Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything that belongs to the realm of our beloved Professor. No profit gained or wanted.
Author's note: Wow, I haven't brushed the dust of this account – and off my writing - in a while. Real life is a vortex. I hope you like this thing. Any mistakes or slips of the keyboard come either from my tiredness or my lack of brain, and I apologize for them beforehand. :)
Reviews are much appreciated. Hi to my old readers, if there are any left. I missed you, guys.
And thank you, pulvis, for the beta-work and inspiration.
Odd twin out
Chapter 1.
Surrender the gray.
Out of sight,
Out of mind,
Out of love,
Craving delight,
Falling behind,
Reaching above.
Our for a touch,
Out for a kiss,
Out for a chain,
Wishing too much
Doing amiss,
Bearing the pain.
Out and in,
Dead and alive,
Lovers and friends,
Forcing a grin,
Braving a dive,
Making amends.
Her eyes were gray. Flat, customary gray, marked by neither shimmer, nor pronounced undertints. He treated the discovery with a small smile, recalling how he used to spend more time than that was allowable, trying and guessing what colour eyes would have met his if she had afforded opening her eye-lids during their last, and quite a single-sided meeting. He used to fancy them green – leaf-green and full of enchanting radiance - or rich, darkish blue, like the precious sapphires, set in his mother's rings. But they were gray.
The plain hue was disappointing, yet he realized very well none but himself was to blame for the shattered illusion. He shouldn't have dwelt on it so much.
In truth, the only thing he could have against her eyes now was that seeing them finally deprived him of an extremely captivating pastime. From that moment on he was probably bound to find another mystery to ponder over, killing hour after an hour on a long night of wandering beyond the borders of Imladris.
He winced as her lady companion as good as hang on her right forearm, jerking at it so hard it would prove a trial even for a perfectly healthy limb. And if he could have any trust in his memory, that arm showed torn and broken when he saw it half-a-year ago. From what he knew of the way such injuries behaved, it was certain to give her pain, but no shadow of displeasure came into her thin face. Although it seemed a question whether it was capable of showing much feelings. If anything, it was composed, though not comfortably so, like she nursed a hidden chagrin – old enough to resign oneself to, yet too keen to hush or tame.
"Should I watch her, too?"
He was not especially surprised to hear the question. His brother would hardly miss the chance to share his interest in anything whatsoever. Just like he himself would do, be it Elladan to stare at an unfamiliar face with such avid attention.
"Why?" asked he – just to say something.
"You obviously think she's going to steal something or kill someone," explained Elladan calmly, "Even our father, perhaps. Shall I warn him?"
"I don't think you mean it," murmured Elrohir, accepting the goblet his brother was handing out for him, "Won't he then send her away together with that cheerful cousin of hers?"
Elladan threw him a quick glance and chuckled, getting a knowing smirk in return.
"I'll mind it never to believe your distracted air, háno. And they are not cousins...But she's nice-looking. The cheerful one, I mean."
"May be," muttered Elrohir without much concern. Elladan gave a slight shrug, his eyes traveling over the group of Mirkwood guests.
"Eru has been good to me," remarked he, addressing to no one in particular, "I won't have my throat torn by my own brother over a maiden."
"Not over this maiden, háno," Elrohir shook his head slowly, "Although she might like me," added he with a small grin.
"Won't it give me my share of chances?"
The gray-eyed lass raised her healthy arm to give a gentle pat to the hand of her friend, chained firmly to her shoulder. The latter started and unclenched the grasp, smiling apologetically. No, definitely not relatives. Fair hair and dark hair, eyes gray and eyes blue. Imladris and Mirkwood, he'd say, if he were asked, but this child of Imladris was a stranger to him.
Not a maid, either. An envoy of Mirkwood would hardly allow a maid of his daughter dress with luxury equaling that of his daughter's gown. Just like he'd hardly break a grave talk to one of Rivendell nobles only to speak to her with a look a concerned father could give to his ailing child.
"She's not his new wife, is she?" questioned Elladan musingly. None of them ever erred in picking up the line of the other's thoughts, "From what I heard, he's a widower. Where could I see her?"
"Eregion."
"Elladan!"
A knife whistled past his ear, missing his cheek for a thin hair. His horse was dead, his leg – almost unmoving from the weight that came down on it with the carcass of the animal. Praying for the bones to be intact, he dragged himself from under the heap of flesh, that was his steed just a moment ago, and rolled closer to the covey of pale, wide-eyed ellyth. He had hoped to cover their retreat to the sparse handful of trees on the fringe of otherwise bare patch of clayey ground. One glance at the group was enough to realize he would have to call the plan a failure. Two of them were, perhaps, still able to move on their own, despite the blank terror that held them in its clutch so obviously, but the third...the third was lying in a deep swoon against the shoulder of her fellow in misery, her forehead blotted in viscid blood, her right arm a mess of ripped up skin and stained fabric.
The wound was bad, worse than anything remotely healable on the spot, even for the powers of his father, deep though they ran in his veins. The edge of the broken bone thrusting out white against the blackish red of the cut. A sickly sight, and twice dreadful showing on someone of her sex and build.
If his horse hadn't fallen...He knew he wouldn't be able to carry her now, not with his leg buckling under him the way it was.
With the corner of his eye he caught sight of Elladan, cutting through the pool of dark rascals. The unfamiliar ellons, making up the girls' escort, fought by his sides violently. The orcs were thrashing about the field almost at random now. Always too slow to choose between many victims, they still didn't grasp it that three helpless she-elves and their injured guard made a much better prey than three armed warriors.
Unfortunately, he understood it only too well it wasn't long till the idea hit them. But for now he still had an advantage.
"Run," murmured he to the alert ellyth, reaching out to pull the unconscious lass into himself, "To those trees, run now."
"But..."
"Now!" barked he harshly. Without further objections the ladies sprang up and dashed to their safety. He watched them till they seemed to vanish between the tree trunks. The orcs might have grown strong enough to match an elf in a battle, but their eye-sight was still not as keen as to spot a hiding target of his kind.
Yet that was the only thing to rejoice at in his position.
"Oh, yes," muttered he under his nose, as the orcs regrouped to start out for him hastily,"Of course."
He was letting them too close now. With a groan he fought up to his feet, but the leg betrayed him again, and he fell back on his knees heavily, cursing the feebleness that had seized him. He could never get used to it.
He would't make it, he wouldn't...
The nearest orc threw up his hands, clutched around a twisted black bow, and bared his yellowish fangs in a smile of cruel mockery.
Without thinking Elrohir lunged down and covered the unstirring body on the ground before him with his own...
Elrohir flinched uncomfortably. Now that the day was far enough in the past, he shouldn't have let it unsettle him so much. No tragedy happened. The wound he carried out of the skirmish was a mere scratch, patched up by Elladan quite decently. All things possible were done to bring the lass into the state that threatened with no immediate trouble. After which all they could do was to accompany the group as far as their own task allowed them and let them go in peace.
She never regained her senses, much to his hidden worry. Seeing her now relieved him of it, but only to an extent. She was still too much of a disquieting thought, more than she was of a real person. She had no name.
The name.
He could swear having heard it said by one of her companions then. Yet now, in the brightly lit state hall of Imladris, he had to admit not a letter of it had clung to his memory. For no apparent reason the discovery sent a chilly wave down his spine, a strange feeling that this untimely oblivion would serve him a bad turn very soon.
"Run. To those trees, run now."
"But..."
Why was it suddenly important that he remembered it before they finally faced each other...?
"Come back, háno," said Elladan quietly, "Father needs us."
Balrogs take the darn sieve of a head...
He moved ahead swiftly, feeling more than knowing that Elladan was walking by his side, their soles touching the glassy tiled floor in time with each other. The name still didn't come to his tongue, no matter how stubbornly he sought for it. One sound, just one...His steps slackened, but the delay was wasted in vain, for it gave him nothing. The courtiers assumed the appropriate silence. The envoy, a middle-aged ellon with a hearty, if well-learned smile came forward to pay them a bow – one for both. Elrohir appeared unable to follow the line of the formal greetings, forcing a nod when his father introduced him and Elladan and presented the envoy. Another name he missed...The lass was looking at the envoy, waiting for the sign to perform her part of the ceremonial play. Her pale skin showed transparent in the dark frame of loose hair, and her eyes were gray. "Runtothosetreesrunnowbut..." The hall felt suddenly strange, drowning in sickening warmth. Elrohir had to stop again for a deep breath. The world was closing in on him. He tried to chuckle it off, but the air in his throat was thick and scalding.
The name.
"But..."
Oh, he was failing miserably. But could he know the penalty would be such a cruel one?
"I grieve the absence of your daughter, for I hoped to pay her my respect in person," the envoy was speaking in a cool and measured manner, equal for all officials of high standing, whatever the realm they came from, "But I rejoice I can present you mine. My daughter, Lenneth."
The smiling blonde elleth bowed slightly. Elrohir found himself keeping a small hand, she held out for a customary kiss, which he performed far less earnestly than Elladan.
The gray-eyed lass drew forward after her friend, motioning to extend her arm to any of the welcoming party, but the envoy caught her at the wrist gently.
"My step-daughter," uttered he with a soft fatherly indulgence. There was nothing humiliating in his tone or gesture, yet the proud royalty, the son of Elrond was, felt a momentary stab of anger, when the girl blushed and gave a little bow tardily. Oblivious of his displeasure, the envoy smiled and allowed her to finally slip her palm into the eager hand of Elrohir.
"Runtothosetreesrun..."
She didn't look at him. Not as he'd have preferred her to. That reluctant, out-of-body glance he'd been trying to catch so intensely, brushed across him, like he was made of air, and rested on Elladan.
Lost and helpless, Elrohir watched those plain, commonplace, those gray eyes sweep wide open for a second as her gaze chained itself to the face of his brother, and that unhappily placid line of her mouth softened almost to tenderness.
"Run. To those trees, run now."
"But..."
Then in a flash the name came to him, easily like it had never left his memory at all. Her lips moved, and he drank the sound of her voice, that echoed the whispering call from the past in his ears:
"...Mirgael."
The coolish fingers slipped out of his grasp, and he woke up again to the reality where the first smile he'd ever seen lighting up her face was granted to another. To his own twin.
He should have remembered that name before it was too late.