Many thanks to Michelle for all of her help.
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Part VI.A: Elladan
Elladan quietly hummed a love song as he worked. It had been an exceptionally good day. The orc patrol had been taken in its camp completely at unawares. The ensuing blood bath had been a cleansing one for him. But, after much toil, the gore was gone from his weapons. Now they lay clean ready for polishing so they could continue to support him, protect him, take care of him as they had today, as they had every day for these last many years.
It used to be his mother who supported him, protected him, cared for him. But now she was gone from his life until he sailed to Valinor – if he ever sailed. Did he want immortal life? He was not so certain any more. For what could it bring but endless days of sorrow for what the orcs had done to his mother, taking her away from him and dividing his family?
Before his mother had departed, she had told him that perhaps he would find a lovely elleth who would care for him, love him, give him a child of his own, bring him joy. But what joy could an elleth bring to him now? Why would he want to bring a child into this cursed world so it could suffer the losses he had suffered?
Slowly, he applied the oil to his blade till it lay glistening and dripping in the afternoon sun. With practiced hands he caressed the length, stroking it until he brought forth a deadly sheen. With each loving glide of the cloth on the cold hardness, he purged the memories of what his weapon had done, preparing it for the climax of the new lives it would claim. His sword, ever at his side was his lover and guardian now. His daggers and knives were the precious presence kept close to his skin. His bow and quiver of arrows were his offspring. His pleasures of the flesh were goring the meat and sinew of the enemy.
When Sauron was defeated, when this war was done, then he would take thought for a mate. Until then, his only passion would be war.
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Part VI.B.: Elrohir
It had been a long harrowing day like so many before and like so many would be after it. The stench of orc blood clung to his clothes and skin, but Elrohir did not care. Glancing over at his twin brother who steadily wiped the glistening blood from arrow after arrow, he noticed that Elladan's appearance fared little better than his own. This realization brought a grim smile to Elrohir's face.
Are not all craftsmen covered in the evidence or byproduct of their craft? Flour for the baker, dirt for the farmer, ink for the loremaster, blood for the warrior. His father would have said blood for the healer as well.
Elrohir looked down at his hands as he steadily cleansed the spatters of blood and gore from his own weapons. He used to have the hands of a healer. Did bloodshed diminish the ability to heal? But then again, was there much difference any more between blood shedding and blood letting? Do they not both serve the purpose of bringing a healing resolution to the threat to a life? Perhaps now he was healing a different sort of wound, a wound to the life of Arda itself. Did not the death of every orc he slew bring a measure of additional peace, a balm for the life in Arda?
Did not the death of every orc he slew bring healing to the wounds in his own heart? Was not their dripping blood a tonic for the injuries the orcs had caused him, for the injuries they had caused his family?
His family.
Could one really call it a family any more?
His mother was gone now. Her physical wounds had been healed by his father's skillful hands, but her spirit had been beyond aide. She had been the cohesive force which bound them all together. Now his father brooded in silence, buried in his work and care for Imladris. His sister resided in Lorien under the care of their grandparents. All that remained to him was Elladan.
It was up to him and his twin to be the healers for the family now. And heal they would. With knives and bows and arrows and swords of steel, they would bind Arda's wounds, cleanse the poison from their own fëar. Then one day, when the last orc was dead, their family could be whole and well again.