Anyway. This is especially for Laiqalasse, to say sorry for pinching her plotbunny, and to thank her for not minding!
Warning: Guess what? This is slash. More than that, it's incest too. And wait, there's more - it's twincest as well. So if that's not your thing, off you go and read something else. If it is, of course, then read on...
Aftermath
He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he had become separated from his brother, and that thought gave him almost more pain than the separation itself. They were hunting Orcs, as usual, nothing they hadn't done a hundred times before. There was nothing different about this band of Sauron's creatures, nothing to distinguish this from every other horde of Orcs that the twins had flushed out and slaughtered in the years since their mother's departure. Nothing - except that they kept on coming, and somewhere in the melee the twins were no longer fighting back to back as they alwyas did. Suddenly Elrohir was gone, lost in the throngs of the Enemy's creatures, and Elladan felt his absence like a physical pain that threatened to destroy his concentration if he was not very careful indeed. And so he fought on, forcing himself to remain methodical as he hacked and slashed, gutted and decapitated. And still the Orcs kept on coming, ten more seeming to spring up for each one he cut down, as he began to grow fatigued, his human heritage beginning to tell in the weight of his sword, the blunting of his Elven grace as he twisted and turned, dodged and spun, cutting and hacking and killing with every stroke. A thin line of burning pain cut across his upper arm, and it was all he could do not to cry out; he risked a glance but no blood welled up, his shirt was clean. Elrohir! His twin must be hurt! Frantically Elladan began to cast about him for a glimpse of his brother, but could not lay eyes upon him. Elrohir could not be truly harmed, surely, or he himself would be unable to fight on, but still Elladan could not help his panic, and the murderous desire to hurt, maim, kill whichever creature had harmed his beloved brother. He fought on, barely registering the sword slash to his thigh, the countless small cuts and bruises dealt him by the Orcs; the only pain he truly felt was the phantom agony in his arm, a reminder of his brother's hurt, forcing him onwards through the sea of creatures straight out of his and his brother's childhood nightmares. It seemed as though they would never all die; his rage and anguish blinded him to their dwindling numbers until at last he stood alone among the twisted bodies, black blood staining his fair face. Leaning on his sword he caught his breath for a moment, and then looked up and around him, desperately hoping to see his brother standing somewhere in the remains of the battle.
It took a moment for his vision to clear completely, the panic beginning to take more of a hold on him now that the fight was over. Where was Elrohir? Why could he not see his brother? Elladan turned fully around once, twice, seeing nothing, no one, the desperation now beginning to take a stranglehold on him. And then as he began to turn for the third time, his glance caught and held on a tall figure standing amid the carnage, leaning exhaustedly on his sword, one hand clapped to his thigh as he looked about him, though a wound on his arm was bleeding freely. Long black hair escaping from its ties and braids, the sharpest of cheekbones, bright grey eyes; the very image of Elladan himself, except that Elladan's hand was clasped to his upper arm against the pain of his brother's injury, heedless of the bloodstain spreading from his thigh wound. Their gaze snapped to each other, not so far apart after all, and without even realising it they were standing before each other, almost touching, searching each other's faces for the precious knowledge that all was well. Elladan caught his brother in a fierce hug, equally fiercely returned by Elrohir, and they clung to each other for a moment, shaking, foreheads pressed together, lost in each other's stormy grey gaze; their eyes softening gradually as they breathed in each other's presence, reassured themselves that no lasting harm was done.
"I thought I had lost you," they breathed, their voices almost as one, and rather than breaking, the spell between them only deepened at their words; throats tight, eyes wet, fingers trembling with the intensity of their emotions as they cupped each other's faces. It was the most natural thing in the world to shift their heads just slightly to one side, move that tiniest bit closer so that their lips met. Soft, tentative at first it was, but the backwash of desperation, of panic, of barely suppressed terror broke over them, tightening their arms about each other, parting their lips, setting tongues at once timid and confident to a duel as if each would devour the other, as if their very lives depended upon this kiss, this bond between them being forged irrevocably, never to be broken while they both drew breath.
They drew apart, eventually, reluctantly, gasping with more than simple lack of air, and gazed at each other with new wonder in their eyes. How had they never noticed before, how right this was? How had they dismissed the bond that they felt, influenced by what their society considered to be improper, too close? Now they realised, with almost painful clarity, why their respective love affairs had all been brief, emotionless and ultimately unfulfilling; why they pursued their hunt with such unwavering dedication; why, in the end, it was physically painful for them to be separated. They had been bonded in truth from the moment of their conception; they shared one soul, one heart; it was madness to expect it to be otherwise. Identical smiles stole across identical faces as they kissed again; no desperation this time, only the warm certainty of destiny falling into place, the enduring, all-encompassing passion of two bound as one for eternity. They had each other, and all the time in the world; not enforced secrecy, the condemnation of their loved ones, the threat of banishment or worse, separation, or any other punishment their rational minds could dream up, none of these could cause them to give this up. Not now, and not for ever more.
When they parted this time, it was to sheathe their swords without a word and then join hands and walk away from the scene of devastation surrounding them, to find a peaceful spot more fitting to the discovery of the new way of things between them. The disposal of the carcasses of their enemies could wait, their horses could wait, the whole world could wait for the time when Elladan and Elrohir should choose to turn again to their duties and the call of their outward lives. For now, nothing was more important than each other, than identical bodies worn sleek and hard by centuries of hunting, twin voices raised in passion's gasping tongue, two pairs of eyes stormy-dark with desire of that which is forbidden, but is the only right thing in the world. For now, nothing was more important than this.