*waves* Hey there, guys! Hmm...some notes on this chapter...

Well, it might seem abrupt or short or something like that. If it does, then that's because I finished most of this chapter tonight. I was in kind of a hurry to get it published here. Also, it's pretty dramatic. Sometimes my writing can get away with me in that respect. So...yeah.

Just to warn you guys, if any of you are like me and get wimpy about conflict, then there's a long scene about an argument. Just thought I'd warn you guys.

Oh yeah! And if you hadn't noticed, I changed the story title! It used to be "Fireflies," but now it's "Let It Burn." The lyrics in the prologue are still from Owl City's "Fireflies," because I'm lazy. Just thought I'd clear that up.

*claps hands together* Welp, I don't own LotR or anything else I might reference here (have you guys noticed I have a tendency to name chapters/stories after songs? It's kind of a thing with me). Buckle in and enjoy the ride!

Chapter Three: Hey Brother

In which Benjamin Cudler isn't a jerk, Elliot Cudler does battle with a tree trunk, parents are mysterious and wild creatures, and it is debated whether or not tomatoes are a delicacy.

Of all the confusing and infuriating younger siblings, my brother is the worst.

Not that I blame him or anything. If I did, I'd be a jerk. And a jerk is something that I'm not (a lot of people seem to think I'm a jerk, and I understand that conclusion way more than I probably should, so I thought I'd clear that up first). He doesn't have the easiest life. Our father has never liked him all that much. At least, not in comparison to me. Neither of us understood that until I was eighteen and he was sixteen.

My brother (whose name is Elliot, by the way) has never known our mother, and the only memories I have of her are vague and fuzzy. But ever since I saw pictures of her and noticed how similar she and Elliot look, my theory had been that it was one of those things where if one parent is gone and their kid looks like them, the other parent will take their negative feelings out on the kid. I was kind of right. That was the reason Dad disliked Elliot in the first place. But I wasn't right in the way I thought I was.

(I think I need to quickly explain that in this life, our mother isn't dead. At least, not that we know of. She just left when Elliot was a baby. As I said, I don't remember much about her, but I can't decide whether Dad still loves her and that's why he resents her, or just resents her.)

I know that Dad loves Elliot, he really does. I don't know whether he feels guilty about showing it for some unfathomable reason or he just isn't quite sure how. As for how Elliot feels about Dad, I think that's best shown with a quick flashback.

I was fifteen and he was thirteen. I was watching him in the backyard from my bedroom window. As I watched, he picked up a large kitchen knife (which bothered me a lot less than it should have, because our family is generally fucked up about things like weapon safety) and held it as if it were a sword. He spun around, gripping the base of the knife, and swiped the blade through the air in front of him, skimming the bark of a tree with the tip. He spun around for a few more seconds before pitching forward onto the grass. I decided to go outside and check on him then.

When I got out there, he was still limp on the ground. "You okay, little bro?" I called out to him.

"Mmph," he replied.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" I decided, crossing the yard to kneel next to him. He lifted his head to blearily look me in the eyes.

"Ben," he slurred. "D'you think I'm tough?"

I had to think about that for a moment. I mean, he wasn't necessarily the most gifted in the strength department, or the social one. But our dad was always so hard on him, and so was everyone else, and...

One thing that you need to know about my brother is that until he was thirteen, I thought he was my sister. This particular scene took place a few weeks after he'd told everyone that he was, in fact, a boy and not a girl. Neither of us were sure what Dad thought about that. I mean, he used male pronouns when referring to Elliot, so that was something. Right?

"Yes," I decided. "I think you're tough."

"You're only saying that 'cuz I'm your brother."

I shrugged. "That's not true," I said. "But you probably won't believe me no matter what I say, so I'll leave the decision up to you." He chuckled lightly at that.

"I was trying to be tough," he explained. "That's why I was cutting the tree."

"'Cutting the tree' should be a euphemism for something," I said thoughtfully.

"'Freaking out,' maybe?" suggested Elliot. "I was thinking something dirtier," I grinned. "But that works too."

We sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes before Elliot said, "Do you think Dad hates me?"

"No. He definitely doesn't hate you," I assured him. I didn't even hesitate.

Elliot didn't look at me, instead choosing to yank up handfuls of grass and let them flutter back down to earth. "I kinda think he does," he said quietly.

"Elliot, that's not true," I said firmly, putting my hand over his (in retrospect, that seems a little weird. Just ignore any creepy vibes you might get from my actions from this point on). "He's your dad."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't hate me." "I know," I admitted. "But he doesn't hate you. I know it."

"I'll take your word for it," he said sullenly (he's a very sullen sort of person. He and Sophia have that in common).

I think this is a good cut-off point. Now, let's skip ahead about three years, shall we?

Three years later

This scene takes place on what started as a relatively normal evening. He, Dad, and I were all sitting at the table for dinner. I was eating my salad (which I hated, but I wasn't about to mention this), chewing slowly and watching in nervous fascination as Elliot and Dad bickered about their topic of the evening.

One of the many bizarre things about them is that they take out their frustrations at each other by picking fights about the most inane, useless topics ever. This time, it was tomatoes.

"They squirt," said Elliot, making a little firework motion with his hands to punctuate his point. "All over the place."

"So do oranges," Dad pointed out in that solemn, slightly menacing tone he always affected. "You adore oranges."

"Oranges are sweet," Elliot countered. "Tomatoes aren't sweet, but they aren't savory either. They're just a disgusting, squishy tang somewhere in the middle."

"You eat ketchup."

"You've made that argument exactly four times now. Ben eats peanut butter, doesn't he? And he hates peanuts. Ben, don't you eat peanuts?"

"Leave me out of this," I said.

"Leave him out of this," Dad said.

Elliot's eyes gained that telltale steely glint that meant, for lack of a better term, shit was about to get real. "Well, you're the one who always brings him into everything else."

"Elliot," I said weakly.

"I have my reasons for that," said Dad icily. The king of passive-aggression, that's him. "What I don't have my reasons for, however, are these pointless arguments that you insist on starting with me."

"He's got a point, you know," I told Elliot.

Elliot jumped up from his seat. The reality of shit increased by at least 10%. "Why do you always side with him?!" he demanded.

"Elliot, just let it go," I pleaded.

"Everyone tells me to let everything go!" he said. Oh no. Raised voices. Pretty soon what come The Barb.

(The Barb, for those of you who have the fortune not to live in my house, is that one sentence that often seals the end of an argument. You know the one, that armor-piercing accusation that earns a few minutes of complete, breath-holding silence before you get sent to your room in a dangerous tone. That thing.)

"Elliot Cudler," warned Dad. Neither of us knew what he was threatening to do, but it was certainly something. Last names had been brought out, and everyone on the planet knows that spells trouble.

"I won't calm down," said Elliot hotly, even though nobody had outright told him to calm down. "Not when it goes like this every time we talk. You say something that you know will make me mad, and you know Ben will side with you, and the odds are against me from the start! Y-you always make situations where the odds are against me, and you give me weird veiled implications that I'm weak when I point that out. Why do you always have to do that?!"

Oh no. I could feel it. Here came The Barb.

"You wish-" But then Elliot stopped.

He looked at me.

He looked at Dad.

His jaw slowly dropped open.

"I...I..." He couldn't convey what he had just realized. He turned and ran from the room.

I sprang up from my seat to go after him, looked back at Dad, looked at the door, looked back at Dad, and ran out.

"Elliot!"

He didn't slow down. I could hear his feet crashing up the stairs toward his bedroom. I leaned forward determinedly and charged after him. I was two feet behind him just as he skidded into his bedroom and swung the door in after him. My fingers stretched out into the room just as the door would have slammed shut. I paused for a minute to agonize over my crushed fingers before flinging the door open and storming into my brother's room.

"What the hell was that about?!" I demanded, glaring at Elliot.

That was when he said one of the strangest things I've ever heard him say (at the time, anyway).

"You...you're dead!"

"What?"

"You're dead!" repeated Elliot, his hands fisting in his hair, his expression wild and panicked. "You died! You died, Boromir, you...you died!"

"What...no, I'm not dead, are you crazy, I'm right here-did you just call me Boromir?!"

Elliot was inconsolable by that point. He couldn't even get another word out, he was hyperventilating so wildly. He might have been crying, I'm not sure. All I knew was that my brother suddenly thought I was dead, and he called me Boromir, who the hell did he think-

To borrow a phrase from the first chapter of this lovely story, it was right about there that the world stopped rotating, oxygen stopped being a thing, and I seriously considered throwing up.

Because I'd died.

Do you want to know the reason nobody else has described the moment they remembered their past lives? Because for most of them, that moment is just a flash of jumbled images and names and emotions that don't make sense. It's like going into a trance, and when we come to, people are saying we were screaming, or hyperventilating, or sobbing, or babbling nonsense, or, in some cases, completely catatonic. It's easily the most torturous thing I've gone through in this life. Remembering death is an experience that I can't describe. For me, the best I can do is that it felt like it was happening all over again. All the emotions that I was feeling at the moment I died, I was experiencing right then.

Well, that's reincarnation for you.

Here's hoping you never have to try it.

So...Ben! Any words to our lovely readers?

Ben: Sure! *turns to audience* Reviews are what keeps our quest alive and our company together! You don't want RandomFandom to abandon another story, do you?

RandomFandom: We certainly wouldn't. *turns to audience* Well, you heard the guy, give us your best and worst! We're prepared for anything you have to offer! Go forth and review, and have a nice day/night! *waves goodbye until next time*