Writing Elladan in "Alone in the Light" made me sad. I was compelled to fast forward and write a little something in his future...when he was happier.
So here it is.
This will eventually be swallowed up into a bigger story. I won't go into context or tell you how these two guys have arrived at this point. You'll have to wait and see!
Just enjoy it for what it is. (And if you really don't want to know what might lie ahead for Elladan don't read it! There are spoilers!)
P.S. Note on my head canon for Tuor: His fate is not officially clear so I see him as having made it into Valinor but, like the hobbits and Gimli who follow after him, not becoming immortal...perhaps having an extended lifetime but eventually dying there.
And so, at the time of this story he is no longer there.
(And for those of you not knowing who Tuor is, he was a Man, who was sent to the hidden elven city of Gondolin by a Valar eventually marrying Idril, an Elven Princess. His son was Earendil, who now travels the night sky as a star and who is Elrond's father.)
For Nelyafinwefeanorion whose brainstorming sessions have led me to arrive at this story.
Laerion
Alqualondë
I am watching Elladan in the sea.
The sea does nothing for me. It is pleasant enough. The sand, warm from the sun, dries me, the waves cool me after a long hot day at work. It is enjoyable. But it does not mesmerise me. It does not call to me, it does not sing to my heart. It is an agreeable interlude of relaxation, that is all.
If I had lived to remain in Arda I doubt the sea-longing would have claimed me as it did my brother.
For Elladan, on the other hand, it is rejuvenating. As I watch him now walking out of the waves, the sea foam swirling around his legs, the breeze flicking strands of dark hair across his face, it is not his beauty I see—although that is undeniable. It is the light upon his face, the shining of his eyes, the invigoration of his soul. His fea sings.
Drops of cool water hit my skin as he throws himself to the sand beside me.
"Such a good swim!" he sighs and it is a sound of pure joy.
"You look happy." It is an understatement. He radiates elation.
"I am happy."
Those words are a doorway. An opening I have been waiting for for days.
"I do not think you are happy often enough, but I have noticed a difference these last few weeks. What has changed?" And he lifts himself up on his elbows to turn and look at me, brow furrowed in a frown as he thinks.
"You?" He says it as if he means it to be a statement of fact but it sounds like a question to me. He is not sure.
"I am not sure I am that powerful."
"You are." Now that was more certain.
"Well perhaps I am." I shrug, "But still I think it is probably more than just me. This place agrees with you."
"It must be having a chance to think," he laughs, "without the neverending clamour of the sea in my ears. Well, I have the real sea of course," he throws an arm out towards it, "but it's sound is much more pleasant than my imagined one!"
I did not expect him to say that. It is a shock that sends me bolt upright to stare at him and he laughs even louder at my stunned expression.
"Do not tell me Legolas never mentioned my sea-longing!"
"He did, of course he did. But you are in Valinor now. There should be no sealonging here."
"So it turns out it lingers." He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Legolas must have told you that."
And I realise with amazement he and my brother must never have spoken about this. Whyever not?
"Legolas' does not linger. It is gone."
He sits running grains of sand through his fingers, gold spilling out in a pile and his head jerks up from watching them in surprise, to stare at me as I speak.
"Why do you say that?" The tone of his voice is full of accusation, as if he thinks I lie to torment him, but I do not.
"Because it is true. He told me, the moment he set foot upon the shores of Valinor the sealonging vanished. So dramatic it was he has never forgotten the feeling of suddenly being free of it."
"But the sea still draws him!" Elladan protests, "I know it. I have seen it. He goes with Elrohir to visit our Grandfather and Earendil and he drench themselves in the sea while Elrohir has to sit and watch. He is always complaining about Legolas dragging Earendil away from him to indulge in the waves. It causes him anxiety to watch for so long did he have to fight in Arda to defend Legolas from the sea. Do not lie to me Laerion. It is hurtful, and to what purpose?"
"I do not lie, Elladan. Yes, Legolas has been left with a love of the sea. Almost as much as the trees does he love it, but he has no yearning for it, he has no sea cry echoing in his ears. He enjoys it when he has it and walks away free. His sealonging is gone."
There is a crack cutting straight through his joy, through the iron clad exterior of his heart and for the briefest moment I see it . . . His reality, his grief. It is written clear upon his face.
"Then why is mine not?"
It lasts only for a moment, that glimpse into his soul before he slams shut the doors in my face, for Elladan is a master at subterfuge. Always strong, always composed, but I am learning the Elladan behind his walls is hurting.
But now he places a carefully crafted smile upon his face.
"No matter. So I am to be left with it. I am used to it. Perhaps I should just move to Alqualondë." He laughs softly, but I am deadly serious when I reply.
"Perhaps you should."
I do not go out on the boats the next morning. I leave that to Elladan who loves it. He will return glowing, eyes shining, from a day upon the sea. Instead I take myself to the library, In search of what, I do not really know. And I go back the next day and the next, until Elladan confronts me one evening.
"It has been days since you came out on the boats with me. Have I done something wrong?"
"I have been at the library. You do nothing wrong."
"At the library for days?" He seems composed, not particularly bothered, but behind his eyes I see the tiniest inkling of fear. I am prepared.
"They asked me to spend time with their scribes. They wish to learn about us . . .about the Greenwood. My people do not visit here. They are all with my Father or Legolas and the Teleri are curious. We are—afterall—cousins.
"Of course." Instantly he relaxes, so quickly I feel a twinge of guilt at my deception. "Forgive me. I do not know what got into me, Laerion. I am not usually so insecure. I leave that to Elrohir . . . But I am so out of practice with this."
"As am I!" I laugh, and it is forgotten. A moment in which his walls were down if only briefly, swept aside.
But not forgotten by me.
When I finally find what I have been looking for I am triumphant.
It is all I can do not to run when I go in search of him that evening. He is not in his room, or mine, but instead at the shore, sea breeze in his hair, feet in the sand . . . Happy. And he smiles when he sees me. A brilliant, real, smile. Not then one he so often hides behind.
"I have prepared us a picnic," He cries to me across the sound of the waves. I thought we could eat outside tonight."
"Perfect." I settle myself down beside him and place the small pile of paper I have collected in his lap. I can not wait one minute more. "I have brought you a present."
"What are these?" He frowns slightly as he shuffles through them, reading a bit here, a bit there before he looks up, confusion in his eyes. "Notes about Tuor? Why have you given me these?"
"Tuor, your Great Grandfather."
"I know that, Laerion. Do you think me uneducated? I know my own history."
"It is not that they are about him. It is what they say." Quickly I gather them in my hands, turning the pages. Pointing out the lines I wish him to see. "Tuor spent much time here and he fascinated them. See here, where they speak of his joy on the boats, and here . . . Where they tell of how saddened he would be when he arrived and how lightened when he left. And here . . . His love of the sea shines through in these words."
"Because he was a Mariner." Elladan says it slowly, as if I am a child he must explain complex matters to.
"As Earendil is a Mariner!" I retaliate.
"Yes as Earendil is a Mariner. Because he is Tuor's son."
I do not understand why he is not getting this. Why he cannot see what is so obvious to me.
"And you are Earendil's grandson, Tuor's great-grandson so you are a Mariner too!"
He laughs. He laughs out loud.
"You do not understand me." He smiles beneficently. "You do not know how it is. Why should you. You see Elrohir is the one with the mannish blood. He is the one who loved Minas Tirith with all his heart, the one who would have chosen mortality in a heartbeat if Legolas and I had not dragged him here. If anyone was to be a Mariner it would be Elrohir . . . And he is not. I am the elven one. I am the one with my father's skill in Healing, I am the one who felt the pull of Valinor from my childhood, I am the Sindar one with the sealonging."
"Do you not see, Elladan? Legolas is the Sindar with the sealonging and his has long ago disappeared. Legolas yearned for Valinor. The sealonging pulled him across the sea and then, its mission accomplished, it disappeared. Your sealonging is not Sindar at all. It is Man. It is Tuor. It is Earendil. It is a love of the sea itself. That is why the boats, the sand, the waves, they make you shine so. That is why it remains. That is why it is quieter now, when you are near the shore. That is why you are a Mariner. An Elven Mariner."
He stares. He sits and stares at the papers spread out upon my lap. He lifts one up cautiously as if it will bite him.
"It is all there, Elladan." I tell him. "Tuor sounds like you."
"This is not how I see myself." He says at last.
"But that does not mean it is not true."
"What do I even do with this?" He asks.
"Well that is obvious! We go to Earendil. Tell him of your yearning. Ask him of his father. He will help you."
And he pushes the paper away as if it burns him.
"I will not go to Earendil."
"Why?" I am beginning to understand why Legolas spends so much time complaining the Noldor make no sense.
"My Father is estranged from Earendil."
"You are not your Father."
"You have no idea how much it will hurt him if I seek him out."
"That makes no sense, Elladan. Elrohir sees Earendil often."
I know he does because Legolas tells me. Earendil is one of Legolas' favourite people.
"Because Elrohir is the mannish one!" Elladan cries, "So Father understands his need to connect, living here in Valinor surrounded by elves, as he does. Do you not understand? Earendil abandoned my father. He sailed away and left him . . . To die! Father will feel I betray him if I seek him out. He will not even hear his name spoken! I will not betray him."
Compared to my brother I am the reasonable one. I am level headed and sensible. Legolas has the wild temper and I have the steady reason. But not always. Sometimes . . . When things are close to my heart I can have a temper too. And I do now.
"I do not give a damn about Elrond." Angrily I gather up the papers and put them to one side. "I care not for him or his long ago feud with his Father. More fool him if he will not listen to an explanation or hear an apology, or at least try and mend things between them. I care about you. If your father would prevent you going to see Earendil—and I do not think he would if only you dropped those walls you hide behind and told him how you are feeling—then he is no father at all. If you will not see Earendil then I will."
Then before I can stop myself I am on my feet in a Thranduilion rage and striding away from him down to the sea. There are stones buried amongst the sand and it is most satisfying to throw them, with a splash, into the water.
"Would you really do that?" I do not have to turn around to know Elladan stands behind me.
"Yes I would. Yes I will!" He will not talk me out of it. I am nothing if not stubborn. I get that from my own Grandfather.
"Then I had best come with you."
Elladan's shoulder brushes against mine as he moves to stand beside me. He picks his own stone up and sends it skimming across the waves.
"You have not been talking to the scribes all this time, have you?" He says.
"No, I have been searching for something that would help you. What better place to find the answers about the sea than with the Teleri?"
"But it has taken you days, Laerion."
"How ever long it took, it took . . . I did not mind."
"Why? Why did you do this?"
The answer to that is easy.
"I have seen your unhappiness and I can see you are happier here. I wanted to find out why."
"You care?" He says softly.
"Yes I care."
He is silent. Eventually another stone is sent dancing across the sea before he speaks.
"I am not used to that."
It startles me. It makes me spin around to face him.
"Your brother cares!"
"Oh he does. Elrohir loves me with all his heart. But I can often feel invisible. He wishes me to be strong, capable, wise and composed. He wants it so much that is all he sees. The misery? It frightens him. He turns his eyes from it."
His hand when I take it, is cold. His fingers, as I weave mine between them, are strong.
"I know we do not have a blazing, all encompassing, life changing love as our brothers do but instead something quieter and calmer." I tell him, "This may well be but a passing interlude while we wait for others . . Perhaps that is all it is . . . . but I see you, Elladan Elrondion.
I see you."