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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2318 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and no profit of any kind is earned by this story. Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

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NOTE: Lethe Lloyd writes amazing dark fic featuring her own compelling original character, Vanimorë, son of Sauron. She requested an xmas story about Elladan encountering Maglor, and here is my take on that. This is a much younger Elladan than I usually write and he is without his brother for most of this story, something else I've never done. We know so little about the twins, really, and so I've done the best I could. Everything is AU as usual but I hope not horribly out of character. Well, here it is spring and finally the story posts. I am sorry about the long wait and sincerely hope everyone else enjoys it, too.

The year is Third Age 425. Celebrian and Elrond are happily ruling Imladris, their daughter Arwen newly come of age and off on her first protracted stay in Lothlorien. Glorfindel is still in Aman. Arantar rules in Arnor; Ostoher rules in Gondor. The lands of Eriador are at peace; in fact the whole of Arda rests after the victory over Sauron at the Last Alliance. Elladan is just two-hundred-ninety-five years old.

~ Part One: Elladan ~

Come at once to Himling Cove. Your brother has need of you.

The note was ominous in its brevity, the elegant script scrawled hurriedly across the top of the parchment stark and startling against the expanse of blank space below, a pale void packed with dark dread. Not even a signature alleviated the severe quality of the message, but neither was any needed for Elrohir knew well the hand of his old tutor and friend. Even had he not recognised the writing, those last four words would have called him even from his marriage bed; though the place named be Mordor itself, nothing would deter his immediate obedience.

Come at once.

He had done so, leaving the sheltered valley that had been his family's home since the Second Age without notifying anyone, not his parents, not the groom who helped him saddle his mare, not the border guards who hailed him as he raced through the ford in a flying spray of muddy water. Even Echuil'laer knew nothing and assuredly his beloved would be sick with worry ere long. Elrohir cursed and drew up short, Nirmë already wet with patchy sweat more from her master's mood than real exhaustion, and they were only half way across Rhudaur. The duchy was a new colony of Arnor and with urgent words he set his horse galloping for the principal town, a humble collection of houses surrounded by a sturdy stockade.

He was well known here, he and his brother, though the people could never tell them one from the other. It didn't matter; Imladris and Arnor were closer than allies and his demands would be met without question. At the gates he leaped to the ground and landed running, cloak billowing, hair dancing, and covered the distance to the dumbstruck warden with urgent speed. The gatekeeper watched him come with eyes huge and filled with alarm, hand reaching for the heavy rope of the bell-pull, ready to sound the alert for surely some dire attack must be imminent, so anguished and desperate was the elf's expression.

Your brother has need of you.

"Quick, man, a quill and parchment!" Elrohir shouted, slowing to a stop that was not a stop, for he paced and muttered to himself as he waited for the warden to comply with his wish. At last the items were pushed into his hands and he leaned upon the rough boards of the simple table, scribbling out a terse explanation, signing it, dating it, rolling it tight. "Wax!" he bellowed, angry that it wasn't there to hand, and when the tallow dripped over the seam crushed his signet ring into it.

"Your swiftest horse and rider must bear this at once to Rivendell," he ordered, thrusting the document into the man's hands, turning and racing from the gates, whistling for his steed, vaulting onto her back as she cantered near. He didn't wait to know if his directive was carried out, no longer concerned. The warden would see to it; another short, soul-jarring missive delivered to Elrond that would only inflame his worry and chill the hearts of his wife and law-daughter to be.

Called away at urgent need. Do not follow. Look for me at the ford in one tour of Ithil.

What vain words were those, he knew, for his father would most assuredly follow, Echuil'laer with him. Yet he was certain that was exactly the worst thing that could befall Elladan right now, for the message had come to him for him alone, and so he plotted a subtle subterfuge, laying down a misleading trail by swapping Nirmë for a Ranger's horse. Nirmë obeyed and carried the man on to his destination, Carn Dûm, while Elrohir rode as if his brother's life hung in the balance, knowing it very well might. Sensing now, as he had not before ~why did I not?~ the excruciating sorrow and desperation his twin was suffering, he drove his mount past exhaustion. In such a state, might Elladan not make the wrong choice? Elrohir shook his head, clenching his jaws to keep inside the ferocious shout of angry denial that thought spawned. He would not lose Elladan, not now, not ever. There must be time, there must still be hope.

He rode for the northern coast of Forlond, the wild, jagged land where only Avarin elves chose to dwell in sight of Himling, the island forlorn and bleak, its history as bitter and blasted as the barren coast. There stood the crumbling shell of a fair castle, majestic and venerable in its ruin and rubble, all that remained of Himring, the mighty fortress of Maedhros, eldest son of Feänor the Kin-slayer.

It took him ten days to get there, changing horses daily, stopping for only that and water, devouring way-bread on the run. At the pass through Emmyn Beraid he was hailed by a guide, a scout of Avarin descent, her upswept eyes and rich red locks alien and compelling. The road was abandoned. Through unknown lands and unmapped passes she led Elrohir through Ered Lhuin, through the thick green woods of its foothills, down to the rocky shore, its surf-carved cliffs a surreal landscape of fantastic arches, turrets, and tumbled towers.

There Erestor met him, quiet and exuding great relief, gripped him at the arms, begged forgiveness, babbling about his father, madness, and the perfidy of the Valar. Elrohir could only stare in astonishment, never having discovered the stalwart seneschal in any mood but disciplined composure. Nothing he said made any sense and finally Elrohir reversed the hold, taking his old tutor by the shoulder and giving him a brisk shake to silence him.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "What has happened here?"

"Treachery!" cried Erestor, "but not on Elladan's part nor Adaren's, I swear it to you by all I hold sacred!"

Elrohir pushed past him, an inarticulate blasphemy seeping past his scowling lips, scrambling over the uneven ground, eyes sweeping the jumbled outcrops for some sign of his brother. When it came, it was auditory rather than visual, and the sound shook Elrohir to his core. Plaintive, pleading, cracked and broken, Elladan's voice rose amid the wailing winds, calling, singing, begging for someone to come back, come back and claim him, come back and gather up his heart and heal its fractured chambers.

"Elladan!' he shouted, running in the direction of the sound which rose and fell like the roar of the tide, sometimes masked by the pounding waves, sometimes mingling with it so that its frantic refrain of misery echoed, magnified and expanded until it was an unearthly noise, the screech of a soul tearing loose from the body that housed it. "Elladan!" he shouted again, bursting past the screen of boulders and broken slabs until the sea was revealed in all its endless majesty and on the strand before it, his brother.

The railing and keening ceased and Elladan turned to gape at him, eyes round with confusion and disbelief. He half-raised his arm, almost smiled, and then realisation hit and he cried out and turned away, covering his face with his hands.

Elrohir was beside him in seconds, but where normally he would not hesitate to gather his brother in a close embrace, now he feared to do so. Had he ever seen Elladan like this? Nay, not even after battle, not even after being wounded.

~Muindor?~

"Why are you here? How are you here? You must go, Elrohir," wailed Elladan, face still averted, arms wrapped around his chest, trying to cover himself with the remnants of his rended clothes, shame in every gesture, misery in every syllable.

"Go? You know I cannot. Valar, Elladan, what has happened to you?" Elrohir placed a tentative hand on the stooped shoulder, surveying the dismal state his twin presented.

Always vain about their appearance, the twins shared a proud, self-assured appreciation of the heads they turned. Never was their hair ungroomed, even before battle they were careful to bind up their locks to guard them from damage, and their attire was never less than neat and proper, silk and velvet topping leather and mail. Now Elladan's ebony locks drifted in the prevailing westerly wind, unwashed and unkempt, matted into ungainly ropes crusted with salt from the spray of the sea. His clothes were but tatters, for he had rent them in his anguish and despair, and the rags hung upon his tall frame exposing tanned flesh to the elements. His body sagged, shoulders hunched over in-drawn abdomen; his legs trembled faintly. He looked gaunt and starved as though he had taken no nourishment for many days, which was true. Robbed of moisture by the searing sun that beat down upon the forbidding shore, his lips were cracked and dry. Tormented, filled with terror, remorse, and desperation, his grey eyes were rimmed red, lashes clotted with the residue of tears.

"I do not want you here," he moaned, swaying as he ran frenzied hands through unruly tresses, clutching and pulling as though to yank the hair out. "Go home to your betrothed; there is nothing you can do for me." His eyes shifted briefly to his brother's; a shudder and a wince followed as he noted the appalled and outraged expression on Elrohir's face and turned away.

"No. Tell me what has happened," demanded Elrohir, again taking hold of Elladan's arm but this time firmly, possessively. He swallowed and forced himself to ask what he most feared. "Have you chosen, Elladan?"

"You ask me this now?" Elladan tore free and spun in fury to face him, wild and mad with grief or rage or both Elrohir could not tell, and fell back a pace from him. "Do you truly not know the answer, Muindor?" His voice was rough, replete with taunting agony; tears filled his eyes and slid away down his cheeks as a great, hoarse sob shook him so hard that he was felled.

Elrohir caught him easily and held him tight, horrified to witness this debasement and degradation, yet he could not speak for fear of being lost to the heartbreak it engendered.

"I chose the same day you chose, and I chose the same fate you did," mourned Elladan in absolute excruciation as if he had just revealed his lot to be death by slow and brutal torture. "What shall I do now? I cannot unmake the decision!" he ranted, voice cutting the air like a blunt razor tearing flesh. "How can I bear it?"

"Ai, Elladan, please, please, Muindor," soothed Elrohir and now he gave in to the tears, letting them bathe his brother's bowed head where it lay heavy against his shoulder.

For long minutes they remained thus as each poured out the salty effluence of afflicted souls and broken bonds. At length there was nothing left to give to such wretchedness as this and they fell quiet. Elladan clutched to his brother with the last of his fading strength and summoned up one last request of his twin, upon whom he had ever relied and always supported. He raised his head and met Elrohir's eyes, the courage required to do so greater than any needed in battle, for he could not bear to suffer his brother's disgust and scorn.

"Forgive me, Elrohir. Forgive me for I have paid. I have paid."

He sagged in his brother's arms, consciousness mercifully fleeing, sparing his tortured mind the answer.

The cottage was warm and close, as tidy an abode as any Elrohir had ever entered, and he was grateful his brother had found such a welcoming place to inhabit in this austere, unforgiving land. The homely touches of hand-woven curtains died a sunny yellow at the windows and soft braided rag rugs spiralled beneath his bare feet soothed his frantic worries; Elladan had not been entirely without comfort here. Outside, the storm raged, thrashing the palm trees about and throwing fistfuls of rain against the glass panes and down the chimney, where they sizzled into steam upon meeting the crackling heat of the cheerful fire. In the fringes of the flame a great pot hung and from the heavy iron vessel arose an inviting aroma of meat and broth and vegetables: a hearty stew simmered there.

The place was small, no more than six rooms, one of those a chamber for washing, another the kitchen, but it was well appointed, filled with finely crafted furniture, paintings, plants in bright ceramic pots perched on the windowsills, and books crowded into a floor to ceiling shelf that spanned the entire rear wall of the front room. There was scarcely space for the quantity of stuff crammed into the little house, but the cramped clutter lent the cottage an intimate feeling, a sense that this was a true homestead rather than a temporary abode for visitors to a strange land. Indeed, it was someone's home and that person moved about in the kitchen with the understated privilege of ownership: the Avarin guide. She appeared briefly in the parlour and handed Elrohir two tall, earthenware mugs from which arose a tangy scent. Casting a maternal eye over Elladan, she retreated to an inner room without comment.

He was stretched out upon an ample sofa before the dancing flames in the hearth, a light quilt lay draped over him, his head pillowed against a plush cushion. He was clean now and dressed in a loose top and comfortable sleeping trousers, hair dry and combed, the weighty strands gently braided just enough to keep them tame and tangle-free but not so much to be uncomfortable or confining. Bare toes peeked from under the coverlet and still hands rested placidly atop his stomach. A warm, damp cloth protected his tear-strained eyes from the lamp-light. Elladan was quiet, resting but no longer senseless, calmer though still immured in grief, easier in his skin now that Elrohir had bathed and cared for him.

"Muindoren, drink and be revived," murmured Elrohir, approaching and sitting on the floor beside his prostrate brother, bearing in his hands the mug of warm, aromatic mead. He removed the cloth and smiled into the weary, harried eyes that peered up at him, lifted the heavy head, held the cup to Elladan's lips.

What else could he do but drink? Elladan would not purposely frighten his twin, as surely he had done, and so he swallowed all the tonic readily enough. The warmth of it eased into his muscles and bones and he felt better at once, recognising that Miruvor had been added. He cocked a brow and gave his brother a wry smile.

"Ada would scold you, saying that is precious brew and not to be used lightly," he mused.

"He would deem this use appropriate," answered Elrohir softly, setting the mug aside. He passed his hand over his brother's brow, gazing on the face so like his own and yet so completely different. To one another, the idea of being identical was absurd; too much about them, the important things like thoughts and hearts and souls, was unique to ever feel they were merely reflections of one another. "Can you speak of it now?"

"Aye." He shifted and Elrohir helped him prop his shoulders against the softly upholstered arm of the sofa. Several minutes passed by in silence and with a brief sigh Elladan turned his head to gaze out at the lashing needles of grey rain pelting the muddy yard, curling his knees closer to his body, folding his arms over his wounded heart. Then he grimaced, over-burdened with the reality he must face, and let Elrohir gently draw him back to meet his gaze.
~Speak; it is just me.~

~That is what makes it so hard.~

Elrohir gave a muted cry to refute that and took up his brother's hand. "Try," he urged.

Elladan sighed again and offered a rueful smile. Did he not owe his twin an explanation? Aye, for making him worry so, for dragging him away from his beloved's side, for the divisive, antagonistic fight they'd had just six short months ago. Aye, he owed him that much.

"No," said Elrohir. "Not because you owe me. Tell me because I am your brother who loves you, who would find means to take this burden from you."

"I will try," he nodded, a surge of happiness flowing straight to his abused heart to hear this assurance. "I say to you now, ere I start, that as hard as it may be for you to listen to these things, it is a thousand times more difficult for me to say them." He paused again, scanning his brother's open countenance carefully and then he grimaced, looking aside once more. "It is a matter of the heart, Elrohir." To his surprise, his brother gave a soft snort of amused annoyance.

"I deduced as much, Muindor," he reassured, smiling when Elladan's conflicted grey depths once more met his. "I know; my words when last we talked of this were harsh. I realise how narrow my view was then. Echuil'laer has educated me well, for she was horrified to learn of our argument and its cause."

Elladan sat bolt upright, panic in every movement. "She knows? You told her?"

"Nay, Muindor, be at peace!" exhorted Elrohir, coming up on his knees and catching Elladan at the shoulders, gently easing him back down, concerned to see the thumping vein below his jaw. "She just knew, though I swear I said nothing. The day you left she stormed into my talan and blasted me in the most scathing and chastising terms. She called me things I never heard a Lady name! She would have me go after you, but I was stubborn and proud. Well, that much you know, and my obstinate disapproval drove you away."

"Mayhap I deserved your repudiation," Elladan shrugged, his cheeks colouring, the pink hue strange atop their sickly, sallow shade.

"Nay, Elladan, nay. I never meant anything like this to happen to you no matter how angry I was," insisted Elrohir. "I promise you will hear no more condemnations from me. I do not care who you desire. You are my brother and I accept you freely, gladly, and with great love." Impulsively he leaned forward and gathered Elladan close against his heart. "For all this is a terrible tragedy, you don't know how pleased I am to learn you've chosen to remain among elf-kind. I could not bear to be without you."

"Nor I without you," Elladan's words quavered under the weight of his emotion and he squeezed back, wrapping his arms tight around Elrohir as if he feared he might vanish. He let Elrohir settle him back into the cushiony stuffing and took a deep breath, yet it was some minutes more before he gathered mettle sufficient to begin the tale.

"I don't know what I expected to find here," he said, "but certainly not my soul-mate. Aye, you guessed rightly; my heart is given. Alas, it is also rejected, and therein lies the whole of it, so that even though you and I will never be parted by the gift of men, yet Aman may be the only place for me, and many long centuries could pass before we meet again, if grief defeats me."

"We will go together if it comes to that," insisted Elrohir with fervour, scanning his brother's eyes intently. "Echuil'laer will not object; she will follow me anywhere and I'd better say now that she is probably searching for me as we speak." The look of alarm on his brother's face made him elaborate. "Fear not, Nirmë's tracks she will seek and those will lead her to a place far distant from here. There is no one who knows where I have gone. It will be long weeks before she determines my real destination, if ever."

"I regret you were forced to such a course, deceiving her," frowned Elladan, "but rejoice that you have found such a constant mate." He smiled, but there was great pain in his expression and his body twitched upon uttering the simple phrase.

"Ai! I am a fool who can't keep his tongue in check," complained Elrohir, regretting his boast over his beloved's fidelity in light of the topic under discussion. "Forgive me."

"There is no need. You cannot forever refuse to speak of your heart's contentment just because I have not been as wise, or as fortunate," advised Elladan. "I will have to adjust to it, that's all. Since she loves you, she will find me much easier to befriend, I being the more charming between us."

"For once I must concede the truth," announced Elrohir. "Her family actually hoped that I was you, considering your grim and silent mien indicative of fearsome strength and courage. I fear Echuil'laer is but a pampered Lady who will want frilly, lacy things and jewels and babes. Her Adar wanted to know she would be well protected by her mate and considers me a poor second to you. So she has taken pains to inform me."

"Bah! I do not believe you. If you really think that, she has you well and truly fooled." Elladan let loose a hoarse bark of a laugh, smiling with genuine mirth for the first time in weeks, or months; he could not really recall.

Elrohir was encouraged to see it. "Perhaps I am a fool, then, as you have so often insisted. Come now, your story. The telling of it will ease your heart, though it seems the opposite must be true. Share your sorrow with me and it will be alleviated. Whatever must be done to mend you, we will manage it, Elladan. Speak of this elf you love."

Elladan held his gaze, determined to be sure of unqualified support before he spoke a single word, and found Elrohir's heart and soul open and eager to offer both shelter and love unconditionally. He gave a short, definitive nod and began:

"He was elegant and sophisticated, cordial and charming, comely of face and form and utterly enchanting. I could only stare and stare, for this was such a different personality than I'd encountered by chance on the beach just the previous night. He stood so tall and proud, his long lean frame straight and his posture evocative of sincerity and self-confidence; I was astonished. He was dressed formally in rich clothes, the tunic of midnight blue trimmed in small white gems about the hem, a broad sash of creamy yellow silk holding it shut at his hips, allowing the garment to gape just enough to permit an enticing glimpse of the bare, svelte torso beneath it. It was a daring, even shocking, style and I found it difficult to keep my eyes from drifting to that tantalising peek of naked skin.

"His lower half was clothed in soft leggings of pale, icy blue though the cloth was only visible as a thin band above the long, thigh-high black leather boots that hugged the curves of his calves. He wore his hair loose and the ebony strands cascaded about his shoulders and down his back, glossy and thick, adorned about the crown with small ornaments of mithril that gave an impression of a princely circlet without the ostentation a true coronet would present. The weighty tresses slid forward when he bowed and with a casual sweep of his hand he made them resume their proper place as he rose. His greeting was courteous and formal yet somehow imbued with an anxious and hopeful anticipation that was endearing.

"And while this was the second time I'd seen him, in many ways it was the first for before it had been so dark that I could not make him out clearly, nor had he remained long enough to allow a more thorough inspection." Elladan explained, his sight upon the remembered image as he relived the experience, a slight smile hovering over his dolorous features.

"He certainly made an impression on you," remarked Elrohir, watching his brother's dreamy inward gaze. His words brought Elladan back and he glanced up, eyes bright with a shy smile the likes of which he'd never worn on his features before.

"Aye, but I was not ready to admit it then. My whole purpose in meeting him again was to defy the doom called down upon me by Ossë."

"Ossë!" Elrohir could not have been more surprised had his brother just announced an encounter with Tulkas. "When did you meet him?"

"When I was with Hîr Círdan," answered Elladan. "The two are in league together and I cannot forgive either one, not if all the Valar insist upon it. Such cruelty, calculated, cold, and unrepentant, I have never witnessed before," he spat, twisting on the sofa as if the very thought of it was painful, which it surely was.

"Nae! This is far more involved than I imagined," said Elrohir. "It would be best if your began at the start, from the time you rode from Imladris."

"So be it," nodded Elladan, and relaxed again as he began his story anew.

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)

~ Part One: Elladan ~