Title: The Strength You Lack
Author: Eternal Elves
Rating: K+
Summary: A cute family-ish fluff story! Elrohir grieves for the loss of his dear friend Legolas, for the twins have not heard from him in centuries, and he's met by an unexpected friend. Companion one-shot to Carry On No More.
Author Note: This song was inspired by the song "If You Ever Need Me" by Matthew West.
Elrohir looked around the dull hotel room and tossed his meager duffel bag onto the ground. He walked over to the mirror and gazed at his reflection. He wanted to punch the mirror. He looked every bit as sleep-deprived as he felt. He had been up for weeks on end, trying to find some trace of his dear friend Legolas. They had not heard from him in centuries, since they had all fought with Alexander the Great.
He blinked away tears as he fought to compose himself. He swallowed and took shaky breaths. Legolas could very well be dead, and he and Elladan were alone. Really alone this time. They had been on Earth for so many long years, more than they had been required to be, but they owed it to their little brother, Estel, to protect his race. But they were doing a shoddy job of it.
The younger twin sat down on his bed and then fell back, staring up at the ceiling. He needed a friend, one who was not his brother. But they had not had any friends in mortals since Halbarad and the Rangers, back in the glorious days of Middle Earth. He sighed and stood up again.
It was like he had ADHD. He just couldn't stop moving, and he thought if he did, he would certainly burst into tears. He scribbled a note to Elladan and walked out of the hotel. It was a cold night, but of course, he, being an elf, did not feel the cold at all. He walked down the still crowded streets of Los Angeles, a forlorn look on his face.
He saw all the humans. They looked so happy and exhilarated. He wished that he could feel that way again, like a young child. He used to, until they had taken up the mission. It was more important than being an heir of Imladris. No, he thought. That was a horrible thought. He shook his head and kept walking. He kicked small pebbles away with his shoes and kept his eyes on the ground, unable to look at human males in the eye and not see some trace of the little brother he once had. It had been hard to accept that Estel had grown up into a man. He still remembered when the boy was thirteen and trying to figure out who he was.
How Elrohir yearned for past times. But he was an elf, unchanging in a rapid-paced world. He looked down at his calloused hands and wondered how he had managed to survive that long, without his friends or his family, besides the company he had with Elladan. He wanted to see his father and his mother again, together. He wanted to see Legolas and Gimli, and all the friends he held so close to his heart. He wondered if they ever wondered about him. They were on his mind all the time. His mind was hardly on anything but his friends, eating, playing PS2 (he had an unnatural obsession with video games) and whatever odd job he was doing at the time.
"Ai, Legolas, mellon nin." He whispered softly. He could scarcely hear it with his keen elven ears.
He plopped down onto a park bench and just sat there for a while. He raked his fingers through his chin length hair and covered his eyes so that no one could see the tears that streamed from his eyes. Usually, he was so good at hiding his pain and pretending to be carefree Elliot (AKA Elrohir). But all that stress and cares building up behind his mask was bound to explode, and it just came out in liquid form for him.
Like a little elfling again, he curled up on the bench, one leg hanging off the other arm rest, the other tucked underneath it and his arms where crossed over his chest and he looked up at the dim stars. He longed for Imladris, when the stars were as clear as the sun. He longed for the times when it was quiet, and he could hear his thoughts. But the chatter of the mortals and the roar of engines threatened to deafen him. Could they not be quiet for but a moment?
Yes, the world had changed from what Estel had built it to be. And not for the better.
It had declined after Eldarion's death. Adultry was common and brothels were blooming in business. Men had no sense of valor and treated elves like myths and women like possessions. As the years went on, it seemed to get a little better, but whatever horrors he had thought he had seen, it had not prepared him for America.
Great were the ideals and admirable was the history (Elladan particularly prided himself on the fact he had been the one to write the Declaration of Independence… he had masqueraded as 'Thomas Jefferson'), but all the honor had been lost. Women gave themselves to men for want of a little love, and men didn't know how to control themselves. It was a kin-slaying, no doubt about it. The very thought of it made him want to vomit. Where had chivalry gone? Women were just as capable as men, but gentler and most of the time, that was better! But could not men treat them as they should be treated? They deserved to be treated with love, for they are beautiful. It boggled his mind.
"What are you doing out so late, young man?" Came a voice.
Elrohir sat up quickly and moved over so the strange man could sit down. He blinked and sighed, then yawned. "Just thinking. I have not been in touch with a close friend of mine, and I have come to thinking that he is dead." The words caused him to worry more. What if Legolas really was dead?
"Ah, I know the feeling. Two young sons of my friend who has… passed on, shall we say, are missing. As is their friend. I want to find them, for they are close to me."
As the stranger related his tale, Elrohir felt a pang in his heart. "I am sorry." He said gravely.
"Thank you, for your sympathy, lad." The other man said.
"Who are you, sir?" Elrohir asked curiously.
"George Gordon." He answered after a small pause. "You?"
"Elliot. Elliot Elion." He replied with an amiable smile as he shook George's hand. The hand felt so familiar… so elvish.
"So, who is this friend?" George asked.
"Close friend of mine and my brother's. We go way back." Elrohir answered, thinking of his childhood which consisted mainly of Legolas and Elladan and getting in trouble with Glorfindel. "We pulled so many pranks on this one friend of my father's. It was carefree times."
George laughed lightly at this. "I bet it was. I was a victim of my young charges. They were mischievous little beasts, but I would do anything for them, if they haven't gone and gotten themselves killed for some wayward cause."
"They sound like my brother."
There was a comfortable silence, in which George and Elrohir retreated into their own thoughts. Elrohir wanted to break out into tears, but he risked becoming hysterical and screaming out Legolas' name. Then everyone within ear shot would think he was some sort of freak, screaming out such a 'weird' name. His shoulders shook with unshed tears.
"It is alright to weep. It is not a sign of weakness." George said softly.
"You… sound… like… my… mentor." Elrohir whimpered between soft sobs.
"Perhaps, Elrohir."
Elrohir leaned back and covered his face as the tears fell. He cried for himself, for Elladan, for Legolas, for his parents, for Arwen, for Estel. He sobbed, letting his pain flow freely down his face and then dissolve. He took a few deep breaths of free air. But even the deep breaths of clean air could not decimate the raging brokenness that he couldn't heal within himself. He didn't know where to turn to. He wished that Erestor or Glorfindel were there. They always knew what to do and say, even if they really were in turmoil themselves. The strength he always needed was the strength he lacked, and he found the strength he needed in his Ada, Erestor and Glorfindel.
"Breathe the free air, young one."
George rubbed Elrohir's back gently until the young elf pulled away and looked at the man strangely. "You called me Elrohir." He pointed an accusing finger at the calmly sitting man. "That is not my name."
"Not to the world, perhaps." George stood up gracefully. "Just as George should not be the name you know me by."
Elrohir was effectively clueless. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes wide and still full of tears. This man was loony.
"Does pink hair and a dress mean anything at all to you? It means three weeks of embarrassment and constant teasing from Erestor for me."
Elrohir just stared, mouth open.
"Really, Elrohir, your jaw flagging like that is not befit of a lord." He reprimanded.
"G-glorfindel?" He stuttered.
George, who should really be known as Glorfindel, grinned and nodded, nearly knocked to his bottom as Elrohir threw himself on the poor, blonde elf. "Glorfindel, its you!"
"It is, young one. Now up off the old elf before he perishes." The Balrog-Slayer reprimanded gently.
Elrohir let the 'old elf' go and smiled. "So, you are alive."
"Orcs, Balrogs and Erestor cannot kill me. There is nothing that can." Glorfindel bragged.
"Be quiet."
"Um, no."
"Just do it."
"Is that any way to talk to your elders?"
"Well, you, yeah."
"Be quiet elfling."
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm glad you're alive."
"No you aren't."
"No, I'm not." Elrohir agreed, earning himself a smack on the head. "Ow."
The two elves stood up and embraced, before setting off together into the city. Before they knew it, they were on the other side, and were at the sea shore. The waves lapped against the rocks that formed the bulwark against the raging sea, so children could play freely and find many sea creatures laying dead on the rocks. Stars studded the sky in ways that could never be masked by the light of a city.
"Where is this world going?" Elrohir asked softly, as they stood there, as if the thousands of years that had passed hadn't actually happened.
"I don't know. They need a Savior. Estel had been the savior they needed thousands of years ago. Eldarion had kept the peace well. But there is no strength or morality or valor in men." Glorfindel spat as he glanced over his shoulder at the industry that had taken over the place where Minas Tirith had once stood.
"But wasn't that what Ada said before the Fellowship left Imladris?" Elrohir asked curiously.
Glorfindel was surprised by Elrohir's memory. He had forgotten that in the throes of the quickly passing years. "We have yet to meet a human who can stand up for his beliefs and go against the world. That was what Estel had the courage and drive to do. They have no need to."
Elrohir's gaze dropped to the ground. "Do you think we could try and trace Eldarion's successors to now?" His thought was childlike, but he had his hopes that maybe they could find a living successor and then try to find a speck of immortal spirit, a drop of valor and warrior blood in his or her veins. Maybe then they could change some things to honor his or her ancestors and the ideals that managed to keep the world from falling to Sauron.
"The Fellowship's work was in vain."
Elrohir was taken aback by Glorfindel's bold statement. "What do you mean?" He was also insulted. His little brother had been in the Fellowship. "What do you mean?" He repeated again when Glorfindel was silent for a moment.
"If Sauron had succeeded, the world would be in no better condition. The humans would be in the correct state of mind. They are not free. They have never been free. They are slaves of what they want."