Elladan turned as he reached his bedroom door. “Goodnight, brother,” he murmured as he pushed it open.
Elrohir paused, waiting for something more, then sighed and shook his head. “Goodnight, El.” He did not look back as he walked further along the hallway and disappeared into his own room.
Elladan closed the door behind him, and then leaned against it with a sigh. He hated to shut Elrohir out like this. He knew his brother wanted to linger and talk to him – and he knew what he wanted to talk about, too. Yet he was not prepared to face the issue – not yet.
Elrohir had been trying to discuss their choice for some time now – but each time Elladan shied away from the subject, and turned the conversation to something else; reluctant to face the choice that had to be made. He was reluctant to take that final irrevocable step between mortality and immortality; reluctant to face it because he did not know what he wanted – either path seemed full of pain and loss, and he knew it could part him from Elrohir forever.
How could he choose one over the other? How could he weigh the pain of leaving Arda and saying farewell to all he had ever loved against the sorrow of aging and dying; the agony of seeing Elrohir dying if they stayed?
If he remained among the glories of Arda he could watch the children of Arwen and Aragorn grow and love and marry and become parents themselves – generation after generation of them. Yet if he sailed there would be the thrill of exploring a new land and being reunited at long last with his parents.
How could he choose one over the other? But the third path, where he and Elrohir made different choices, was something he could never consider – it was unthinkable that they would be parted as his father and Elros had been.
At last he fell into a restless, fitful sleep, haunted by dreams where he searched endlessly for Elrohir; sure he waited just around the next corner, or the next – but never finding him.
His dream search took him to a great port at the head of a long grey channel faced with towering cliffs. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead, and the water glittered and danced, bright with sun spangles. He stood at the end of a stone pier, looking out to sea as a grey ship slipped its moorings and sailed down the wide gulf into the sun. In the stern of the ship stood Elrohir, leaning over the rail, his hands outstretched in despair. Elladan took a step closer until he stood on the very edge of the pier. Waves lapped beneath him, slapping against the steps that led down from the pier into the water. He moved as close to the edge as he could, arms reaching out towards Elrohir in a futile gesture of regret. It was too late. He had delayed too long, and now Elrohir had taken that fateful step without him, and was lost.
He edged closer, then moving back a few steps, ran and jumped, making a great leap towards the ship, even though it was already halfway down the firth. In the way of dreams he seemed to soar into the air, almost flying, and he swooped down towards the ship – missing the rail by mere inches. The last thing he saw was Elrohir’s face as he plunged down into the dark water, down and down and …
He awoke with a gasp, panting and drenched with sweat. A pale light creeping in through the open window told him it was already dawn. Though his eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, he knew he would not sleep again now – nor did he want to, given the nature of his nightmares.
He slid out of bed and stood gazing unseeingly at the valley. One thing was clear – he had to talk to Elrohir, today, before it was too late. Turning away from the window and the slowly growing light, he noticed that something had been slipped beneath the door that led to their shared sitting room. Curious, he padded across the floor in bare feet and picked it up.
It was a single sheet of paper, folded once, with his name scrawled on the outside. He stared at it. Why in the world would Elrohir be writing to him? This was curiouser and curiouser. Unfolding the sheet, he began to read.
‘It seems strange to be writing a letter to you when I bade you good night only moments ago – but you will not talk to me, brother!’
Guilt immediately engulfed him. He had been so unfair to refuse to speak to Elrohir about their choice – he knew how it had been weighing on his mind of late. And Elrohir was right – it was a choice they should make together.
Halfway down the page he stopped in disbelief, then read again.
‘My decision is already made.’
Elladan’s heart began a slow pounding, and he felt an icy chill settle on him. He read the line a third time, willing the words to change, but they remained stubbornly unaltered.
How could Elrohir have made such a momentous decision alone? Yet he knew the answer to that already – it was his own fault. By refusing to speak of it, he had forced Elrohir to take this desperate step alone. It was his own fault, and now it was too late.
Swallowing, he forced himself to read on although the words blurred so much before his eyes it was difficult to see them. He read the next sentence and stopped again, the words burning through his tears.
‘I choose to stay with you, Elladan.’
He read it again, then raced to the end of the letter as a warm joy filled him. He turned suddenly, striding across the sitting room, threw the door to Elrohir’s room open and then stopped abruptly. Elrohir sat by the fire, eyes fixed on the doorway, waiting for him. It was clear from the dying embers and empty wine bottle that he had been waiting all night.
Elladan crossed the room more slowly and sat in the other chair, dropping the letter onto the table between them, then looked up to meet Elrohir’s eyes.
“You do know I shall be seasick all the way, don’t you?”The End
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