Title: Token of Devotion

Author: Psalm 136

Rating: T for Teens

Summary: See first chapter

Disclaimer: First chapter

Author's Note: In this chapter, you will see how Elrohir suffers behind his mask. In the first chapter, we saw how Elladan and Elrohir are real when they are together, and they know each other quite well. But what about those that Elrohir hides from?

Chapter Two:

I Don't Cry On The Outside

It had been a few days since the brothers had talked so privately. Elrohir needed space to digest all the information. The pain weighed heavily on his mind and it seemed to get worse, like an annoying migraine, each time he blinked. In the morning, it was like night to him. Night was his morning. At night, he was alone and he could merely seethe with anger or lay in his pain that he kept so well-hidden from the world. Love! What a human emotion. He did NOT need it, or so he thought.

Every time he left his haven that was his bedchambers, he would see the sunlight and he would see genuinely happy faces and it was sicken and anger him. How could they be so happy, when inside, he was broken and bruised? Too long had he seen death and destruction and be without real love. Too long had he seen suffering and not had healing. Too long had he lain alone at nighttime. He was tired of it.

Elrohir fixed his tunic and dusted off his already immaculate trousers and redid the left braid on his head that annoyed him to no end. Looking himself in the mirror again, he put on the smile he was so famous for. But even he could see in his eyes his suffering and he closed his eyes in shame. Though he did not cry. No, he never cried.

Putting on his grin again, he paraded from his bedchambers and made his way down the hallway to the great hall that was used for the meals. He greeted his lady friends with a wink and a kiss on the cheek. He managed to hold a small conversation with them and then he broke away to sit by his brother and father and Glorfindel and Erestor. He greeted them politely and he might have seen Glorfindel look upon him with a knowing look, but he wasn't sure.

"Good morning, Elrohir. How are you?" Elladan asked, putting some fruit on his brother's plate.

"Thank you, I am well. I slept fitfully, but I am alright." He said. He nudged his brother on the side. "Who's that?" He asked, pointing to a new brunette specimen who must have just joined Imladris' population or he would have known her. He had forced himself to make it his business to know all the ladies, to keep up a plausible façade.

Elladan shrugged. "Ada?" He asked.

"Her name is Lady Alatari. Her parents have just passed to Valinor, and she requested to reside here and I granted her request." Elrond said in his extremely lordly voice. Glorfindel snorted, but hid it well behind a cough that Erestor clapped him on the back for, as if helping him. But everyone present knew that they were playing along and Elrond merely kept the small, serene smile on his face.

Elrohir ate his light meal quickly, before excusing himself. He wasn't sure exactly what he said, but it might have been something about ladies because all four of them nodded knowingly to each other. He shot them a grin and left the hallway, walking more quickly than normal, nearly running by the time he made it outside. He burst out into the sunlight, glad to be away from people. There was just too high of a chance that they would see and then they would look on him with pity. He didn't want their pity.

And suddenly, he was forced to the ground by a blonde mass of energy. He groaned as his chest hit the ground and flipped himself over, pinning the Prince of Mirkwood to the ground. He smirked smugly, hoping Legolas didn't see his moment of weakness and snorted condescendingly.

"That is what you get, princeling, for trying to catch the great Lord Elrohir off his guard. For that is never… well, it doesn't happen!" Elrohir grinned. It hurt. It hurt so much. A lot like a knife being stabbed in your back by a friend. It was suddenly hard to breathe and he wanted to run to a corner and cry like a child. But he couldn't cry. No one would ever see him cry, not even himself.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm quite sure." He said, standing up and dusting himself off, since Elrohir had already done so. "I have not seen you much all during my stay. Where have you been?"

For a split second, Elrohir stared at his friend like a deer surrounded by hunters but smoothly, like water, his face changed into one of indifference. "I'm not sure, just around." He said and Legolas laughed. The sound of his laugh, though clear and beautiful, cut the elf to the core. It covered his soul in angry welts that he had to push aside and nurse later when he was alone.

"Said truly like you." Legolas clapped him on the back. "Let us have an archery contest."

Elrohir nodded and followed the Prince in a more subdued manner than usual. But the last few days had been an all-time low for him. The happiness that he had to use to cover his pain was slowly suffocating him and he needed space. He picked up his bow, as did Legolas. He aimed and closed his eyes, letting his hands do the work for him. But his mind wasn't on archery, it was on his knife. The temptation just to pick it up and slice himself was just too much. His hands jerked and an arrow went out into the forest. He cursed under his breath as Legolas laughed.

"Looks like I win again, mellon nin." He said merrily.

"Well, there is a reason why you are known as the best archer in Middle Earth. But there is also a reason why Elladan and I are known as Orcs Bane." He said, letting a fake sparkle shine in his eyes. "You know I surpass your skill in the area of… blades." The word rolled off his tongue in a strange way, as if he was saying it differently than before, even though eh wasn't.

The friends parted, Elrohir saying that he had an important paper to finish and Legolas said something about more archery practice. Elrohir let out a breath when he entered the halls. The cooler air caressed his skin, as if Imladris itself wanted to heal his pain. He felt tears prick at his eyes, but he forced the sensation away. He didn't cry. Crying was for weaklings and he was not weak. He was strong because he bore his secret storm alone. Alone… the word sickened him. It was a disgusting word because it was the only word that could truly describe him.

"Elrohir?" Glorfindel called.

Elrohir turned and waved merrily. "Glorfindel, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, standing up a bit straighter.

The blonde Balrog Slayer considered the elf Lord. The elf seemed to age right before his eyes. There was a deeper glint in Elrohir's azure eyes and he stood up straight, with pride, but his shoulders seemed tired, as if bearing an invisible burden none but him could feel.

"You have been acting strange." Glorfindel pointed out.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't pulled a prank on anyone lately." Elrohir answered with his signature smirk.

"You don't have to fake it, my friend. You can tell me." He prompted the elf to speak, but he didn't.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He insisted.

"Don't lie."

"If I told you what was wrong, it would be like trying to empty an ocean into the palm of your hand. This is something I must bear alone." And Elrohir walked away, leaving Glorfindel dumbfounded. Elrohir had certainly aged, not in appearance much, but in spirit. What could he possibly be hiding underneath the laughing mask?