Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely belonging to Tolkien, so no disrespect is intended toward his wonderful work by the short vignette I have written.
Summary: Just a brief, attempted look into the minds of Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, and Glorfindel of Imladris as the Fellowship leaves for Mordor. Based loosely on the loving relationship between the Elven Lord and his foster son featured so prominently in the 'Mellon Chronicles' by Cassia and Siobhan.
'Why This Pain?'
By Ivy Tante
Part Three: Elrohir
Standing beneath an ivy-covered archway, Elrohir Elrondion watched with mixed emotions as the Fellowship left Imladris. While he understood the reasons behind the journey, he admitted privately to himself that he did not agree with all of them. The One Ring must be destroyed -- that was not in doubt. That the task had fallen to a Hobbit to carry the Ring -- surprising, yes, but not in contention. That the heir of Isildur, the son of the Steward of Gondor, and the Crown Prince of Mirkwood should accompany him -- ah, therein lay the problem.
So much depended on Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas. But perhaps such an endeavor by such a diverse group could benefit Middle-Earth; too long had the races stood alone; too long had the silence been given reign. Perhaps this shared peril might break through the barriers created by time and distance.
But must Aragorn pay such a cost? The thought was bleak and unforgiving. Elrond had demanded that Aragorn release Arwen to the West, and the Ranger had done so. Elrohir's tunic was still stained with the tears she shed while repeating the mortal's words. Words of hope, of a life without strife or war or pain. Yet his eyes had been dead, the life within them shadowed and haunted as he pushed aside the love he felt for Arwen and did the duty commanded by his father.
Why this pain?
The question lingered in the very air of Imladris as Lord Elrond began to retrace his steps toward the Last Homely House. Hugging himself tighter, Elrohir drew further beneath the protecting shadow of ivy as his father's forlorn figure passed. The proud head was bent, the gray eyes narrowed in pain, the eyebrows furrowed. The dejection that surrounded Elrond Peredhil dimmed the bright morning sun, turned the perfect complexion gray with fatigue and strain. For the first time Elrohir began to realize just what the word 'sacrifice' meant.
Aragorn was doing what he must, what he was fated to do. Elrond, in releasing him, was also fulfilling the role given to him when he offered shelter to his ever-so-great nephew. Arwen was Elven-kind, born to return to Valinor in the West. But he is my brother! Elrohir claimed savagely within his heart. A brother raised in love, taught with love, guided with love. Why must a man more Elven than not be the saving grace of a race that had done little to deserve such salvation?
Emerging from the shadows, Elrohir faced the beginning day, tilting his head back slightly. The morning sun gilded his skin a glowing gold, his hair a vivid fiery nimbus surrounding features etched with pain and confusion. He believed in Aragorn, trusted his judgment, relied on his strength of will to carry him to whatever ends might come. But that did not stop him from mourning the loss of his spirit, however temporary the separation might be.
Why this pain, then?
Because you are Estel, Aragorn. You are my light in a world growing cold with shadow.