the coming and going of ships for millennia uncounted. The quays were simple, yet contained all the accoutrements of a sea port - the bollards embedded at the moorings, to which the boats were tied when in port; the coils of elven-woven rope, still furled neatly, expectantly beside them. The cobbles of the pathways had a jagged appearance as the white light of Ithil cast uncanny shadows in their joins and crevices. The calm water lapped softly at the harbour walls, and a shimmering path of silver led from the quayside across the water through the protective cliffs guarding the entrance to the bay. A path of silver, formed by the reflection of the moon's light upon the sea. A silver road. The Straight Road.
Elladan led Elrohir to a stone bench built as part of one of the sheltering alcoves surrounding the wharf. They sat together, Elrohir huddled within his brother's protective arms, looking out over the water.
"A dark night," murmured Elladan. "Dark, and yet so bright, for Ithil is held high by Tilion this night, meleth-nín. Look, there is grand-ada, come to greet us!"
He pointed into the star-filled sky at the one star that shone brighter than all others. The father of their father stood proud upon the deck of Vingilot, the Silmaril bound firm to his forehead.
"He is showing them the way, my love," he said, not knowing what he truly meant. The thought had entered his mind just as a conviction had entered his heart that tonight would see the end, in one way or another. Elrohir sighed, working his way deeper into his brother's embrace.
"So tired," he murmured. Elladan kissed his white hair, and held him securely.
"Then rest now, for you will be safe in my arms, just sleeping. I will always be with you, my soul."
A weariness came over him too, and lids closed over storm-grey eyes.
****
&&&&&&
'Don't say
We have come now to the end
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come
To carry you home'

****
Mortal flesh is weak, and is weakened further under the weight of grief. Faint hope, late hope cannot give rebirth to a spirit so far diminished. And when half a soul passes, then the other half must follow.
They did not see the arrival of the white gull on the horizon, circling the mast of the grey ship that followed. They did not see the gull swooping, seeking, spying them curled around each other on the cold stone bench on the quayside. They did not feel the cold. They did not hear the gull's cry, the anguished cry of one who knows it is too late. Of a grandmo who who had never held the sons of her son.
The despairing cry rang across the water, and on the deck of the ship a silver-haired mother and a ring-bearing father knew that their return had been too late. They wept for their sons, feeling the desperate ache within their hearts, the ache of loss that they had so hoped to avoid. For when the grey ship returned to Eldamar, it would bear black sails as it carried two sons, sons of Elves and Men, to be buried in the gentle hills of the Undying Lands.
For the last of the Peredhil of Imladris were coming home.
****

'And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West'

FIN

Elvish:

gwanneth - younger twin
melin le - I love you
meleth - love
peredhil - half-elven (pl)
seron vell - beloved
ind nín - my heart
Adar - Father
Naneth - Mother
elleth - female elf
meleth-nín - my love
melethron - beloved/lover (male)

Author's note:

Two endings were written, and the one above used after great thought. For those who need a different endinou cou can find the second version at:


http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/2543.html#cutid1