Swing Me to the Sky
By Pocky King Windy
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Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs ©. The fanfiction belongs to me.
Warning: Slash; please don't read if you don't like this. Flamers are retards, encompassing a really low IQ equivalent that that of a glass of water… less, in fact. The back button exists because Microsoft happened to realize the need for it for specific people. Use it, okay?
Plot Cockroach: I've never thought myself as a person who enjoyed or would read/write twincest, and I still am not. But this IS a challenge and like it or not, I'll proceed. To make it less difficult for myself there'll be nothing blatant here… just maybe a hint here and there. I don't regret taking the challenge! I just hope that you'll like it, if you're into this pairing. :3
Pairing: Elrohir x Elladan
Summary: Elladan decides to spend his time upon a swing in his garden when Elrohir poses a question that he cannot answer.
Note: Book-verse. Apparently the twins never made it to the silver screen. Curses.
Spring was glorious in Rivendell, as all seasons are. The clouds rolled by offering gentle showers and sunshine after the cold winter, and the flowers were beginning to bloom most beautifully.
Whenever he returned from an orc-hunt, his first aim, even before a long awaited warm bath, was to head for the topmost gardens where he owned a little patch of his own. It was a little neglected as he hadn't the time to tend to it anymore, but it was still his, still quiet, and there he could find peace of mind and rest.
An old swing sat in the sun, pristine white though a little faded at places where the dirt had settled. He'd seen it as a child, a long, long time ago before his mother sailed away. He'd rocked himself in it many a time, sometimes with his mother at his side, pushing him on. In a place where memories lived on, this one held one most vivid. The breeze in his garden never changed. And this old swing rocked the same.
Elladan loved his home. There would be a day someday when he'd have to leave Middle-Earth and choose the youth of the Eldar, or die a death full of pain and sickness as the mortals did. Yet he knew he would never tire of it.
Seating himself on the swing, he rested his head against the chains that held the seat aloft.
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"Elladan!"
The half-elf sat up upon hearing his name called. From afar he saw his twin brother rush toward him like a… well, like his brother. He smiled, it was characteristic of his younger half to be full of life and vigor. Elladan was the quilt, and Elrohir was the blade. They looked very much alike, but were very different in personality, and yet both loved each other almost to the point of it being agapi, unconditional.
"What brings you here, my brother?"
"Orcs! At the borders!"
Elladan jumped up. All at once, his twin burst into laughter.
"You really are somber," said Elrohir, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"And you unscrupulous," Elladan retorted mildly, shaking his head. "You have not answered my question."
"I was feeling dull." Elrohir paced around as he spoke, picking up a long weed with a purple flower and prodding his eldest brother with it. "And I thought to myself, 'why should I not share my boredom with my brother?' At the very least, I thought to make jest with you."
"Jest of me," he said.
"It is not my fault that you are so easily excited, Elladan. And ever so grave and solemn."
"I suppose not," Elladan gave in. "Perhaps I should be more like you?"
"Nay, fair sibling. No two Elrohir may exist together," Elrohir grinned. "Though it'd give Ada more than a handful to deal with."
Elladan laughed, the swing's chains tinkling to the vibration from his body. It was no secret that Elrond found it harder to direct his younger son! Their father was loving; not very stern as the other lords were, and though he tried to act grave and fearsome, more than half the time he gave in very easily to his children… and that of others. For all they knew, Estel got away with almost every mischief he thought and did. And who dared defy the mighty Elrond, who believed that children were to act as children?
"So you know your wrongdoings," Elladan remarked. Elrohir shrugged, the weed now finding itself entangled in Elladan's black hair.
"Perhaps."
Elladan nodded, closing his eyes. For a while, all was silent, as his younger brother's fingers twined in his dark locks, doing and undoing the weed between the loose silken threads.
"Elladan…?"
"Yes, my brother?"
"Have you ever imagined a world where we were not siblings… where we were not related at all?"
Elladan's eyes flew open. "I cannot even consider such a thing."
"Why?"
"We are a kin, Elrohir. With no Elrohir, there is no, and will not be, Elladan. How can there be a world with no you, yet me?" he said. "I know no world without my brother."
"I am not speaking of a world without either of us," Elrohir spoke up, his voice thick. "I meant a world with us both, just not as brothers."
"Then what will we be?"
Elrohir paused. Sensing his unease, Elladan looked up. Gathering himself together, Elrohir found his tongue once more. He spoke, though his words seemed more carefully plotted. "We will be friends, with blood thicker than that of brothers."
"Is that not the same?" Elladan laughed, not understanding his brother's deeper meaning.
"No."
"No?"
"No," Elrohir would not say more. Elladan shook his head, and lifted his hand to stroke his brother's cheek.
"Come, brother! It seems to me that this conversation saddens you and me. Speak not of a world with darkness, but with light, our world. Together, we are perfect."
"We are," Elrohir agreed, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Yet he smiled, and combed his brother's dark hair with his fingers. "Would you like me to push the swing for you? I remember a time when our mother did that for you."
Elladan smiled back. "Yes, please, if you may. Swing me to the sky."
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Elrohir nodded, pushing the swing gently. The skies were blue like a robin's egg, a hint of warmer times to come. The grass was fresh, and the water flowed clean. Elrohir believed in a different world, a world where the skies were the same, yet different. He knew not his brother's dreams, but he knew that, someday, when everything had lost its luster, times will change. He would swing, not his brother, not his other half, though a part of himself, to the sky yonder.
Elrohir loved his home. There will be a day, someday, when he would have to choose a life full of pain and sickness in Middle-Earth, but filled with joy as he lived the days counted, or immortality like that of the stars, yet so empty as he would love it not.
Someday, somehow, Elladan will come to see and understand. The breeze in his garden would never change, and this swing will rock the same.
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END
Monday, January 31, 2005, 5:23PM
Author's note: Boy, I suck. This isn't even mild slash. I mean, making Elladan a thickhead wasn't my idea at first, but as I wrote, it seemed a GREAT idea. Anyway, it took me a long time to crank out this short baby. And a lot of guts. But I made my challenge:3 Yay.
About Elladan and Elrohir's personalities, why Elladan happens to be the milder one here's because he hardly spoke more than a few words in the book, while Elrohir went rocket with Aragorn.
That's about it. Hope you liked it. :3