Warning: no humor at all in this one.
Glorfindel could remember when the sons of Elrond had been happy and carefree, the realities of life passing over their heads. They were the laughter of Imladris; everyone smiled when they saw the pair - and sometimes growled in rage if they had been the latest victim to a prank. A bad mood would pass in minutes for the two. They never had to deal with the problems outside their peaceful valley, going on the occasional excursion outside Imladris, and enjoying themselves in patrols.
But no more.
Elladan and Elrohir were far different now. Nothing showed in their eyes but brokenness and an icy resolve. A resolve to kill all foul creatures in Arda. A most amazing ambition to be sure, but the Balrog-slayer knew they would not rest until they had completed their mission. They rarely left each others sides, seeming to feel that if they did, their twin would disappear. But it had been so long . . .
Three years.
It had been three years since Celebrían had sailed, leaving four broken-hearted family members behind. But Elrond and Arwen dealt with the grief differently than the twins did. Arwen stayed for a short time, trying to receive comfort from her older brothers, but when none came, she left to Lothlórien to stay with her grandparents. Elrond caved in to the loneliness, letting his heartache out by pushing himself to do more work. Imladris had never been so caught up on its paperwork. Glorfindel had held Elrond many time while he sobbed for his wife, misery coating him as he despaired over how he could not save his beloved from the wounds to her soul.
Everyone in Imladris missed their Lady, but her family most of all. Elladan and Elrohir didn't let out their emotions though, bottling them up and turning cold. They were rarely in Imladris, preferring to stay out by themselves while hunting for packs of orcs. The only times they returned was when they had been sorely wounded, coming back just long enough for their wounds to heal, then leaving again. It was the complete opposite now; instead of the valley enjoying it when the twins were there, the individuals now flinched away when they saw them, the indifferent masks on their faces reminding the occupants of Celebrían. Their high cheekbones, their once-laughing eyes, and their very manner of walking was the same as their mother.
Glorfindel knew that Elrohir, the more sensitive of the twins, could sense everyone's pain when they looked at him. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, quiet anguish would reveal itself in the twin's grey eyes, but he never knew Glorfindel saw. The Balrog-slayer never knew what Elladan thought, though. His face was shuttered all the time, his features concealed in a cold mask that never dropped. He met everyone's gazes with a cold look of his own, and even his father recoiled from the callous glare. He knew that they took the pain of being parted as hard as their father did, in a different way.
Glorfindel sighed and pushed his chair back a few feet, standing to his feet. The sons of Elrond had left the table a few minutes before, and Glorfindel hated to think of how the air had cleared and people started chatting freely once they were gone.
Elrond cast his friend a questioning look, and Glorfindel gave him a small smile, tapping his stomach to show that he was full. The Elflord nodded and returned to his food, Glorfindel turning to leave the dining hall. He wasn't full though - he had barely eaten anything, but he had no appetite at the moment. As the identical twins sat across from him, Glorfindel could only see their dark hair since they ate with heads bowed, wanting to get done quickly and leave.
Elladan had a pattern of bruises decorating his neck and a bandage around his head, and Elrohir's arm was held by a sling. They had both been wounded in their most recent fight on an orc hunt, and Glorfindel knew they would be leaving within two days. They didn't want to stay to see the stares they perceived as accusing, preferring to kill more of the foul creatures that had tainted their mother's soul.
"Oh Valar," Glorfindel sighed, wiping his hand across his brow. He had no idea how to lessen the twins' pain. Consoling Elrond by comforting him while he cried worked on the Elf lord, but the twins had each other. They pretended they did not need any other comfort, but they obviously blamed themselves for letting their mother be captured and weltering in their grief was not a way to heal. He knew - of course he knew! His whole life had been take from him, a new body given to him by the Valar, but he could never go back to his former life in Gondolin. He knew well what it was like to grieve, haunted by nightmares.
But he did not know what to do to help the young sons of Elrond. He did know that he had failed, though. His mission in his first life had been to protect Gondolin - he had blundered that up majorly - and his duty in this life was to protect the Peredhils. Yes, he had succeeded in sparing them from losing their lives, but losing their hearts? Ai, that he had not protected. It pained him more than he would ever admit to see the once-cheerful occupants of Imladris now mourning over their lost Lady. He almost wished he had sided with Celebrían when she had tried to convince her children and husband to sail with her, but their time had not yet come. They would remain until the sea-longing came over them, calling them to the Undying Lands to join their mother.
Although he did not know about Elladan and Elrohir. They had not made their choice - they might still choose to become mortal like their uncle and die of old age or sickness. He knew it would truly break their father's heart if they did so; they did not have the heart to sunder their family further, Glorfindel hoped. The Evenstar was no longer his responsibility, she had fled to her grandmother's comfort and would remain until who knew how long? He did wish that there was a Lady in Celebrían's absence, but he did not want Arwen to see the cold statues her brothers had become. She had not seen them since the month after their mother sailed, and that way it would stay until they went to visit her in Lothlórien.
Glorfindel absently ran his hand along the engravings on the wall as he walked. He was heading to his chambers, no longer having the courage to see the open pain in Elrond's eyes whenever he looked over at where his wife would have usually been sitting. Glorfindel truly did not know who suffered more, Elrond or his sons. At least the Elf lord let out his grief, not holding it in.
"Am man theled? Why?" Glorfindel whispered, lowering his head. His golden hair fell like a shroud in front of his face, blocking his view of the rest of the hallway. He realized he had stopped, and was about to start walking again when he heard low voices.
Glorfindel did not spy on people. He was a warrior, not a sneak, but these voices came from the alcove a few dozen yards in front of him, beside the path he had to go so he could reach his bedchambers. Not wanting to be rude, he edged forward, his booted feet making no sound on the tiled floor. He tried to close his ears to what the ones in the alcove were saying as he went forward, but it was impossible. The soft whispers reached his ears, and he suddenly knew that it was Elrohir talking.
The younger twin's voice was faint, breaking occasionally. "I failed her, El. Didn't save her in time. She - she . . . "
"No, you didn't," came a reply from someone Glorfindel recognized as Elladan. "You didn't fail her, we did. It's not your fault, little brother." And in a quieter undertone, "It never was."
Glorfindel felt immensely guilty for listening in on this private conversation. He was almost to the cubicle now, hoping they wouldn't see him. A sob came from compartment . . . one of the twins was crying. Crying? He had not seen them - either one - weep once after their mother left.
"Shh, shh." One of them was comforting the sobbing one. "It's okay."
"But it isn't." Glorfindel paused right before he walked past. "It will never be okay. She's gone, El. She's gone." And the twin burst into tears again.
"Valar curse it," Glorfindel hissed under his breath. There was no way he could go past now. They would see him and think he had been spying on them while they grieved. He could never do that to them, but he would not go in and comfort them now.
He was saved the conflict by a rustling noise coming from the alcove. Someone was moving. Glorfindel stepped hurriedly back, but he was too late.
"Glorfindel?" came an accusing voice from the shadows.
The Balrog-slayer flinched. He was caught.
Elladan stepped out of the alcove, his face shadowed, but even a fool could not mistake the fury glinting in his eyes. The bruises patterning his neck made him look even more ferocious. "You were listening."
It wasn't a question. "I'm sorry." Glorfindel took a step backwards.
"Elladan?" the other twin called, his voice wavering, but holding steady.
The older brother glanced over his shoulder, then back at Glorfindel. His lips were compressed tightly. "Leave us," he ordered.
Glorfindel hesitated. He knew his offer of companionship would be rejected, but he could not just . . . leave them like this. "I'm sorry, Elladan, I did not mean to - "
"Go. Now." His grey eyes flashing, Elladan stood straight, his demeanor reminding Glorfindel of his father, not his mother, this once. Glorfindel took another step back, and Elladan, taking it for acquiescence, shot him a last glare, then turned back to his brother.
He could hear the swishing as Elladan sat back down and wrapped his arms around his twin. "I'm here, Elrohir. Shh."
Glorfindel sighed. There was no way in Arda they would let him help. With a sigh and a sad look over his shoulder at the dark alcove, Glorfindel turned and left the twins to their mourning.
That's the saddest scene I've ever written - so far. /sniff/
Let me know what you think! This is a pretty much a one-shot, but I might add more to it later if something comes to mind. Thanks for reading!